21. Playing Hooky
21
PLAYING HOOKY
Maddox
My least favorite parts of sex are the awkward moments after. Starting with a guy untying me. Next, the clean-up. Then, the worst part of all— thanks for the sex, see you later .
When I was in my twenties and tried the hookup scene, that turned me off the most. The over-and-out of it all. That’s why I curbed hookups years ago.
But tonight is awkward for other reasons.
Namely, my galloping heart, with its echoing drumbeat asking what’s next . When Zane collapses onto me, his big, broad chest covering mine, I want to stroke his hair and ask that damn revealing question.
I press my lips together so I don’t speak a word.
When I close my eyes, a pair of lips sweep my collarbone. Strong fingers graze down my arm. “You were fucking incredible,” he murmurs.
My heart pounds and words escape me anyway: “You were.”
I open my eyes as he shakes his head against my chest. “ We were,” he says.
I look away, so he can’t see what he’s doing to me. I try to chase off the wild horses in my heart.
Focus on reality . Ask him to untie you now.
But Zane’s faster than my mind. He moves in a flash. He’s up, taking off the condom, then pressing a gentle kiss to my lips. “Let me ditch this and I’ll be right back to untie you, Mad.”
While he’s in the bathroom, I try not to dwell on the uncomfortableness of post sex. That’s easy enough when he returns with a generous grin that eases my nerves and a wet washcloth that’ll remove the evidence. He swipes it down my stomach, then unties me. Once I’m free, he massages my wrists tenderly. When he takes the towel to the bathroom, I sit up. I should get dressed. I need to do something. To get busy. Look at my phone. Or suggest some food. Or just lay down the expectations. I should?—
—I’m tackled.
The fucking athlete has tackled me, pulling me back onto the bed.
My stupid heart thunders as he tugs me toward him.
“Kiss me,” Zane says softly, then he pulls me on top of him, lifting his hands above his head.
That’s surprising, and it’s a suggestion as clear as the ones I’ve given him.
Zane doesn’t want to be topped. I know that. But I know, too, that sometimes he wants reassurance from me, whether we’re in bed or negotiations. And sometimes he wants me to lead.
Good thing I want the same right now.
I grip his wrists, then indulge in a deep, intimate after-sex kiss. Enjoying, too, this moment to take back control. To lead the kiss. Mostly, enjoying that he knew I’d want this kind of a kiss.
Then I let go and flop down on the pillow. “Want to shower?” I suggest.
“Yes,” he says on a soft murmur, and there .
That’s what’s next.
And that’s another reason this isn’t a hookup whatsoever. Showering together is intimate.
A minute later, we’re in the dimly lit shower. Under the water, he hands me the soap. I wash off and he does the same, but that awkward feeling cloaks me again.
Now that we’ve slept together, where do we go? How do I act when I see Zane and Priyam for dinner? How do I talk to Vance about Zane? Will I be imagining our intimacy every time Zane’s name arises?
Well, yeah.
I turn around, lift my face to the stream of water, and close my eyes, trying to figure out how to navigate my job now that I’ve crossed this line.
When Zane’s hands slip around my waist, and his chin rests on my shoulder, my attention resets to him. Then, he asks, “Do you ever want to top me?”
Laughter bursts from my chest. The question is preposterous. I turn around. “I thought we talked about this?”
He shrugs, a little innocently. “I was just asking.”
“You’re not just asking,” I say, tapping his temple and calling him out. He’s asking for a reason. “What’s going on in there?”
Zane draws a breath. “Okay, I just liked when you were on top of me on the bed a few minutes ago. Kissing like that. So I guess I’m not so much asking if you want to fuck me, but do you ever want to take the lead like that when we kiss?”
When we kiss .
Zane says it so easily. Like we kiss in the present tense. Like we’re a couple.
My heart speeds up, and it feels so good.
But this conversation is so dangerous.
“Yeah,” I say, answering honestly. “I like when you top me in bed, but I wouldn’t wait for you to make all the first moves if that’s what you mean.”
He seems to breathe more easily. “Yeah that’s what I mean. Like, would you just grab my face and kiss me in the shower?”
Well, that’s clear.
I grasp his jaw in one hand, drag him against me, and kiss him. Once again, I set the pace, but I don’t mirror Zane’s style. I don’t kiss him ruthlessly, the way he kisses me. Instead, I indulge in those lips of his, nipping and teasing, drawing out a gasp from Zane.
He sounds helpless, and that thrills me. Right now, right here, I want him to feel…savored. I kiss him like I’d drink a fine wine, luxuriating in the taste. A long, slow kiss as I slide my hand down his chest and his abs tremble under my touch. A deep, passionate one as I roam my hand up his arm, into his wet hair. Then, when he’s shuddering, I coast my lips along his jawline, up to his ear. I nibble on his earlobe and he wraps his arms tighter around me, his body and breath saying wow.
Then I break the kiss, look into his eyes. “Like that?”
He looks dazed. “Yeah.” Then he swallows, as if he’s girding himself for something. “You could do that anytime. I like that.”
“Me too,” I say.
He leans in closer. “I like everything, Maddox,” he whispers.
“Same here,” I say.
And that’s the problem.
When we finish showering, we dry off, pull on boxer briefs, then flop down on the bed. There’s a comforting familiarity to our movements. Like we’ve done this before. Like we could do it again.
“Are you hungry?” I ask, since that’s as good a guess as any for him after a game. I sure am, since I haven’t eaten since lunch and it’s midnight now.
“Starving. I was considering ransacking the mini bar but…”
“But you don’t want M&Ms or Pringles, you health nut,” I tease.
He bumps his shoulder to mine. “You know me.”
My chest warms. “I do.”
He sighs contentedly. “My kingdom for room service,” Zane says. Then he nudges my arm. “Mister Foodie, won’t you order for me?”
