Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
CALLAN
The smell of grilling salmon fills my nose, but the only thing I can taste is the lingering flavor of Diego’s cock in the back of my throat.
I groan quietly to myself and subtly reach down to adjust my aching erection in my shorts, hoping he’s paying attention to the movie inside and not watching me through the sliding door as I do my damndest to focus on cooking him dinner and pulling myself together.
Fuck, that was hot though. The sounds he made when I deep throated his cock are going to feature in every jerk-off fantasy I have for the rest of my life.
But he’s straight.
If I’ve learned anything in my life as a gay dude who’s almost exclusively attracted to masc, athletic types, it’s that just because they let you get them off, it doesn’t mean they’re about to have some life-altering sexual awakening.
A hot, wet hole is a hot, wet hole, and that’s enough for a lot of guys to justify it to themselves without overthinking it.
It’s fine. I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t think I could deal with it, I just need a minute to find some chill before I go back in there.
I flip the salmon and then walk over to rest my elbows on the railing and take in the view while the fish sizzles and the veggies slowly get tender.
The sun is starting to sink behind the taller buildings in the distance, taking a little bit of the heat with it and painting the sky with shades of pink and orange.
It’ll be another hour or so until it’s completely dark, but even then, the sky will still have that city glow to it.
I hear the balcony door slide open behind me and the click of Slapshot’s toenails, followed by the softer sound of Diego’s footsteps. I glance over my shoulder to find him awkwardly taking a step out onto his own balcony like he’s not sure if he belongs out here. Fuck that, I want Cocky Diego back.
“This is one hell of a view, man. You ever just stand out here and think about what a fucking badass you are that you made this shit happen?”
That works. He inflates immediately, the shy, uncomfortable look on his face transforming into a cocky grin.
“It’s pretty goddamn amazing, right?” He saunters over to join me, leaning against the railing.
His shoulder bumps against mine, and I refuse to acknowledge the way my cock throbs at the brief contact.
I’m not going to be the kind of dumbass who actually catches feelings for a straight guy who’s going through a weird time in his life.
Sure, I’ll blow him again if he asks, but that’s where I draw the line.
Maybe I should ask Fender about some of those rules of his.
I’m sure he could give me a few that I could apply to hooking up with a straight athlete without making an idiot of myself.
“How’d you get into hockey?” I’m still looking to scratch that itch to get to know more about him. He’s my friend, after all, and my client. Knowing more about his life can only help me be a better trainer for him.
“The Mighty Ducks,” he confesses with a laugh.
“No shit?” I just picked a random movie that I figured we both would have seen as kids since we’re around the same age. I guess I got lucky picking a good one.
“Yeah.” He nods. “I loved it so much as a kid that I started watching real hockey, and then I begged my parents to sign me up for skating lessons. I still remember the first time I stepped out onto the ice. It just felt like something clicked, like I belonged there.”
There’s a wistfulness in his voice that makes me want to reach for him, but I force myself to keep my hands where they belong.
“You’ve healed great, Fergie. Sure, you need to keep working hard for the next few months to get your full strength and stamina back, but I have no doubt that you’re going to step back out on that ice in October and fucking dominate.”
“I’d better.” He lets out a harsh laugh. “It’s a contract year for me.” He laughs again. but the sound is tight, not doing a damn thing to hide that he’s clearly stressed about it.
“Good thing you have a trainer who’s not about to go easy on you, then.” I bump my shoulder playfully against his and shoot him a confident smirk when he looks my way. “You’re going to be fine.”
He nods. “I know. I just don’t want to end up as a free agent, and I don’t want to get traded. Chicago was always my dream. I couldn’t believe it when they signed me, and going anywhere else now would feel like I failed.”
“If failure isn’t an option, then don’t waste any mental space on it,” I advise, patting him roughly on the back and then turning back towards the grill to check on the food.
DIEGO
“You ever play any sports?” I turn around and lean my back against the railing to watch Callan pull the fish off the grill and check on the vegetables.
“Pretty much all of them. I did Little League, soccer, and a couple years of hockey in elementary, then football and track in high school.”
“Not good enough at any of them to commit?” I tease.
I’m actually curious though. He’s obviously into fitness, and he’s got a competitive streak as wide as any athlete I’ve known.
He has all the makings of a star athlete, so it’s surprising that he just bounced around instead of getting serious about any of them.
He makes a face I can’t quite read and sets the plate of salmon aside while the rest of the food finishes cooking.
