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CHAPTER 36

Henri lay panting in his bed. He’d never spent this much time staring at his ceiling as he had in the last twenty-four hours. It was a decent ceiling, he supposed. As far as ceilings went.

The sheets were a mess. The comforter had disappeared long ago, but Dylan’s body heat was more than enough to keep him warm. He carded one hand lazily through Henri’s sweat-dampened hair while the other drew shapes on his back. The fucker wasn’t out of breath in the least. With his ear pressed to Dylan’s chest, Henri could hear the sharp staccato that was the only tell he wasn’t just lounging in bed.

When he’d invited Dylan over for dinner, he’d assumed it was another convenient, quick fuck. Sex, and then they’d part ways until practice brought them back together, or maybe seek out each other’s company before that. He had not anticipated Dylan staying the night. And the morning. Then the whole afternoon that had stretched right back around to evening. Still, Dylan was with him.

And there’d been a lot more than a single quick fuck. Dylan seemed ravenous for him, touch-starved in a way that seemed impossible for a man so openly physically affectionate. Dylan probably hadn’t gone a week since he started hockey without hugging or rough-housing or slinging an arm around someone’s shoulder. Yet he’d devoured Henri’s touches as if he were bereft.

Henri, whose usual point of contact with people was through gear and rarely friendly, had been more than happy to oblige.

His one regret was that he’d been so misguided in his focus on cleaning and cooking that he’d forgotten to check on more relevant supplies. He was dangerously low on lube and didn’t have a single condom to speak of. Not that Dylan seemed to mind. He was reverent with the attention he lavished on Henri, mostly with his mouth but occasionally with his hands. He hadn’t even asked for the lube Henri eventually dug out of a drawer, only accepting it because Henri had more or less poured half of it onto his hand, so Henri hadn’t broken the news about the condoms.

Next time? He wondered if thinking the words jinxed the possibility. He also needed to shut down the thoughts that threatened to unravel at the idea of fucking or being fucked by Dylan Everett.

“We should eat something,” Henri said. “I don’t want to faint at practice tomorrow.”

He watched as his breath left a cascade of goosebumps along Dylan’s skin. He had chest hair and arm hair and leg hair, and all these other lovely bronze-dipped hairs all over his body. No doubt Henri had seen it all before in the locker room, but now he could run his hands over it and enjoy the feel of it, so he did. It soothed the goosebumps.

“You got more pasta?” Dylan asked. “I need carbs.”

Henri poked his stomach. They were far enough into the season that most hockey players had lost several pounds from their summer weight. Henri was down ten from what he’d weighed back in August and would only drop more pounds before April. Dylan, however, looked exactly the same as always. He must have technically lost weight, but there were no hard-cut abs or hipbones. Muscular, not chiseled.

“I think you’d survive,” he said with mock severity.

Dylan pushed his hand away. “You’re as bad as the trainers. Let me enjoy my carbs. I’ll eat as much broccoli and chicken breast as you want after.” He ran his hand over his stomach and groaned. “Is that dried come in my belly button?”

“Probably.”

“Gross. Shower then food, ‘kay?”

Dylan showered first while Henri assessed the food situation. There wasn’t much—he should’ve gone shopping today but hadn’t left his room except to grab water—so he ordered food, making sure there would be plenty of carbs for Dylan.

A message from his father popped in, just a quick check-in, and Henri reeled a little at the reminder that the world continued to exist outside his apartment. He’d texted his father when he got home, of course, but hadn’t called like he’d meant to, and guilt rolled over him. Not just because he’d been a bad son, but because he knew, given a second chance, he’d do the same thing again. He would leap whole-heartedly at this chance with Dylan.

He’d call his dad tomorrow on the drive to practice. He would make sure to do a good job at practice and at the game in a few days. Henri would do everything he could to blockade the important, functioning parts of his life so that they didn’t get lost while he and Dylan…did whatever they were doing for as long as they were doing it.

Henri considered this a lot as he took his turn showering. What were they doing? Did Dylan even know, or was he going on instinct like Henri? Should he shatter things early by asking?

Obviously, he would love to ride this out as far as it would take him. One day, two, ten, a million, he’d take them all and hoard the memories forever. It’d been two amazing good days, which seemed like nothing in the grand scheme of things, but it’d be wiser to pull the brakes now. Because he would be crushed and disappointed if this was it, but he’d survive. If he let it go too long, spiral out of control and get messy before it ended…

Henri didn’t want to leave Albuquerque. He didn’t want a captain or a team who didn’t want him around. And he didn’t want to fall in love with someone who wasn’t in a place to reciprocate that. Better to nip it in the bud, if indeed buds needed to be nipped.

When he went back to the living room, pulling on the first pair of sweats he could find and not bothering with a shirt, he heard dishes clattering in the kitchen. As he approached, he saw Dylan moving about, poking into cupboards as he found plates, cups, silverware. It was a beautifully domestic picture.

And Henri needed to ruin it.

Dylan’s back was to him as he plated ginormous servings of Chinese food. Henri lingered in the entryway before clearing his throat.

“Hey.”

At the sound of his voice, Dylan turned and brightened, as if he’d been waiting his whole life for this very second and it was finally here. He put down the food and came over to pull Henri into a kiss that Henri sighed into. Maybe this was good enough to risk future pain for. He broke the kiss and stepped back just a few inches, keeping his arms on Dylan’s shoulders so that he could draw him back in or push him away if need be.

“I like the no-shirt look,” Dylan teased. “You wanna watch something while we eat?”

“Actually, I thought we should maybe”—he gulped—“talk about this.”

Dylan stared at him blankly. “Talk about what?”