“Happily,” I say.
He grabs the paper menu from the nightstand and hands it over.
And this right here is another way we fit. Zane likes to take care of me when we’re naked. He likes me to take care of him when we’re clothed.
We could be so good together.
But I try to ignore those risky thoughts as I pick up the phone, place the order for chicken primavera and kale Caesar salad for me and salmon with quinoa salad for him, then tackle another awkward moment while I’m on the phone. “And if you could just leave it right outside the door, that’d be great. Just add a twenty-five percent tip now,” I say to the man taking our order.
“Thank you, Mr. Archer,” the man says.
I hang up, and Zane gives me an approving nod. “That was…smart,” he says. His smile vanishes. “And I wish it weren’t necessary.”
“But it is,” I say, cautiously. Zane’s not famous yet, but we can’t take chances. Hanging out in a bar tonight was safe enough. We were tucked away in a nook, and we weren’t naked. If someone saw me in his hotel room? That’s another story.
Zane hums with frustration, his brow creasing. I can tell he doesn’t like this secrecy, but there’s nothing to be done. Quickly, he shifts gears. “I liked playing for you tonight,” he offers.
“That so?” I ask, inviting him to tell me more.
“Yeah. I felt the same way when you came to my game in Los Angeles. Like I was playing for you.”
I sure as hell liked showing up for him, but I try to protect myself with my answer. “You had a good game, Zane,” I say, trying, fucking trying, not to get caught up in him. “Excellent bat performance.”
He taps my thigh. “That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“I wasn’t asking for praise on my performance.”
I knew that. But I’m quiet anyway. I won’t go fishing. I have to maintain some control.
“I’m trying to tell you something,” he adds, his tone wobbly, like he’s testing out new words.
“Okay,” I say, more hopeful than I should be. I shouldn’t want his confessions so badly. But I do.
“I’m not…” He sighs, then gestures to himself and me. “I don’t have guys over much. I mean, I like to…ugh. Fuck. This is hard.”
It’s adorable watching him struggle. But I shouldn’t laugh or smile. So I try to reassure him. “I’m listening.”
“I haven’t dated anyone in a while.”
This is not a date , I want to say. But we both know that’d be a lie.
“Yeah?” I ask, my voice rising with too much fucking hope.
He shoves his hand through his hair as if he’s sorting his thoughts. “Not since my college boyfriend. Since I’ve been in the pros, I haven’t seen anyone seriously,” he says. “Just here and there, you know.”
I get his meaning on so many levels. The fact that he wants to talk about exes of any sort is a big step. One I shouldn’t take, but I do it anyway.
“And how have those gone?” I ask carefully.
“Fine. Whatever. I don’t really trust easily. I’m sure we can go all psych major on me and say it’s because of my dad being such a…perfectionist and such a dick at the same time.”
Hmm. I’m not sure that’s the reason. “Is it because of your dad though? Or is it because you want people to like you for you and not because you’re a major league star?” I ask, since that’s what I’ve always suspected. “And it’s wise to be cautious around romance?”
His brow knits again. “Maybe all of that,” he says softly. Then adds, “But with you, Maddox…I dunno. Everything’s just…different. Different good,” he says with a soft, gentle smile.
My heart wants us to run away together. I take his hand in mine, then look at our joined hands, fingers clasping together tightly. We look like two men who need each other.
“I don’t really do hookups,” I say, admitting some of my truth. “I haven’t for years. They don’t suit my needs.”
“Your sexual needs?”
I nod. “And my romantic ones,” I add, leaving it at that.
He nods too. “I get that. You want more,” he says, pushing.
“Yes. I do. I want…”
“…trust?”
I’m tempted to look away, but there’s no point. I’ve already let him in. “Yes.”
Zane leans closer, presses a soft kiss to my cheek. “You trust me,” he says in a tender whisper.
“I do,” I say, and my heart sputters.
Then he knits his brow. “But you were going to hook up with me that first night?” he asks, when he realizes the loophole to my desires.
Him.
“Yes. Apparently, you’re the exception to my every rule,” I say.
“Good.” He slides his thumb along my jawline. “Kiss me again. Like you did in the shower. Like you did after we fucked.”
In a flash, I slide him under me and kiss him passionately. Like we’re a couple, even though we can’t be, even though he won’t be.
But for tonight, he is mine.
And I’m his.
When I break the kiss, he lifts his arms to cup my cheeks. “What if this wasn’t just one night?”
“Zane,” I warn.
“Hear me out,” he pleads. “Let me make my pitch.”
This is a bad idea. A very bad idea. But bad ideas have a hold of me. “Okay.”
“What if we spend the next two nights together while I’m in New York. Just like this. You and me after my games. I can come to your hotel. Or you can come here. We can have another couple of nights together.”
His green eyes are bright and vulnerable.
His voice brims with passion and emotion.
And I know, I just know, I could never say no to him.
“Yes,” I say, and a few minutes later, the knock comes.
We dine in his room, trading bites of salmon and chicken, sharing the salads, then talking about what we’ll order for breakfast in the morning.
“Room service or an organic café nearby that has great breakfast bowls?” I ask.
Zane yawns. “I can’t decide.”
I catch the yawns too. “I’ll pick in the morning. My first meeting isn’t till ten. I can play hooky and have breakfast in bed with you.”
“And then we’ll do it again the next day and the next,” he says, hopeful.
“We will,” I say as he sets the tray outside the door.
Then, we curl up together and fall asleep.
In the early light of dawn, I wake up to his lips around my cock, so I luxuriate in some sleepy morning head.
I give it to him just as good a few minutes later.
Then, we crash once more, wrapped up in each other as the sun rises higher.
But an hour later, I wake to an inbox full of reality on my phone.