“Well, honestly, it was the gay thing that held me back. I’m sure you’ve spent enough of your life in locker rooms to have heard all the jokes that get tossed around.
I never stayed on any team because I was afraid that if I got too close with any of my teammates, eventually they’d figure out my secret.
And I never really saw the point of trying to get good enough at any one sport to dream about going pro or even taking it to college because it was pretty obvious that gay men weren’t welcome. ”
His answer shouldn’t surprise me, but it does.
I know the kinds of jokes he’s talking about, and it makes even more sense now why he was so quick to call out that prank the guys pulled when they sent me to Sweat.
I’ve always thought of it as pretty harmless—just guys being dumb.
It wasn’t like we were saying that shit to anyone who was actually gay.
It just never occurred to me that maybe there were gay dudes in the locker room that we might not know about.
“Shit,” I mutter. “You know, it’s not as bad as it used to be. There was a goalie on the Toronto team who came out last season, and a handful of former players have come out.”
“In that case, I’ll dust off my skates.” He chuckles. “It’s not as bad as it used to be,” he agrees. “It’s got a long way to go though.”
I guess I can’t argue with that. I can’t imagine how it would feel to be the only gay man in the locker room.
Isolated, probably, like you can’t tell if your teammates are your friends or your enemies, like you’re not sure if your job is on the line…
Okay, so maybe I can imagine it. Not that my situation is the same thing, but I can empathize.
I watch Callan quietly for a minute as he pulls the vegetables out of the coals.
What would the guys think if they knew about what happened earlier?
My heart pounds and my stomach squirms. I was too chickenshit to even tell them I joined Sweat; I’m definitely not going to try to find out what they would say if I admitted to letting my horny curiosity win out enough that I begged another man to blow me.
My spent cock gives a lazy twitch of interest at the memory.
“Don’t worry, Fergie, I’m not losing any sleep over thoughts of my pro career that never was,” he assures me, picking off a small piece of salmon and dropping it on the ground for Slapshot, who waddles over and happily laps it up with his curly little tail wagging.
“I like my job, I like my life, and I fucking love that I can be as gay as I want without worrying who’s going to have a goddamn problem with it. ”
Damn, that sounds nice actually, just being whoever and whatever you want without worrying what everyone else has to say about it all the time.
I never thought about how much of being a professional athlete involves other people having an opinion about everything you do, from your diet to your social life to every other damn thing in between.
“I’m not gay.” I blurt the words without thinking about them, then I cringe and wish I could cram them back into my mouth.
Dammit, don’t think about cramming things into mouths…
I drag my fingers through my hair and grimace. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it that way, like there’s anything wrong with being gay. I just meant that if you thought maybe I was pretending to be straight because of my career or anything…”
“Relax, man.” He gives me a crooked, reassuring grin, picking up all the food and jerking his head towards the door to wordlessly ask me to open it for him.
“I’m not a reporter or your therapist. I’m not trying to get into your head or dig up all your secrets.
Your sexuality is your own business. I’m your trainer; I’m just worried about making sure you’re game ready. ”
My shoulders loosen a little and I nod. He carries the food inside, and for just a second as he passes, my eyes drop to the round, tight shape of his ass filling out his shorts.
I jerk my gaze away just as quickly and rake my fingers through my hair again, stepping inside right behind him and pulling the door closed once Slapshot trots through.
He said not to waste mental energy on the thought of failure, and I think he’s on to something.
I need to save all of my focus for shit that matters: getting back into shape and having the best damn season of my life.
It doesn’t matter what anyone online is saying about my career, it doesn’t matter what my teammates knew or didn’t know about Crystal and Brody, and if Callan happens to give me another blowjob at some point, that’s no big thing either.
No mental distractions. My head is in the game and I’m not going to let anything sidetrack me.
He divides the food onto two plates and then we settle back in front of the TV with Slapshot climbing onto the couch between us.
“You’re my friend too, right?” I ask just as Callan picks up the remote. He glances over at me with his eyebrows pulled together in confusion. “You said you’re my trainer, but we’re friends too, aren’t we?”
Could I sound like more of a little kid right now? Ugh. I want to know though, so I don’t take the question back or try to play it off.
He smirks and then punches me in the arm.
“Yeah, we’re friends, Fergie.”
I smile back and relax as I dig into my food.
Trainer, friends, and maybe another blowjob at some point if the mood strikes. You know, whatever. I’m not going to overthink it.