Chapter Eleven
Obviously Eric shouldn’t have kissed Kyle. Not that it hadn’t been nice.
Nice. Jesus, it had been earth shaking. It had been...affirming. He hadn’t been kissed in over a year, and he’d never been kissed like that. He hadn’t been able to stop smiling or touching his own lips for the entire cab ride home.
But just because it had been a hell of a kiss it didn’t mean—
Ow!
Eric shook his blocker off and then removed his mask. “Hey, you want to fuck off with those head shots?” he yelled to everyone on the ice at once. “That fucking hurt.”
“Sorry, Benny,” Matti said, skating up to him with a concerned expression. “That one got away from me.”
Eric sighed as he rubbed his forehead. In truth, he should have been paying closer attention. He hated how distracted he’d been all practice. “Just be careful,” he grumbled as he put his mask back on.
He was exhausted. Not only had he stayed out later than usual last night, he’d also been completely unable to sleep after he’d gotten home. His body had buzzed with adrenaline after that kiss. His mind had raced with the possibilities of what Kyle had so casually offered him.
No strings attached.
Eric knew that was a thing. Friends with benefits, or whatever. He’d just never had that before and he wasn’t sure he could have that. He might not be built that way.
But he also couldn’t ask Kyle for more. Sex with an older man was one thing, a relationship with someone fifteen years older than you was another.
So last night he’d convinced himself that he would not take Kyle up on his generous offer.
Then he’d gotten himself off in his usual, efficient manner.
Even that relief hadn’t been enough to lull him to sleep, though, and he’d been left tossing and turning for hours.
Eric needed to focus. His team was fourth in their division and they were heading out on a road trip tomorrow morning against some tough opponents.
His personal goals against average was far from his best, but it wasn’t abysmal either.
He was still on track to finish this season—finish his career—with dignity.
He’d like to keep some dignity in his personal life too.
Dating a much younger man would pretty much make him a walking midlife crisis, and Eric really didn’t want that kind of attention.
He couldn’t stomach the idea of being a recently divorced man rebounding with a pretty young thing.
And then there was the fact that Kyle was a man.
Coach Murdock blew his whistle. “Let’s bring those nets in. Farmer, Woody,” he barked at two of the rookies. “Grab a net. Push them to the edges of the circle here.” He pointed his stick at the circle in the corner to Eric’s left.
Eric skated over to Carter, just to get out of Woody’s way. Carter fist-bumped Eric’s blocker and said, “Tiny rink!”
“You love tiny rink.”
“Because I’m the best at it.”
Eric snatched a puck with his goalie stick and started batting it back and forth on the ice. “I’ve been shit this practice.”
“Did someone keep you up last night?”
The puck got away from Eric. “No,” he lied.
“In the locker room you looked a little...” Carter waved a hand around in a manner that suggested absolutely nothing Eric could decipher. “Dreamy.”
“You’re making shit up.”
Carter pointed at his own eyes. “These don’t lie.”
“Apparently they do because—”
“Okay, gentlemen,” Coach bellowed. “Get to the circle. One goalie in each net, and we’re doing one-on-one drills until I tell you to stop.”
Eric skated off to the far net. When he passed Tommy, he nudged him and said, “Give ’em hell.”
“You know it.”
The players gathered to one side of the circle, and Coach sent two players in to battle each other for the puck and to try to take shots on one of the nets.
Eric usually enjoyed these drills, but the small ice surface meant he could never relax.
He had to stay focused on the action because it never moved more than a few meters away from him. Today it felt exhausting.
Eric didn’t like being scored on during practice any more than he liked it during games. But his ability to stop pucks was far more dependent on his mental state than his physical state, and today his mental state was a shitshow. Even the rookies were scoring on him.
When the drill was finally over, the goalie coach, Quinn Cameron, gestured Eric over to the bench. “What’s going on, Eric?”
Eric flipped his mask up. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”
“Explains why you look like shit.” Quinn studied him, frowning. “Not sleeping. That’s not like you.”
“I know.”
“Is that all it is?”
