12. Pope
Chapter 12
Pope
I was three the first time I skated on ice. I don’t remember it, but there are pictures and a grainy video. I can’t tell you how it felt. I’m smiling in the evidence, so it must have felt good.
When I was thirteen, I sprained my ankle—grade two. It wasn’t my first injury by far, but it was the first injury that made it impossible to even stand on the ice. For six weeks, I longed for something but couldn’t understand what. Sure, I missed hockey, missed being out there with my friends, but the way I felt inside didn’t equate to those feelings. It was an itch beneath my skin, a restlessness in my soul. It was driving me wild.
And then I hit the ice for the first time again, skates gliding, a false wind in my hair from the momentum, crisp air in my lungs, and I understood.
It was one of those lightbulb moments people talk about. I hadn’t missed hockey. I had missed the ice. The skating. The flying .
When Hayden said the word ex-boyfriend , I understood.
It was a light bulb moment.
I jumped on the opportunity to end the night when he’d offered it. I had to get out of there, even though he was looking at me like he was desperate for me to choose to stay. I couldn’t stay because it wasn’t just one light bulb moment that was happening. It was a series of them. So many light bulbs I was lit up like a goddamn Christmas tree. I had to get out of there so I could process them all.
The almost electric feel of his touch during the Colorado game.
The pounding of my heart as his thumb brushed over my wrist when checking it for an injury.
His wet lip I couldn’t seem to look away from.
The inherent trust I’ve felt toward him.
Our fingertips brushing.
His mouth covered in blue moon ice cream and the urge to taste it.
The gut-punch reaction of him calling me a good boy.
It’s the strangest sensation, realizing I’m attracted to someone. I’ve always just known . Hell, I’ll know that I want a girl before even knowing the girl’s name most of the time. It’s instant. Chemical. A quick scan—do I want her or not, yes or no? Easy as breathing.
But with Hayden, it was an unraveling. So slow, so quiet, I hadn’t even realized it was happening until he said those two words: My ex-boyfriend.
Light bulb.
An answer to a question I had no idea I was asking.
I want him.
I’ve been wanting him, even without realizing it.
I stare up at the ceiling of my room, waiting for the gay— bisexual? —panic to settle in.
It doesn’t.
Okay, so I’m… bisexual. At least I am for Hayden Wallace. That is fucking unexpected, but manageable.
There’s a problem though. A major one. It’s not because Hayden has a cock. It’s because of the one thing I’ve let myself forget over the past weeks—Hayden’s the biggest threat to my secret. And there’s no way in hell he’d let his search for answers go if we dated. Which means he’s not an option, guy or not.
I might want him, but I can’t let myself have him. Not unless I’m willing to risk it all.
The realization sucks the life right out of me, leaving nothing but a shaky, hollow body in its wake. Just hours ago, I didn’t even know how badly I wanted him, but now that I do? I don’t know how I’ll let it go.
I suppose I’ll just have to go back to avoiding him. Surely, the want will go away then. It has to.
Turns out, having a shit ton of light bulbs illuminating a new desire is fucking awful. Especially when you have to ignore that desire. Every moment spent around Hayden is now torture. Beautiful, erection-inducing torture.
The thing is, Hayden’s Adam’s apple is larger than average. When he swallows, it bobs. And I realize that I want to know what it would feel like against my teeth and what sounds he’d make for me as I tested it.
The thing is, he wears a cologne I’ve never smelled before. Something subtle and warm, almost spicy. A far cry from the usual cheap shit us hockey players use. It’s expensive and manly in a sophisticated sort of way. And I find myself wondering if he’d leave that scent in my sheets after he was through with me.
The thing is, when he’s in his office doing paperwork, he wears glasses. They’re wire-framed and just short of perfect circles. They make him look like the hottest goddamn nerd to ever exist. And I want him to look up at me through them while I fuck him senseless. Or maybe down at me, while he fucks me senseless…
The thing is, there’s a taut stretch of skin beneath his belly button that gets exposed every time he has to reach for supplies on a high shelf. The area is dusted with dark, curly hair that disappears beneath his waistband like a siren song. And my mouth waters every time I see it.
The thing is, whenever he wears a dress shirt, he ends up rolling the sleeves by mid-afternoon, exposing his strong forearms. He has vascular arms, the veins prominent as they weave beneath his skin. And I want to trace them for hours, mapping out the very thing that keeps his body going until I have it memorized.
The thing is, anytime Coach comes around, Hayden develops a mischievous sort of aura. A cheeky grin. Squinted eyes. Loose posture. Easy laughs. And I get a little dizzy. Almost enchanted.
The thing is, when he’s upset, a tendon on the left side of his neck comes out and his eyebrows pull in and his big brown eyes become impossibly dark. It’s usually when one of us isn’t listening to his medical advice. I find myself wondering how to get that anger directed at me, wondering what it’d be like for him to snap, to shove me to my knees and press his cock so far down my throat he becomes my oxygen.
The thing is, I’m going fucking insane.
And I have the worst feeling that it’s only going to get worse.
