Chapter Thirteen
At six o’clock on Thursday evening, Kyle was at Eric’s front door with a backpack and a serious appetite for both food and sex.
Eric opened the door looking absurdly gorgeous. His white dress shirt was open at the collar and had the sleeves rolled up, and suddenly Kyle couldn’t care less about food.
“Hey,” Eric said, stepping aside to let Kyle in. “Thanks for coming.”
“I was probably going to be watching Guy’s Grocery Games or something, so I appreciate the invitation.” He kissed Eric’s cheek as he walked past him into the house.
Eric took his coat and gestured to the bag Kyle was holding. “What did you bring this time?”
“Ingredients for another mocktail.”
Eric smiled warmly, as if he was immensely touched by this. “That’s very thoughtful. I do have some wine, if you’d—”
“Nope. I’m good.” No way was Kyle going to be even slightly tipsy tonight if things turned to Eric trusting Kyle to take him to bed.
“I hope you don’t mind vegetarian food,” Eric said as they went up the stairs to the kitchen.
“Of course not.” Kyle also didn’t mind this view of Eric’s ass and thighs as he followed him up the stairs. Even covered in denim, his thighs looked like they could crush cars.
“I’m not a chef by any stretch, but I can make a few things. Do you like eggs?”
“Love them.”
“Good. I made shakshuka. It’s—”
“Eggs cooked in a tomato sauce. I love that stuff!”
“Me too. I bought some good bread and I thought we could eat it at the island in the kitchen, since you need to eat it out of the skillet.”
Kyle loved this idea. It was fun and intimate. The perfect date meal. Maybe Eric had more game than he let on.
He followed Eric to the kitchen. You couldn’t tell that anyone had been preparing food in there, except for the cast iron skillet full of bubbling tomato sauce.
Other than that, the room was immaculate.
Eric went to the fridge and pulled out a carton of eggs.
Kyle decided to get to work on the drinks.
“What are you making?” Eric asked.
“It’s going to be kind of a zero proof version of a mojito.” Kyle waved a bunch of fresh mint in the air.
“I’ve never had a mojito.”
“Since you like soda and lime so much, I thought it might appeal to you.” Kyle went to the cupboard and pulled out two tall glasses.
“It’s lime and mint muddled with some syrup or sugar, and then topped with soda water.
Obviously there’s normally rum as well, but I made a spiced syrup to stand in for that missing flavor. ”
“Impressive.” Eric cracked a fourth egg into the skillet. “You’ll have to teach me how to make some of these drinks.”
“You can help me make these, if you want.” Kyle began plucking leaves from a mint stem. “So you’ve really never been a drinker?”
“Never. Not even in college.”
“I know it’s none of my business, but is there a reason?”
“I like control.” Eric picked up a stem and joined Kyle in removing the leaves. “I need to be in charge of my mind and body. And I like to keep my body as clean as possible.”
“You’ve never felt the urge to cut loose? Relax that control?”
“Not often. But when I do, there are...other ways to do that.”
Kyle tore a leaf in half, his fingers suddenly clumsy. “I might know a couple of ways.”
Eric gazed at him with dark, smoldering eyes. Kyle held his gaze, letting him know that he was comfortable discussing this. Or, hell, just doing it, shakshuka be damned.
Eric went to check on the eggs. “Another couple of minutes and they’ll be perfect, I think.”
“Come help me muddle.”
Kyle showed Eric how to gently mash the mint leaves into the bottom of the glasses with a muddler Kyle had brought along.
He explained how he’d made the syrup, and the importance of flavor balance in a cocktail.
Eric was a keen student, listening closely and asking questions.
When they were done, there were two tall glasses of non-alcoholic mojitos that were worthy of Instagram.
“You should be a bartender,” Eric joked.
“I wish I could make stuff like this at work.” Kyle sighed. “Someday.”
“Someday?”
Kyle could guess how Eric, with his Harvard degree and impressive NHL career, might react to this. “I think it’s what I want to do. Bartending. Hospitality. Maybe have my own bar someday.”
Eric’s brow furrowed. “What about your studies? I thought you might want to be a professor. Or maybe work for a museum.”
Sorry to disappoint you, buddy. “I like what I’m studying, but I think my real passion is taking care of people.
Making sure they’re having a good time. I think providing an inviting space where people can relax and have fun is an important service.
” Good god, Kyle was overselling the hell out of this.
It was uncomfortably similar to conversations he’d had with his parents. He waited for Eric’s admonishment.
“You’re good at it,” Eric said. “I think you’d be great at running a bar or restaurant.”