Eric shrugged one massive, padded shoulder. “I think so.”
“How’s your head? That shot from Matti looked like it stung.”
“It wasn’t that bad. I’m just cranky today.”
Quinn smirked. “Comes with getting older.”
“Yeah yeah.”
Quinn only had ten years on Eric, but he looked much older.
He walked with a noticeable limp thanks to a slap shot that had shattered his ankle when he’d played in the NHL himself.
He’d had a hip replacement when he was about Eric’s age, and, thanks to years of taking shots to the head like the one Eric had just downplayed, he was prone to dizzy spells.
Eric had had his share of injuries himself over the years; his left shoulder was a frequent source of grief but had been relatively fine since the last operation he’d had.
He did as much as he could off the ice to balance the punishment his body endured on the ice.
He was teased by his teammates for being a health nut, but Eric didn’t want to end up like Quinn.
If yoga, sleep, and eating clean even gave him a chance of avoiding that, he would keep it up.
This was the fourth practice in a row that Eric had planned to tell his coaches that he would be retiring after this season.
It would be so easy to ask Quinn, right now, to assemble the coaches so Eric could tell them.
But he couldn’t bring himself to form the words.
The truth was, he was scared. Once he announced it, it would be real.
No matter how sure he was in his heart that this was the right decision, he wasn’t ready for it to be real.
His brain was so cluttered today. His fear of walking away from hockey warred with his fear of his desire for Kyle.
These thoughts swirled with the stress of his poor performance in today’s practice, the exhilaration of finally exploring his sexuality, and the terrifying uncertainty his future held.
He really needed a nap.
He decided, after he’d showered and dressed, to walk from the arena to his house. He hoped the fresh air and the additional exercise would help to clear his head. As he walked, he tried to think reasonably about what Kyle had suggested. He unpacked the facts and laid them out neatly in his mind.
The first was that he liked Kyle, was attracted to him, and it seemed that the attraction was mutual.
The second fact was that Kyle seemed to have a very uncomplicated relationship with sex and had offered to have sex with Eric.
The third fact was that Eric was nervous about having sex with a man.
Or with anyone, really. It had only been Holly since he’d been a teenager, and it hadn’t been very often during their last few years together.
The fourth fact was he couldn’t really imagine hooking up with a stranger.
It just didn’t appeal to him. In fact, it kind of repulsed him.
Fact number five: the idea of sex with Kyle did not repulse him. At all.
Eric sorted through these facts for his entire walk home.
He examined each one, shuffling them around like cards and hoping a clear course of action would appear.
The thing he kept getting stuck on was that he wasn’t sure what it meant, that he wanted to have sex with Kyle.
He knew it was a simple logic problem: Eric Bennett only likes having sex with people he has feelings for.
Eric Bennett wants to have sex with Kyle. Therefore...
And that right there was why he couldn’t have sex with Kyle.
Unless he could.
Fucking hell.
When Eric got home, he ran straight up to his room and collapsed on his bed. It was so soft and wonderful.
And lonely.
Eventually, when he felt like moving again, he slipped out of his clothes and settled himself under the blankets.
When he closed his eyes he remembered every detail of kissing Kyle last night.
The heat of Kyle’s tongue, and the cool press of his fingers where they’d touched Eric’s jaw.
The sweet way he’d laughed when Eric had greedily leaned in for more.
Eric blushed. Was Kyle thinking about that kiss as much as he was? Probably not.
His skin felt hot everywhere, and he kicked off the blankets. Normally, jerking off was not a daily event for him, but his hand found its way to his cock and started his usual routine of quick, hard pumps. He came quickly, as always, catching his release in his hand.
As he was washing up in the bathroom a few minutes later, he wondered what it might be like for sex to be something that he wasn’t just trying to get over with.
For sexual release to not merely be maintenance he provided to his body, like getting a massage, or stretching.
He’d never been adventurous in bed, and he’d never deliberately drawn out his jerk-off sessions.
He focused on achieving orgasm, and the way his body responded to the release of tension.