Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
Grayson
I shorten my stride, noting the serious look on Remy’s downturned face. His mom is standing close to him, arm wrapped around his waist and listening intently as he talks down to his feet. I’m just about to turn around and pretend to get something from the car when she says something to him that makes him smile. He lifts his head, eyes meeting mine, and the smile widens.
“So,” I say as soon as I reach them. “How about those gutters?”
It turns out that the gutters aren’t the only thing that needs doing in Dora’s yard. Remy and I start there, making quick work of the job between the two of us. Stripping out of our shirts, we then assist with the weeding and mowing of the lawn. After that, we spend a ridiculous amount of time trying to excavate a tree stump from the corner of the property; a job I’m pretty sure would usually require a backhoe, but that we get done with two strong bodies and Remy’s SUV. At the end, the pair of us are sweaty and filthy, something Dora points out to us from her perch at the garden table.
“Thanks for your help, Ma,” Remy calls to her, and she laughs.
“It’s fun to get a little dirty sometimes. Fun to clean off afterward, too,” she quips back, making him groan.
“Oh my god, are you trying to scare him away?” Remy says, flinging an arm out in my direction and planting the other hand on his hip. My gaze tracks down his torso, noting the way sweat has tracked rivulets through the dirt on him. She’s not wrong—I am looking forward to getting him into the shower.
“You’ll have to try harder, Dora.” I raise my voice so she can hear me, and bend over to pick up my shovel. We still have to get the hole filled in and the yard put back to rights. I glance around. “Is there sod or something? So that we can fix the grass, too?”
“The neighbors will think I’ve just buried a body,” Dora jokes, yelling it loud enough for the whole street to hear.
“Ma!” Remy yells back, making me laugh.
“I love it here,” I say to nobody in particular, dumping a shovelful of dirt into the hole. Remy joins me, coming to stand next to me instead of working on the opposite side like he was before. He’s close enough for me to smell him—sun and dirt and sweat.
“I love having you here,” he says back, but keeps the words low enough that they’re for me alone.
The sun is still barely peeking over the top of the trees by the time we’re standing by the car saying goodbye. Dora hugs and kisses her son, before remembering something else she wanted to give him and sending him inside to get it. We both watch him go. When he’s far enough away that he can no longer hear us, she turns to me.
“Sometimes his head gets in the way of his heart,” she says without preamble. “You give him enough time alone with himself and he’ll think himself in circles until he’s so tied up in knots, he can’t get himself undone. Don’t you let him scare himself off, you hear me?”
“Yes, ma’am.” She gives me a look. “Dora.”
“When you come back over the summer, you’ll have to stay longer. The house needs some new paint. Green, I’m thinking.” Remy walks back out of the house, two Tupperware containers clutched in his hands. She waits until he’s close enough to hear. “Grayson was kind enough to volunteer to help you paint the house this summer.”
I bite my lip to keep from smiling. Remy looks at me and I nod. “Sure did.”
“You’re coming back this summer?” he asks, eyes wide and an excited lilt to his voice. Dora’s expression melts from mischievous to fond as she looks at him.
“Of course. If you’ll have me.”
Remy beams as his mom hugs me goodbye before she goes back for a second one from him. He squeezes his eyes shut and visibly tightens his arms, bending his head and resting his cheek on the top of her dark head. When they pull apart, she winks at me.
Halfway down the driveway—Remy once more keeping the speed below five mph and leaning over the steering wheel in an effort to spot potholes—his cell phone dings. Without looking over, he holds it out to me.
“Can you check that? ”
I glance at the screen. “It’s your mom.”
“The pin is 1907,” he says, shooting me a quick smile.
Warmth tingles through my fingers as I type in his passcode. The only other person who’s given me access to their phone is Troy. It feels significant—an obvious display of trust. I tap into the message from his mom, smile spreading across my face as I read it out to him.
“I love him.”
“What?” Remy glances at me, brow furrowed in concentration as he flicks on his blinker unnecessarily and looks both ways before turning off of his mom’s drive.
“That’s what the message from your mom was: I love him .” I try to modulate my tone and speak evenly. Inside, I’m soaring. Remy and his mom are extremely close—earning her approval means a lot and will obviously hold a lot of weight with him.
“Oh,” he says, clearing his throat and fidgeting in his seat. “Well, I’m not surprised. You’re pretty incredible.”
Reclined back in the seat, I smile at him in the dimming light of the day. I let him focus on driving until we merge onto the interstate. Once he settles into his lane, I reach a hand over the console and rest my palm on his leg. The interior of the car smells like two men who spent the day doing hard labor, and his skin is tacky with dirt and sweat beneath my fingers.
