Chapter 21 Cory
Ijust blew the man of my dreams. I’d say it’s one of the best days of my life if I hadn’t come in my pants like a pimple-faced virgin.
“Oh fuck. Oh fuck this is bad.”
Okay, maybe something could.
I glance up to James, and yep, he looks like he might pass out. His frown is next level. He’s freaking out and I need to fix it. “Really, really, really bad.”
“But did bad ever feel so good?” I run my hands up over his thick calves.
“I like it, James. A lot. This could be a whole new persona for me. Bad Cubby.” The twitch at edges of his lips relaxes the knot that frowny face formed in my stomach.
“Which means I have to do that again. I need to see that come face at least once more.” Climbing off the floor, and onto James’ lap, I run my hands over his chest. He moans as my tongue swipes over his bottom lip, then bites my own when I try to pull away.
“Whatboutyou.” His words slur together and I feel my cheeks glow like the tip of the Eiffel fucking Tower. I did that, I think to myself. I sucked him stupid.
“No need. I blew two seconds after you started fucking my mouth. That was intense, Doc. I’m impressed.” His blush deepens and I can’t stop myself from tracing his cheek with my thumb. He really is gorgeous.
Unable to resist, I pull him into me for another kiss, clinging onto his neck when he attempts to pull back, a loose smile-the kind I’ve never seen-softening his face.
I could get used to this.
It’s temporary though, and I see the second it clicks, that all this, the impressive belt removal, the groping, the squeezing of ass, the current gripping for dear life, has been done with one hand.
“Christ, Cory. Your fucking shoulder.”
“It’s fine, see.” Fighting hard not to wince, I jiggle my arm. “Still there.”
“I could have hurt you. Exacerbated the injury.”
“But you didn’t. In fact, I can’t feel a thing.” His brows, relaxed a beat ago furrow, and desperation sinks deep into my bones. I know enough of James to understand any dereliction of his duties will send him running to the hills faster than anything else will.
“You will. I haven’t even assessed you. Tested your range of movement. This … this is … this is why I should never have taken advantage.”
Now it’s me pulling back. Me who’s pissed. “Taken advantage? Who says you’ve taken advantage of me? Right now there’s two of us that know about this and I sure as fuck don’t feel a victim here.”
“Not the point.” Before I can blink, James has his pants up and is furiously scrubbing his hands in the basin, foam halfway up his forearms and splattering over the mirror before him.
“If you still trust me, up on the table. If not, I’ll go get Coach White.
” As he speaks, his eyes remain glued to the bubbles sliding down the drain.
“Of course I still trust you. There’s no one I trust more.”
“Probably not a good idea, Kid.”
“I’m not a fucking kid.”
“Dammit, don’t you think I know that?” Clenching his fists, Jamie glares at me in the reflection and for a second I fear he’s going to punch and shatter the glass.
Instead he turns and almost tears the paper towel dispenser from the wall.
“You think I don’t see what kind of man you are?
That I don’t stay awake at night wanting to do to you what you just did to me? ”
I slide off the table I’d just mounted and position myself between James and the door. No way he’s escaping. “So we both want the same thing. What’s the problem?”
“The problem is, I have two semesters to finish my training and I need to finish it, Cory. I have a family. Responsibilities. Debt coming out of my ass.”
“I get that, I do. But why does that mean there can’t be a few hundred thousand little mes coming out of your ass at the same time?” Eyes darting between mine, he looks confused, frustrated. As second later his expression switches to one of shock and he barks out a loud, unexpected laugh.
“That’s freaking disgusting.”
“True though.”
It’s as he chuckles, I notice what I didn’t before. The dark circles marring the skin below his lashes. He looks defeated and suddenly tired. And I feel like shit for adding to his stress. Facing me, James takes a few steps back, turns and all but collapses onto the bed.
Keep your distance, I tell myself. That’s the wise thing to do.
But nobody has ever called me a genius. The intrusive thoughts, the need to touch that tingles the very tips of my fingers has feet thoughtlessly moving ‘til I’m back by his side, shoulders and thighs pressed together.
“I’m a student, yes. I know it complicates things, but I like you, Jamie.
And even though you’re hairy and old as fuck—”
“You know, I don’t really like the Jamie thing, and I’m barely three years older.”
“Whatever, Grampa. As I was saying, I’m more attracted to you than I have been to anyone … ever. This time next year, if not sooner, I’ll be in Canada. So I’m not asking for your hand in marriage here. Just time for some more discreet dinners, and laughs and a lot more coming.”
Puffing out his cheeks, something he seems to do as often as he rolls his eyes, he turns slightly then exhales, slow and shaken. “I like you too.”
“You do?” I’m caught off-guard, because that’s not what I expected. Nor is the edging sideways until our legs squish. Or the hand landing on my thigh, fingers splaying until they cover its entire width. He starts and stops a few times before finally settling on what to say.
“I do. A lot actually. But if life has taught me anything, it’s that the old adage, you can’t always get what you want, is true. I already feel like I’m trapped in a life I don’t want to be mine, and I’m not tying you to a sinking ship. You have too much to look forward to.”
Whoa. No one should look or sound this sad so soon after a blow job.
“You may not know this,” I say, fingers absentmindedly twirling through the dark hair on his leg, “but in the Marvel Universe there’s this concept of the life raft.
