Chapter 3 Damon #2
The king-size bed looks extremely comfortable, too. I could just sink into it.
Wait.
Bed?
Ellis giggles as soon as he sees it. “This certainly brings back memories.”
I stare at him like he’s lost his mind.
He flashes me a grin and finally takes off those god-awful shades of his, and I frown at his bloodshot eyes.
“You look terrible,” I state.
“Wow, thank you.”
“Why did you go on this trip if you’re sick?”
He shrugs. “I thought it was just a stupid cold so I powered through it. I really wanted to see Killian Schultz in action.”
Killian Schultz? My frown deepens. He’s the player I’m eyeing as well. Camrose’s defenseman wasn’t drafted when he was younger, but now he’s having a breakout year and is eligible for free agency.
Ellis is here to watch the same player?
Awesome.
He gives me that smile of his—the same one that disarmed me the first day I met him. “Judging from how upset you look, I’m guessing he’s the same player you’re here for.”
“Possibly.”
“May the best man sign him, I suppose.”
“Now that I know you’ve got your eyes on him, I suppose that’s going to be you.”
“Aw, Dee, fight harder. I know your manager’s been wanting you to expand your roster. I can back off, if you’d like.”
“Please be quiet.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. Who the hell is this guy? How does he get away with saying such arrogant things so effortlessly?
I grab my suitcase—his, too, because he really does seem weak as hell today—and lug it inside the room. He doesn’t say anything as I push both our suitcases against one side of the wall.
The silence is comforting, but since it’s Ellis, that doesn’t last long.
“I’m serious, though. Are you dead set on signing Killian Schultz?” He takes his coat off and hangs it over the desk chair. The collar of the sweater he’s wearing underneath is drenched in sweat. “Because if you’re not, I’d really like him on my roster. He’s openly queer, did you know that?”
“You want to sign him because he’s out?”
“Yes. I want the queerest roster in hockey. That’s the dream.”
My eyebrows furrow. “Why?”
“Because until now, most queer players are still forced to be quiet about who they are because of the scrutiny they’ll face.
So I want to be the agent who they know is going to have their back and won’t ask them to hide who they are.
Killian Schultz is out and proud, and he’s the perfect person to have on my roster. ”
“So you’re using him.”
Ellis makes an annoyed sound as he kicks his shoes off. “That’s unfair.”
Is it? This is what he does. He uses people for his own benefit. Ellis Donlan only ever thinks about himself.
“Damon,” he says. The sudden seriousness in his voice sobers me, and I press my lips together tight while holding his gaze.
The corner of Ellis’s mouth twitches. That he’s actually using my name for once must mean I struck a nerve, and I try not to smile.
“I know we have shitty history between us and you still don’t trust me because I accidentally stole your leads two years ago—”
“You never stole my leads,” I point out. “I don’t use my friends like that.”
He continues as if he didn’t hear me. “But if you actually pulled your head out of your ass, you’d know me representing two of your friends is actually the best thing to ever happen to them.”
Wait…
“Did you recruit them because I accidentally slipped up and told you they were into each other?” I give him a look. “Because you know they’re not out, right? They don’t even know they like each other. I hope that’s not your agenda?”
“Jesus Christ, no! I was under a lot of pressure because my dad had been hounding me to join the business, and I didn’t want to look like I’d be completely clueless at it, so I blurted out information that would get me on his good side.
Harmless information. I don’t have a fucking agenda. What’s wrong with you!?”
I cover my mouth and look away. Shit, what is wrong with me? I’m a bit too thrilled that I finally got under his skin.
“I’ve worked hard to get where I am,” he says. “I don’t—I don’t even like hockey, but I’m still good at my job and I take care of my clients.”
His voice is getting shaky, and I don’t think it’s because of his cold. Ugh. I inhale deeply, counting back from ten.
“Okay, Ellis,” I say, voice calm once I’m back in my element. “You’re right, and I apologize. You work hard and you deserve your achievements.”
He closes his eyes and leans his head back. He looks like he’s praying. I’m familiar with the motion, considering he’s made me do the same countless times.
Then he looks back at me and smiles. Sweetly. Unflinching.
Oh, shit.
He bounced back that easily?
“Going to take a shower now,” he announces. “Try not to peek, all right?”
I don’t acknowledge that with a response.
As soon as I hear the sliding door shut, I let out a huge breath.
I can do this.
I can overcome one night with Ellis. I’ve done it before, and I can do it again.
Might be two nights, or three, if this snowstorm continues or if flights are too booked. Might accidentally strangle him in my sleep, but… point is, I think I can survive this.
Hopefully.
The sound of running water fills the room.
I face the window as I go about my shit, removing my coat and my shoes, and then sending a text to my parents.
Of course, they’re not at all pleased that I’m possibly missing Christmas.