“Thanks for inviting me today. It was perfect.”
“You see what I mean about work being the way to my mom’s heart?” he asks, smiling. “She took one look at your shoulders and thought bingo .”
“I bet that was a fun house to grow up in.”
“Oh, you have no idea. Chaos, Gray, fucking chaos. It was just the two of us, but we always did okay. She never even blinked when I told her I wanted to play hockey. I’d spent my whole life chasing waves, coming home covered in sand. She thought I’d end up getting sponsored by Rip Curl or Billabong and join the circuit. And then one day I got it in my head I wanted to play hockey, and she just said okay, we’ll make it work —and we did.”
“Selfishly, I’m so glad you never became a professional surfer.”
“Me too. We never would have met.” He shakes his head, taking one hand off the wheel and resting it atop mine.
“I’d love to help you repaint your mom’s house this summer, if you’d like the company.” I give his leg a small squeeze, speaking softly. It’s relatively quiet in the car—no radio playing, just the sounds of the highway and us. To the west, the sun is setting in vivid splashes of orange and rose. The thought of leaving in a few days feels like a golf ball lodged in my throat.
“Yeah?” He glances over at me hopefully. “I wasn’t sure if you’d go back to Canada for the off-season, or if you would use the summer to explore Colorado a little more. But you’d…you’d be open to coming here? Even just for a visit?”
I’d stay if you asked me. “I have no plans for the summer. We can make our own.”
The half of his mouth I can see opens into a wide smile, and he picks my hand up off his leg to kiss my palm, before placing it back on his leg. I notice I’m now a lot closer to his dick than I was before.
“How much longer until we get home?”
Morning comes too soon after a sleepless, sex-saturated night. By the time we’d stepped through the front door, neither of us could focus on anything but taking the edge off. Bending Remy over the dining room table and putting a few new sweat trails through the dirt on his back did the trick long enough for us to eat dinner and take a shower. Lazy blowjobs in the steam led to exploratory hands in the bedroom as we mapped each other with our fingertips. A long, slow night of lovemaking until we finally let ourselves drift to sleep in the early hours of the morning.
Remy is still on top of me, having not moved an inch from where he fell asleep in a boneless sprawl across my chest. He’s heavy enough that I’m surprised I didn’t roll him off to the side in my sleep, unconsciously trying to make it easier for myself to breathe. His head is directly below my chin, the messy mop of blond hair spiked up in disarray from all the times I ran my hands through it last night. The smell of sex saturates the room, and I can still taste his cum in my mouth. I take as deep of a breath as I’m able with him crushing my rib cage, and allow myself a few moments of bliss where I imagine how life might be if I could always have this.
He snuffles a little bit in his sleep, adjusting his head and scratching his cheek along my chest hair. I wait, but he doesn’t wake up; only moving enough to find a new space on my chest to settle into. I should just move here, pops into my head, and my stomach flutters with anticipation at the thought. Of course, it’s far too soon to be thinking about that—I’m not about to say it out loud to Remy. But in the privacy of my own head, I can let myself dream a little bit.
I could sell my place in Canada easily, with the housing market being what it is there, and my apartment in Colorado will work perfectly fine during the season. As for the off-season? It’s a little unnerving how easy it is to imagine myself living here with Remy. Spending our nights wrapped up in one another and waking up the same way. Beach days. Household projects for his mom. I want it so badly, it feels like Remy’s body isn’t the only thing constricting my airway.
He murmurs again, shifting his pelvis so one leg slides more comfortably between mine. You’ll scare him off , a small voice whispers in the back of my mind. I’m not an idiot—I know that we came into this strong, and some of that fire might burn out. But there’s a stronger sense of rightness that I just can’t ignore, and I don’t think I’m the only one feeling it either. It makes me think of the way Troy described how it felt to meet Sam; how it felt to sit across from them in Hank’s and realize my friend and brother had found his person.
I remember, quite clearly, sitting in that bar with them and thinking to myself: you will never find this—it is one in a million and Troy is the lucky winner . But now there’s Remy, with his sun-darkened skin and hazel eyes. His trim, lithe body, crooked smile, and chatty disposition. Everything in me is telling me this is it and he’s the one. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep him.
“Why is it so bright?” Remy mumbles, mouth pressed against my chest and words barely discernible. He turns his head, planting his face directly into my neck like he’s hiding.
“Well, the sun came up and we left the curtains open.”