Mr. Fantastic, Spider-Man, Thor, Captain Marvel, Doctor Strange, and a few others are always on board, and no matter what cataclysmic event occurs, those on the raft will always survive and rebuild.
Admittedly, I’m not quite at their level.
But I am surprisingly buoyant. Maybe you could try hanging on to me for a little while. See if we can ride the waves together.”
Looking slightly less pained, James raises his hand to cup my face, thumb caressing my jaw. His expression is tender, almost loving. “Did anyone ever tell you you’re a complete nerd?”
I left that treatment room with a suspected grade-one AC joint injury, the taste of James still on my tongue, and enough hope of future hook-ups with my sexy doc to override any pain.
Completing the mix of glorious and bad was Coach Harris.
He was so pissed at Trent for his overenthusiastic boarding he suspended him from training with the team for a week.
For someone like me, that lives and breathes hockey, that would be devastating.
For Trent, it was laughable. He couldn’t have given a shit and ended up spending a week living it up in NYC.
So no Trent was a major up, but it was all down hill from there, and further confirmation of my belief that when life feels to good to be true, it’s about to fuck you over.
James’ original diagnosis of a grade-one AC joint injury was confirmed with scans the next day, and after consulting with the Mounties trainers, Coach White and James gave me the bad news.
“We’re probably being over cautious, Cubby,” White said, empathy warming his tone.
“But the Mounties want to make sure you’re fully healed before hitting the ice again.
We’ll keep up the cardio and James will work on some stretching, but—”
“How long?”
“Three weeks, no ice time.”
Yup. Devastating.
Twenty-one days meant I’d only be back two weeks before our first game.
Today marks the end of week two. I’ve not laid a hand, or tongue, on James.
I can’t skate. I’ve spent three shifts at Green Line assisting from the sidelines, unable to do my job fully, I can’t help out Mom around the house like I usually do, and I am climbing the fucking walls.
“What good is a captain who watches on from the bench? He may as well not even be here.” Shit attitudes like this aren’t helping.
After a really, really, really deep breath, I unclench my fists and respond, “I may not be able to skate, Trent. But I can show the freshman the benefits of dedicating to a solid recovery program.” I don’t actually know if I believe this, but it sounds good.
“I can also not be a dick. You should try it sometime.” That I do believe. Wholeheartedly.
A rowdy round of Ooooos sees Trent rage-o-meter go from zero to one hundred. “I thought you liked dicks. In fact, I heard you more than love them. I heard you’re gagging for them.” The team falls silent. All you can hear is the steam erupting from my ears. Or maybe I’m just imagining that.
On my behalf, Sam and Lucas go on the offensive which is great, because I’m too busy being stuck in my own head. Trent’s constant gay slurs could be random jabs by a homophobic loser, or he could be onto my secret.
The question is how? I’ve been super careful at school, making sure I don’t hook-up with anyone from BC.
And I’ve not so much as blinked at another guy in the locker room, which has been particularly easy because none of the team do it for me, because I don’t want to fuck every guy that moves, despite what assholes like Hoffman think.
Wait.
Hoffman.
The Mounties.
McKinney.
Our little closet hook-up.
Connor fucking Hoffman.
Fucking fuck.
Panicked and needing confirmation, I toss the iPad I was using to record set play drills onto the bench.
It slips off, because of course it does, and lands with a crack on the concrete floor, drawing all eyes to me and the sprint I’ve broken into.
“Look at him run,” Trent wheezes with laughter. “Some fucking leader.”
Leaving his continued chirps in my wake, I again leave my defense to my teammates and high-tail it to the locker room. Seconds later, my phone is in my hands, and I’m unblocking Nate McKinney’s number.
Surprisingly, he answers on the first ring.
“Cory?”
“McKinney, hey. Yeah, it’s me, Cory. Sorry to call out of the blue like this but–”
“I thought I must have put your number in wrong,” he says excitedly. “Don’t be sorry. I’m not. I think about you a lot. All the time, actually. ”
Fuck.
“Ahh, that’s nice, but I’m seeing someone right now.” I wish. “So I’m sorry but I’m just calling to ask you something.”
“Oh. Oh, well, okay then. What can I do you for?” He laughs like he’s the first person to come up with that, and I remind myself to re-block this number as soon as the call is over.
“Haha, great. Yeah, hey did you tell anyone about our little … meeting in the cupboard?”
“What? No way, bro. Of course not.” There’s a long pause, and then. “I mean, well, actually I did tell my cousin, but he’s cool. He wouldn’t snitch.”
“Your cousin named Connor Hoffman?”
“Dude.” He laughs. “Did you slip and crack your pretty head? Of course it’s Connor Hoffman. Know any others?”
My balls drop to my toes, ready to be ground into dust Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Hunched over, I toss my phone and try to breathe, the banana I ate mid-training tries to claw its way back out my mouth.
Trent Hoffman is going to push me from the closet.
Yes, judging by Sam and Lucas’ taunting at the car wash, my ass has been sticking out and waving around a lot more than I thought, and also yes, I shouldn’t have to hide or be afraid.
But I am.
This is my decision. It’s my God damn right to choose when, and to whom I come out too.
In no universe, no timeline or dimension will I let that fucking asshole take that away from me.