I watch a lot of gay porn until I realize that isn’t going to help. See, the problem with watching that stuff is that it helps me visualize my fantasies even better. Before, there was just a vague concept of things I’d like to do to him or have him do to me. Now, I have vivid imagery to go off of, a myriad of templates where I can copy and paste us into positions and even hear what we might sound like while in them. It’s dangerous, making it nearly impossible for me to even be in the same room as him without feeling like either my heart or my cock—or both—might explode.
I stopped watching, but it’s too late. My brain isn’t letting any of what it’s learned go.
He’s on the ground, leaning over Knut with Knut’s right leg hitched over his shoulder, the back of his thigh blessed to Hayden’s chest. Hayden has one hand braced on Knut’s leg, the other braced on the floor beside Knut’s shoulder as he uses his body weight to stretch his muscles out. It’s obscene. How does no one see how fucking obscene this is?
My mouth waters as I watch Hayden easily roll back, switch Knut’s legs, then roll forward again. Would he move like that if he fucked me? What would that be like, having him over me? Having him… inside me? Would I like something in my ass? Would I even be able to handle it? What if he’s big? Would he be patient, maybe finger me open nice and slow, talk dirty to—
“What are we looking at?” Jules asks.
I jolt into awareness, but not quickly enough to stop myself from squeezing the drink in my hand. It explodes all over me and the floor, drawing the attention of everyone in the AT room—including Hayden. My body locks up as my eyes meet his. We haven’t talked in nearly a week. We haven’t even looked at each other—not like this, not openly or at the same time. I know I’ve been avoiding him out of self-preservation, but the brief hurt on his face before he quickly looks away makes me feel like absolute shit.
“Hayden,” I say without thinking.
He snaps his gaze to me again, his eyebrows raised.
Shit, what am I supposed to say now?
His expression is so full of hope it nearly guts me. I’m such an asshole.
“Can you do me next?” I choke the moment the words register in my own ears. For fuck’s sake. “Stretch me, I mean.” Oh, that’s worse, that’s so much worse. “I mean my—my legs. My muscles. In my legs. Like Knut.”
Something passes over his features for a moment, but it’s gone before I can place it, the man giving me a professionally distant smile instead. “Sure, Pope. I’m almost done with him. Give me just a minute.”
“You’re so fucking weird,” Jules mumbles beside me, shaking his head.
I can’t argue, so I just stand there, embracing my weirdness and waiting for my turn with the man I really, really, really shouldn’t let touch me.
It takes both an eternity and not nearly enough time for Knut to be done. Hayden sprays down the mat and quickly wipes it with a rag before looking at me hesitantly. “Ready?”
Not trusting my voice, I just get on the mat to show my readiness instead. He fumbles the rag and spray bottle for a moment before settling at my feet, his eyes downcast. “What needs attention?”
I fight the urge to grab his face and make him look at me. Not only would that cross a line, but it’d open me up to much more dangerous temptations. Like kissing him until he fucking smiles again.
“Pope?” He finally looks at me, his eyes sad. “What needs to be worked on?”
Getting you to smile again.
I miss your smile.
I miss you.
“My hamstrings,” I say instead. They are a little tight.
“They’re sore? When did you start feeling it?”
I frown, just now remembering how many questions this man likes to ask when it comes to my health. “Just a little sore, yeah. I woke up like that this morning.”
His eyebrows pull together in that way they always do when he’s trying to figure me out. I don’t get anxious this time though. The soreness is made up. There’s nothing for him to discover. Well, besides the truth, but sore legs have nothing to do with that.
“You shouldn’t be sore. Yesterday’s practice was light and you haven’t night skated all week.” My stomach clenches. He’s noticed my night skates have stopped? Does he know it’s because of him? “Have you been struggling with sleep again?”
Fuck me.
Maybe this was dangerous after all.
“I’ve been fine.”
“ Fine ,” he mumbles. I wait for an argument, but it doesn’t come. I tell myself I’m relieved. I should be relieved. “Well, lie back. We’ll get you sorted out.”
True relief washes over me as he slips into work mode, the awkwardness between us disappearing. It’s easy to follow his directions. Easy to lie back. To put one leg straight. To lift the other. To—to— ah, shit . His hand is on my thigh.
Hayden Wallace’s hand is on my thigh.
Alarms go off in my head as my skin begins to buzz with something dangerous. The hot zipping is emanating from where his hand is resting, traveling through my body to places I really shouldn’t be feeling it. At least not in fucking public. Or with someone— Hayden , of all people—close enough to notice.
Abort, you fucking idiot, abort right the fuck now!
He braces my knee so it can’t bend and begins to push my leg back. His chest presses against my calf. His stubbled chin brushes my bare ankle. I shudder. My cock throbs.
Oh no, oh no, fuck, fuck, no—
“All better!” I blurt, my voice so loud he startles back and drops my leg. I’ve never stood up so fast in my fucking life.
“Better?” He stands much more slowly than I had. “I barely—”
“I think I just need to warm up.” I force a laugh. The sound makes his frown deepen. “Not even that sore, really.”