He groans. “I feel like my muscles have melted. I’ve never been this relaxed in my life.”
I’d laugh if I could draw enough breath to do so. “Multiple orgasms will do that to you.”
“Mm. You’re so warm . I feel like I’ve been sleeping on a heating pad.” He swivels his hips a little bit, and nuzzles my neck with his nose. “I could get used to waking up like this.”
Smiling helplessly up at the ceiling, I thread my fingers gently through his hair. It’s a mess. “You’ve got cum in your hair.”
He huffs a laugh, raising his head and squinting at me. I lift my face and wait for him to close the distance and kiss me. Without a doubt, it’s the worst either of us has ever tasted. Regardless, I cup the back of his head to keep him there.
“Gross,” Remy whispers against my lips, before coming back for more.
I trail my hand over the back of his head and down his spine, tracing the ridges with my fingertips. When I reach the dimples that straddle his spine, he groans a little bit and kisses me harder. Dipping my finger into his crease, I circle his hole gently. He groans again, deep enough this time for the sound to vibrate through my chest. I press a little harder, circling his rim.
He breaks the kiss, resting his cheek alongside mine. I slow the movement of my finger.
“Don’t stop,” he says into my ear, voice breathy and needful.
I press forward slowly, not wanting to hurt him and cognizant of the absence of lube. He’s still stretched from last night though, and once I’m past that first ring of muscle, his body sucks me in. Another groan, this one accompanied by a slow rock of his hips as he rubs his dick against me. I massage his prostate with the pad of my finger, barely applying pressure.
I enjoy getting off just like any other red-blooded male, but what I really enjoy is making my partner feel good. Nothing turns me on more—or faster—than earning each little moan and pant from Remy; knowing that I’m the reason he’s reduced to a sweaty, incoherent mess. I can get off on Remy’s pleasure alone.
“Gray,” he breathes, hips rolling in time with the steady slide of my finger. He reaches down and wraps his fingers around our dicks in a loose grip. Our position doesn’t lend him a lot of room to maneuver, but his touch is more than enough for me.
It doesn’t take him long to come, his release rolling through him and sending his body into shivers. He strokes me slowly, breathing steadily into my ear where his face is still pressed against mine. When I slide my finger slowly from his body, he whimpers and I immediately come, arching up as much as I’m able with him on top of me, and turning my head to bury my nose in his hair.
We melt back into each other and the mattress, working to steady our breathing. Remy is the first to recover, tucking his chin and kissing sweetly over my shoulder. I stroke my fingertips up and down his back, no more concerned about getting up to clean off than he is. If he wanted to spend the entire day just like this, he’d hear no arguments from me.
“Can you breathe?” he asks suddenly, lifting his head and peering at me.
“Haven’t tasted fresh air in hours,” I quip, and he chuckles. Banding my arms around him, I hold him in place in case he gets it in his head to get off of me. “I’m fine.”
“I had big plans for us today, but now I’m not sure I’ll be able to even walk.”
“Shit, I’m sorry, are you?—”
“Perfectly fine and ready for round two tonight, just as soon as I consume some protein and electrolytes,” Remy cuts in silkily. I snort, relaxing back into the bed. “I feel used and I fucking love it.”
Before I can respond, a crack of thunder rolls out above the house. Both of us turn our heads to look out the window that just a little while ago had sunlight streaming through. Heavy, dark clouds sit low over the ocean, and as I watch, I see a fork of lightning briefly light up the horizon. Remy lays his head back down on my chest, eyes facing toward the window, and sighs.
“I love thunderstorms,” he whispers.
And I love you. “Yeah. Me too.”
There is little more than a stretch of sand and glass separating Remy’s house from the elements; we have a front-row seat to the storm. We drag ourselves out of bed, shower, and make our way downstairs to watch the show. The morning is spent eating homemade breakfast burritos, curled up on the couch in sweats, Remy plastered to my side. His bare feet are folded up beside him as he leans into me, head propped on my shoulder and eyes on the massive windows overlooking the water. Each roll of thunder shakes the house and sends water splattering against the windows; the lightning appears so close it might as well be inside. I’ve got a mug of hot tea in one hand and the other tucked up inside his hoodie, warm against his skin.
The smell of black tea and rain permeate the room, overpowered only by the coconut that wafts from Remy’s hair when I lean over him. I need to buy as many coconut-scented things as I can so I can bring a little of him with me when I go back to Colorado.
