Chapter 12 #2
“Thanks,” I say. And I mean it. But I’m also suddenly so aware of how badly I want to get out of here. Not forever. Just long enough to feel what today means. Just long enough to have Theo—without pretending, without hiding, without even speaking.
I spin toward Theo as casually as I can and say, “You cool to help me grab my bag?”
He straightens immediately. “Absolutely.”
We duck out of the room with a few quick nods and fake mentions of packing or organizing, and I catch my mom smirking faintly, like she knows exactly what’s happening and is choosing not to ruin it.
Theo doesn’t say anything until the suite door closes behind us.
Then we’re moving fast—down the hall to where my room is. The second the door is locked, I press him back against it and kiss him like the biggest moment of my life didn’t happen an hour ago.
His hands slide up under my shirt, fingers pressing into my sides like he’s trying to memorize every inch of me. “You okay?” he breathes between kisses.
“No,” I say, and laugh softly. “But I will be.”
He pulls back to meet my eyes. “Detroit.”
I nod. “It’s closer to you. Closer than Atlanta, than home. We’ll make this work.”
He grins that same grin from my senior high school year when we first kissed covered in foam. “You’re really doing it.”
“We’re really doing it,” I correct. “You’ve been there every step.”
His hand cups the back of my neck. “I’ll be there for all the rest.”
And then we stop talking. Because some things—like celebration, like hope, like love—don’t need words. Not when they’re pressed into skin and whispered in the dark.
Not when they already feel like forever.
But we don’t have much time. Not right now.
Instead, we’re all hands and mouths, breathless laughter against skin, a tangle of limbs and need. My hoodie hits the floor. Theo’s fingers are in my hair like he’s trying to ground us both, but the urgency between us decides otherwise. It’s not slow. It’s not sweet. Not this time.
Theo pushes me backward onto the bed, eyes dark with heat, mouth swollen from kissing like we forgot how to stop. The world outside—the sunset, laughter—dissolves beyond the door we locked. Here, it’s just us.
His hands are everywhere. Sliding under my shirt, curling around my ribs, greedy in a way that makes my chest tighten with something bigger than just want. My pulse stutters when he pulls the shirt over my head and tosses it aside like it offends him.
“God, Caden,” he mutters, leaning down to kiss just below my collarbone, lips dragging heat across skin. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”
I don’t answer. I can’t. His mouth finds that spot just under my jaw and I shiver, fingers tightening in the sheets. It’s like every part of him is tuned to mine. He knows exactly where to touch, where to bite. And I’m burning for him.
I tug at his shirt until he lifts his arms and lets me strip it away, revealing the lines of muscle I’ve memorized from too many nights of doing exactly this. I run my hands down his chest, over his stomach, and he exhales like I knocked the wind out of him.
“Come here,” I whisper, and he does.
He kisses me again, rough and perfect, but then he breaks away just long enough to press his forehead against mine, our breaths mingling, sweat already clinging to our skin. “This feels like a dream,” he says, voice low and wrecked.
“Then don’t wake up,” I say breathily.
He grins—and then he’s moving again, trailing heated kisses down my body like he’s starving for it, like touching me is the only way he remembers how to breathe. His hands hook into the waistband of my shorts, unhurried just for a second, like he’s giving me the chance to stop him.
I don’t.
He drags them down, and then he’s there—between my thighs, looking up at me like I’m something sacred, even now, even with nothing left to hide between us.
“Cade,” he murmurs, voice rough with want, “you’re gonna ruin me.”
And then his mouth is on me. It’s hot, measured, devastating. I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek to keep from making a sound that would definitely get us caught.
Theo’s always been good at this. Focused. Intent. Like he’s proving how well he knows me by feel, pressure, and rhythm. His eyes flick up once, and the sight almost undoes me.
The room is dim, quiet but for my harsh breathing, the faint whisper of his lips moving up and down my dick, and the wet pull of sweet suction.
My fingers tangle in his hair, not pushing, not guiding—just needing to hold on.
His tongue drags over me like he’s savoring it.
Like he wants this just as much as I do. Like maybe he needs it.
My limbs shake, and I brace myself with one hand, the other still buried in his hair. My chest tightens with something more than lust. It’s him. It’s always him.
He cups my balls gently, fingers firm but tender, like he’s not just trying to bring me pleasure—he’s trying to tell me something.
Like he loves me without needing to say the words out loud again.
It’s all in the way he touches me, the way he lets me tremble, lets me hold back the sounds I can’t afford to make.
My heart pounds against my ribs the deeper he sucks. My breath comes out in short, shallow gasps. And still, he moves with calm precision, like he knows my body better than I do.
My stomach coils. My thighs tense. I’m so close, and the only thing I want is to come whispering his name like a prayer. But I grit my teeth, trying to hold back, the fire of it building behind my eyes.
“Theo,” I rasp. Just his name. Nothing else. My voice is wrecked.
He hums around me, and that’s it. I fall. Not loudly. Not dramatically. But inside, it’s a crash. A beautiful, blinding collapse.
When I finally open my eyes again, Theo is resting his cheek against my hip, looking up at me with a small, smug smile.
“Happy Draft Day,” he says, soft and cocky at the same time.
I huff out a shaky laugh. “You’re gonna kill me.”
He moves leisurely, kissing my stomach, my chest, then my lips, like he’s putting me back together. “I hope not,” he says, brushing his thumb across my cheek. “We’ve still got years to go.”
I pull him close and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. My hands slide down his back, fitting over the curve of his hips. “Come here,” I murmur, voice rough. “Climb up. Let me take care of you.”