I even have to talk Mom down from sending a very strongly worded e-mail to our higher-ups.
“Fuck!”
Ellis’s loud and panicked shout makes me abruptly turn. He comes out of the bathroom with only a towel around his waist, and he’s shivering. I blink at him.
Don’t look.
Too late. My eyes drift down his thin torso, and my mouth goes dry. Memories of a night I’ve been trying to forget floods my mind, and I think about how smooth that skin had felt underneath my fingers.
How he had writhed when I trailed my mouth over every inch of his skin.
I watch him as he stumbles over to his luggage. He scrambles to open it, the towel around his waist slipping down a fraction and showing off his V-line. Dear God.
Ellis gets on his knees and goes through the mess that is his luggage, his teeth chattering together the whole time. I follow the line of his back to his well-defined ass.
Subtly, I adjust my pants.
“I-I can’t find my shirt,” he says. “Dee, help me. I’m freezing.”
“So dramatic,” I mumble, but I circle around the bed to get to him. I nudge him aside and lean down, going through his clothes. “These are way too thin for Buffalo. Is that sweater you were wearing outside the only thick clothing you brought? It’s drenched in sweat and you can’t wear it tonight.”
Ellis is still trembling and blinking rapidly at me. “Yes, that’s the only one I brought because I thought I’d be in Florida by now.”
God. He’s hopeless. At least he brought sweatpants. I hand them to him to put on.
“I’ll lend you something,” I tell him.
He must be sicker than I thought because he doesn’t complain as I open up my own luggage and grab the smallest sweater I can find. It’s thick and dark and probably going to be way too big on him, but it’s better than nothing.
“T-thank you,” he says, taking it from me.
Then he fucking drops his towel, as if I’m not here. As if he’s the only goddamn person in the room. He gives me a view of his perfect, naked body. It’s inevitable how my stare drifts down, how my breath gets stuck in my throat.
“Not that it bothers me, but I thought you wouldn’t peek?” he asks, making me jump. I snap my eyes to his, and I can’t tell if it’s a good thing he caught me or not because then I didn’t let my gaze drift down further.
“Be quiet,” I mumble. “You’re the one who suddenly dropped your towel.”
Ellis laughs quietly behind me. It’s a soft but irritating sound. “Nothing you haven’t seen before, Dee.”
My face heats.
Yeah.
I’m not going to survive this.
As I watch him struggle with putting the sweats on, I realize that he might not survive this.
His breaths are ragged and his eyes are unfocused, and he trips putting one leg in the sweatpants.
I don’t say anything, just watch him. He puts the sweatpants on with great effort and then goes to work with my sweater.
His arm gets stuck in the neck hole, and he grumbles something under his breath as he attempts to fix it.
I press my fingers against my eyes. Jesus. I can’t take it anymore
“Stay still,” I say. Ellis makes a disgruntled sound but stops moving as I grab the sweater. I move his arms around, putting his arms where they’re supposed to go, and then yank the sweater down. It’s big enough to reach down his thighs, and the sleeves go past his hands.
I let go of the hem of the sweater, but not before my fingers accidentally brush against his skin. He’s too hot. Literally.
“Have you taken anything?”
He blinks at me as if he didn’t hear me.
“Ellis,” I say. “Have you taken any medicine? And what time?”
“I took an ibuprofen before I showered.”
It probably hasn’t kicked in then. “Go sleep,” I order.
“Okay.”
I leave him behind, heading to the shower and hoping he doesn’t faint during the minutes that I can’t see him. There’s a pack of Advil on the counter, and I grab it and count. There’s enough to last through the night. Good.
As much as I detest the guy, he really does look like he’s suffering, and even I’m not apathetic enough to not feel bad for him. With that thought, I move quickly—in case he’s passed out on the floor.
When I get back out there I find a shivering, Ellis-sized lump on the bed. He’s all bundled up in the single comforter like a burrito.
“Ellis,” I say with sigh. “Don’t wrap yourself like that. You’ll overheat and you’ll feel worse.”
“No, I’m freezing,” he grumbles. “I think I’m dying.”
I snort. “That’s dramatic.”
Ellis grumbles more things under his breath that sound like curses, but they’re muffled and inaudible.
I switch off the lights and walk toward the other side of the bed, staring down at his shivering form.
There’s only one comforter and he’s hogging it.
I could call room service and have another one sent, but at this point, I just want to sleep.
Besides, once Ellis passes out, I plan to take that comforter from him—not only because I want it, but also because I truly meant it that it’ll only make him overheat if he’s all wrapped up like that.
I should set alarms to check on him throughout the night, too.
I don’t have a thermometer, but I should be able to wing it.
God.
What’s happening?
Apparently, I’m turning into his goddamn nurse.