And, just as quick as that, my stomach sinks. As much as this feels like we’re cohabitating together, this is only just a vacation. It’ll end in a couple days and the pair of us will go back to our respective teams, and our empty apartments. The need to plan for the future is gnawing at me. I want to know what he means when he says we’re together and how far he’s willing to take that.
“Remy.”
“Mm.”
I glance down. His cheek is smushed up against my shoulder and his eyelashes flutter as his eyes track over the windows, watching the storm. His forearm is draped casually across my thigh. He’s so close—if I were to stand up from the couch, he’d tip over.
“Can I come back here during the off-season?” He shifts, lifting his head to look at me. My heart clenches painfully. He looks so damn cozy, with his bedroom hair, sleepy eyes, and sweats. I knew this would happen, and yet it still feels like something of a surprise—falling for my friend with benefits is so classically me, it’s laughable.
“Of course,” he says, in a tone that conveys he’d thought that was obvious.
“Not for a visit, though. I was thinking…maybe I could find a long-term rental and stay for the whole break. A few months. Rent a car and everything.”
He turns a little bit so he’s facing me, brow furrowed in bewilderment. “I thought we’d already decided that yesterday. Remember?”
“Right, but I want to stay the whole summer, not just a vacation. We could do proper dates, not long-distance ones.” I trace my eyes over the lines of his face, trying to discern his thoughts through his expression. The off-season is a long way off, I know, but it’s not so far away that we can’t make plans.
Unless he’s still unsure about this relationship and doesn’t want to commit to something when he doesn’t even think we’ll still be together.
“What is this about?” He presses the pad of his thumb to the corner of my mouth. Apparently, I’m frowning. I quickly change my expression back to neutrality.
“It might be too soon to make those kinds of plans, though,” I say, even though it really doesn’t feel that way. Just this morning I was thinking about how easy it would be to sell my damn house, and if that’s not being too hasty, nothing is.
“No, Gray, that’s not… Wait a second, you want to stay in a rental when you come? You can’t do that—you have to stay here. You have to stay with me.” He narrows his eyes, glaring at me. Christ, even that’s adorable.
“It would be a long time, though. Months. Not days, like this trip. If I stayed here, it would be like we were living together.” I’m waiting for him to back down on his offer, realizing that moving in together as a couple would be vastly different than how we lived together as roommates. He only just warmed to the idea of even being a couple. I don’t expect living together to be in the cards for Remy for a long, long time. Certainly not now, when his divorce is so fresh.
“Right,” he replies slowly. “Which would be fine. We’re partners .”
He places such careful emphasis on the word, I have to physically restrain myself from pulling him into a kiss. Maybe I’m creating an obstacle where there isn’t one. Maybe I should trust that he’s thought through what he wants and stop second-guessing every little thing.
“As long as you’re sure. I don’t want to rush you.”
“You know what I realized these past couple of months? Long-distance is really going to suck. Video calls are great and all, but we’re going to miss out on so much—all the little things that couples take for granted when they live in the same postal code. I’m not going to be able to use you for body heat when I get cold at night or smell you on my clothes. I won’t be able to kiss you in the morning and taste your nasty-ass morning breath. God, Gray, it’s going to be awful .”
He huffs, rubbing vigorously at his hair and looking frustrated.
“Listen, I know I’ve been the problem here, and it might not seem this way, but I don’t want to half-ass this just because I’m a little scared of commitment. It’s not fair to either of us if we tiptoe around and play things safe. Yes , I want you to be here during the off-season. And I mean here , Gray. I want you where I can see you and touch you. I don’t want to have to drive all over California to find you.”
This time I can’t hold myself back. Remy melts into me with no resistance, fingers resting on my throat as I kiss the shit out of him.
“Okay,” I tell him, when a particularly violent crack of thunder breaks us apart. “I’m sorry. I just don’t want to pressure you. I always knew I was going to end up wanting more with you, but you didn’t come into this the same way. I don’t want you to ever feel obligated, or?—”
“Obligated,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I seem to remember me being the one who came on to you. You haven’t pressured me once, Gray. I’m not certain you even know the meaning of the word. Seriously, though, about this summer. The day after our respective seasons end, I want you here with me. All summer.”
“Okay.”
He keeps his eyes on my face for a few moments, looking for something in my expression. Eventually, his shoulders relax and half of his mouth kicks up into a smile as he cards gentle fingers through the hair above my ear. Instead of sliding back into his spot next to me, he surprises me by swinging a leg over my thighs and straddling me. Cupping my face, he brushes his thumb over my stubble.
“We’re recovered, right?” he asks, and then slowly starts to rock his hips.