Kyle was so thrown by the Eric’s encouraging words that for a moment he just stared at him, stunned. Then he finally nodded and said, “Thanks. It’s just a dream for now.”
“Dreams are important.” Eric brought the skillet over and set it on a folded towel in the middle of the island. “I wouldn’t be in the NHL without dreams.”
Kyle wasn’t sure why Eric’s kind words were so jarring. His friends said encouraging things to him all the time. Was it because Eric was older? Or maybe because he was one of the most impressive people Kyle had ever met? Or was there another reason that Kyle was so thrilled by his approval?
Kyle spotted the bread in a paper bag and grabbed it. “God, this all looks amazing.” He sat in one of the stools opposite where Eric was standing. “This bread smells incredible.”
“Bread is my weakness,” Eric said sheepishly. “I’ve tried to give it up, but...”
“You’ve got to have some fun.”
“Yeah. I can’t quit bread.”
Kyle lifted his glass. “To bread.”
Eric smiled and clinked his own glass against Kyle’s. “To bread.” He took a sip, and smiled. “This is delicious.”
“Refreshing, right?”
“Very. We just need a beach instead of Manhattan in December.” Eric stayed on the other side of the island, standing with one elbow resting on the countertop. They ate the first few bites in silence, ripping chunks off the loaf of bread and dragging them through the rich tomato sauce.
“This is a good move, by the way,” Kyle said. “The shakshuka. It would be a smart thing to serve if you have a real date over. I’m totally charmed by this.”
For a moment, Eric looked confused. Then he smiled in a way that didn’t look entirely natural and said, “I’ll keep that in mind.”
They hadn’t even made it through dinner and Eric already felt vulnerable and stupid. Of course he knew that Kyle wasn’t his boyfriend or anything, but the reminder that this wasn’t a real date still felt like a slap shot to the stomach.
He needed to get over himself. Kyle was here to help, not fall in love.
“I’ve been considering the best way to approach this,” Eric said. It sounded like he was conducting a job interview. He tried again. “I mean... I’ve been thinking about what we might do. Tonight.”
Kyle’s blue eyes sparkled. Eric was glad he’d worn his glasses tonight. They made him seem...softer. “Oh yeah? What have you been thinking about?”
Eric pushed a chunk of bread around the skillet, trying to gather courage. “I don’t know if I’m ready for, um, penetration.”
He glanced up to find Kyle shrugging easily. “Fine with me. I have about a million ideas for things we could do that don’t involve anal. I assume that’s what you mean.”
“Yeah. That.”
Kyle walked around the island until he was standing beside Eric. “We can do whatever you’re comfortable with. Even if that’s me thanking you for a lovely meal and saying goodnight.”
“You came over here for more than that.”
“Doesn’t matter.” Kyle grabbed his hand. “Lesson one, Eric: you are never under any obligation to do anything. If you invite someone over for sex and then change your mind, you can do that. Always.”
Eric stared at their joined hands, fascinated by the long, slender fingers that tangled with his own meatier ones. “Seems rude, though.”
“Again, that doesn’t matter. You are never obligated.
Although, if someone gets you off and they aren’t a complete fucking jerk, it is considered bad manners to leave them hanging.
But it’s still your choice. And if they are a complete fucking jerk, then let them walk out of here with aching balls, I say. ”
“Noted.” Kyle was so close, and all Eric could think about was kissing him. “But if they aren’t a complete jerk, and if I’m still...interested?”
“Then,” Kyle said huskily, “you should let them know. Just so they’re sure.”
Finally Eric gathered up his courage and asked, “Can I kiss you?”
Kyle tilted his chin up. “Please.”
He stayed perfectly still, letting Eric come to him.
A jolt shot through Eric when their lips met—excitement mingled with relief that he finally had what he’d been obsessing over for days.
Kyle’s lips were so soft and warm, and he was kissing him back so sweetly, not pushing.
When Eric opened his mouth, and their tongues brushed against each other, he tasted the spices from the tomato sauce, and the mint from the mojitos.
Kyle tangled his fingers into Eric’s hair, tugging gently, and why was that so fucking hot? When Eric groaned into his mouth, Kyle took control of the kiss, walking Eric backward until he bumped up against the refrigerator.
That small change—the sudden feeling of being trapped between the stainless steel and Kyle’s firm, warm body—flipped a switch inside him. He had a very rare lapse of control, kissing Kyle wildly, desperately trying to pull him even closer. When had he last been this turned on? Had he ever been?
“Let’s go upstairs,” Kyle murmured against his lips.
As turned on as he was, Eric still couldn’t help glancing around the kitchen. He knew he’d get teased for this, but he had to say it. “Okay. But first, do you mind if I clean up?”