Theo’s eyes turn molten. He hesitates for half a second—just long enough to confirm he heard me right—then moves, smooth and sure.
He straddles my waist with a confidence that makes my breath catch.
His knees press into the mattress on either side of me, and he shuffles forward and lowers himself slowly, settling across my chest.
The weight of him grounds me. His skin is warm against mine, and I let my hands roam against his skin, dragging my palms up his thighs before palming his ass. He shudders.
I tilt my head up, urging him forward, then dragging my mouth across his balls until he’s squirming. I love how responsive he is—always have. Every sigh, every twitch of his body, every subtle shift of his hips tells me exactly what he needs.
“You look so good like this,” I whisper. “Always do.”
Theo leans down, catching my eyes. His lips are red, eyes glazed. “Then don’t stop,” he says softly.
“Wasn’t planning on it.”
His breath catches as he dips his hips forward and I mouth his cock, urging him deeper. I adjust his angle and mine, giving him more access, letting him move the way he needs.
We don’t rush it.
It’s messy, and hot, and good—better than good—and all the while, I keep my eyes on him. Every flicker of emotion, every soft curse, every whispered, “Caden,” makes something twist sweet and sharp in my chest.
I love him.
God, I love him.
And when he falls apart, his cum spurting deep in my throat, gasping against the bedhead, shaking with the force of it, I hold his thighs, cradling him through it, drinking him down.
He pulls out and collapses on top of me. We’re both slumped against the mattress, breathing like we just ran drills. We don’t say anything for a minute. We just lie here, pressed together, my hand on his back, his thumb brushing lazy circles over my hip like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he stops.
Eventually, he huffs a soft laugh. “Well. That was… celebratory.”
“Understatement of the year,” I say, grinning into his shoulder. “It kinda sucks we need to get moving.”
True. I nod in response and press a kiss to his lips. “We really do.”
We clean up in the bathroom, trading towel swipes and teasing smirks. My legs are still half Jell-O, and Theo’s hair is a mess—completely my fault. He tries to tame it with water, but I stop him. “Leave it,” I murmur. “It’s perfect.”
He rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t touch it again. We both know we’ve pushed our luck timewise. So we straighten our clothes, check for signs of anything obvious, and head for the door.
I glance back once as I open it. Theo does too. There’s something in his eyes—satisfaction, affection, disbelief. He leans in before either of us can overthink it, catching my mouth in a kiss that’s supposed to be quick but lingers anyway.
It’s instinct, not strategy. Just a tiny, helpless moment between us.
And of course, that’s when we hear someone clear their throat.
We both freeze.
Standing just a few feet down the hall, dressed in business-casual exasperation and holding a phone like it’s part of his arm, is Marcus.
Theo stiffens beside me.
“Sorry,” I start. “We were just—”
Marcus lifts a hand. “Don’t.”
I shut my mouth.
There’s a long beat where none of us move. Then Marcus sighs, scrubs a hand over his face, and gives us a look that lands somewhere between exhausted and bemused.
“Listen, I don’t care if you two are writing love letters on each other’s Gatorade labels,” Marcus says, arms crossed but not unkind. “But if you’re gonna be kissing in hotel hallways on the night you sign your first pro contract? Try not to do it where a PR rep or scout might see it. All right?”
We both straighten like we’re back in high school and just got caught making out behind the bleachers. Theo clears his throat and looks away. I rub the back of my neck.
“Sorry,” I say, sheepish.
Marcus exhales and waves it off. “I get it. You’re young. It’s a big night. Emotions are high, and your guy is hot. But I’ve got to ask…” His eyes flick between us, serious now. “Are you planning to come out?”
The weight of that question sinks into my gut. Theo glances at me, letting me lead again. I shake my head. “Not yet.”
Marcus nods slowly. “And this—” He gestures between us again, less flippant this time. “—is serious?”
“Yes,” I say.
“Very,” Theo adds.
Marcus gives us a long, assessing look. Then something softer settles over his features. “All right. I’m glad you’re keeping it quiet. I know it sucks, but the truth is, the first openly gay—”
“Bisexual,” I correct quietly.
He nods. “Right. Queer. The first openly queer guy to play in the league? That’s going to be huge. And it’s not going to be easy.”
He doesn’t say what I already know: I’m not a guaranteed success story.
I wasn’t drafted. I’m coming in as an undrafted free agent, trying to earn a spot in a league that chews people up.
My contract might say “two-way,” but that just means a split between the big team and the G League. No promises. No guarantees.
Marcus doesn’t have to say it. I feel it in the silence between us.
“I know,” I murmur.
“Then keep your head down. Focus on training camp. Make them want you so bad, they forget to blink.”
I nod.
“And if you need help navigating any of this, I’m your guy. Not the coaches, not the front office. Me.”
I nod again, more firmly. “Thanks.”
Marcus gives Theo a long, thoughtful look. “And you—if you’re in this, be ready for the long haul. This world? It’s not always kind.”
Theo lifts his chin. “I know. I’ve known that a long time.”
“Good,” Marcus says. “Because from what I’ve seen, you’re both in deep.”
“We are,” I say without hesitation.
He stares at us a moment longer, then claps a hand on my shoulder. “Then congratulations, North. You’re officially in the league. Don’t screw it up.”
And just like that, he turns and walks off, leaving the two of us standing alone in the hallway.
Theo lets out a breath. “Well. That wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been.”
I glance over at him, still feeling the echo of Marcus’s words in my chest. “No,” I say. “It wasn’t.”