“Pope.” He pauses to look around before stepping closer and lowering his voice. “If you’re uncomfortable—”
“I’m not. Really. I’m just a little sore—”
“Uncomfortable with me being gay,” he clarifies. Or finishes, I suppose, since I’d cut him off. I swallow hard at the sudden exposure of the elephant between us. It’s only made worse when he refuses to look away from me, his stare surprisingly cold. “Be professional enough to say something. We can create boundaries. Or you can work with Maggie. For fuck’s sake, I never thought you’d—”
“It’s not like that. Hey. No.” I grab him without meaning to, the realization that he thinks I have an issue with his sexuality gutting me. He stares at my hand on his wrist. I tell myself to let go, but my hand doesn’t obey. I try to focus on my words instead. They’re more important anyway. “It’s not that, Hayden. It’s—it’s me being weird like I’m always weird. I wasn’t even thinking about that. I’m just—” I pause, realizing the corner I’ve backed myself into. I can’t admit to him what I’ve been hiding for weeks now—that’d make all of this void—but I can’t let him keep thinking what he’s currently thinking either. “I don’t want to talk about it, alright? But it’s not about you being gay. It’s my own shit.”
“So our friendship has just suddenly vanished for no reason? Or your night skates? And you suddenly can’t meet my gaze or talk to me in full sentences? But none of that has to do with my telling you I’m gay, despite all of it starting right after?”
Fuck me sideways.
“I told you, I don’t like you analyzing me. I’m having a bad week, okay?” I manage to let go of his wrist. It doesn’t make me feel better, though. In fact, it just makes me feel unmoored. And a little bit like I can’t breathe. I hope he can’t hear it when I add, “It’s got nothing to do with you, Hayden. I’m sorry you feel like it does.”
The lie feels wrong, but it’s necessary. It’s not like I’m lying completely anyway—he really is wrong about why I’m avoiding him. Sure, it has just about everything to do with him instead of nothing to do with him, but it’s not because I’m some homophobe. It’s because I’ve suddenly discovered a very dire need to see him naked and know what his cock tastes like. White lies are necessary in such circumstances.
“Then let me stretch out your legs,” he says, his eyes narrowing by the end until it’s clear he’s giving me the adult version of a fucking dare.
My erection is gone and my anxiety is heightened enough now where I think I’d be safe, so I take him up on the dare and get back on the mat. His eyebrows jump in surprise before he joins me on the ground and grabs my leg again. I lick my suddenly very dry lips and watch him as he once again presses my leg forward. He doesn’t stop until I can feel his warm breath on my face.
“Good?” he asks, his voice husky and low.
“G-good,” I agree.
He drags his hand from my knee down to the back of my thigh, his thumb circling the area. I release a shaky breath at the touch. “Deep breaths. Give me twenty more seconds.”
Considering I’m not actually sore, it’s not a hard thing to do. It’s a great excuse for my trouble breathing though, so I nod and pretend it hurts more than it does. His thumb circles again. Why is he doing that? And why can I feel the touch in my cock?
Don’t get hard, don’t get hard, for fuck’s sake you stupid bastard, don’t you dare get hard.
The stupid bastard isn’t sure if it wants to listen, stirring a little in my shorts.
Don’t you fucking dare.
Oh god, now I’m mentally arguing with my fucking cock.
This is a new low.
This is the lowest of all the lows.
“Other leg.”
I release a breath of relief at the knowledge that this is halfway over and allow him to guide my other leg into the stretched out position the first was in. He braces my knee for a few seconds before asking if I’m good again. When I confirm, he brings his hand to my thigh like he had with the first leg. His thumb circles. Please, for the love of my sanity, stop doing that.
“Your muscles thankfully feel pretty loose,” he murmurs as he does the thumb thing again. I realize for the first time that he’s been pressing with his thumb, not just brushing it in circles. He must be testing my muscles. That makes much more sense. Doesn’t eliminate what the touch does to my cock though.
Hold it together, stupid bastard. I will give you the best fucking masturbating session tonight if you just hold it the fuck together.
“Are you having trouble sleeping again?”
And to make things worse, the interrogation starts once again. Great. I squeeze my eyes shut. “Hayden…”
“Is it anxiety, like before your first game?”
“I never said I had anxiety.”
He gives me a look. “I’m fairly certain we had discussed that you were anxious before the first game. I have an excellent memory, Pope.”
“I wasn’t anxious , remember? Just… nervous.” Shit . “This week was just shitty. I’m okay now.”
“Are you?” he asks, his voice suddenly softening. He leans closer to me, until I can smell the coffee on his breath. Hazelnut creamer—his favorite. “Talk to me, Pope. Please.”
I jerk away from him, my heart racing and my head going dizzy. My cock throbs in tandem with the panic in my chest. Who knew it was possible to be terrified and turned on all at once? I’m not a fan. Not even a little bit.
“Drop it, Hayden. For once, just fucking drop it.”
I leave before he can push the issue further, not even pausing when I see Jules standing to the side, still watching us, his eyebrow raised.
“Come on,” I growl as I pass him. “We’ve got a game to play.”