4. Griffin
4
GRIFFIN
W e leave the bar and stroll down the empty, main drag of downtown Sourwood. There’s an electricity between us that only comes with the buzz of late night shenanigans. That feeling that something is going to happen, a charge between our bodies, a shucking of our responsible daytime selves. My body hums with nerves that the beers in me can’t quell.
Jack is much younger than guys I would go for, but damn if he isn’t cute. Now that he’s standing, I can fully make out his muscular body, the thick thighs and wide back common with hockey players. His thin lips stretch into a cocky smile filled with the unearned confidence of youth. Though, he made it into the NHL, so the confidence is warranted in this case. I’ll bet he loved to trash talk on the ice.
“Where are you taking us?” I ask.
“To murder you, of course.” He shoots me a wink. What guy gets away with winking at someone without being creepy? Jack does.
I stay focused on his gorgeous features and try to ignore the other feelings brewing inside me. Just because we connected over hockey…just because I told him stuff that I never talk about…just because my palms are sweaty and my heart is racing, and I’m wondering what those lips will taste like…none of it means anything.
“You guys have such a nice downtown. I grew up a few towns over. All we had was a Walmart.” Jack keeps walking, allowing me to check out his ass.
The cute downtown of Sourwood has lots of nooks and crannies. Despite the town attracting affluent citizens, the main streets maintain a quaint charm, especially with their view of the Hudson River. I appreciate that it hasn’t changed too much since I was a kid. People describe it as a small town feel that’s only a train ride away from Manhattan.
We stop at a two-story building at the edge of the road, right before Maple Street turns into a neighborhood of houses. A “For Rent” sign hangs in the empty storefront window.
“Here we are,” Jack says. Not what I was expecting at the end of our stroll.
“We’re going inside?” I peer in the window. “Isn’t that trespassing?”
“I own this building.”
I try to play it cool. Real estate so close to downtown can’t come cheap. How much money did he make in the NHL to buy random buildings?
“Yeah, I was looking for new asset classes to invest in. That’s something my teammates and I were always discussing. You can’t go wrong with real estate.”
The only “asset class” I have is the small house I could barely afford after the divorce, a house that’d make Jack run the other way if he ever saw it.
“I’m thinking about getting a private plane, too,” Jack says. “It’s worth it to avoid flying commercial.”
“I may wind up working for you then. I’m a mechanic at Jenson Regional Airport.” I laugh at the irony, only to mask the twinge of embarrassment I feel. I’ve never been ashamed of my job, but I’ve also never personally known someone who owned one of the private planes I serviced.
“Small world,” Jack says. “If I do buy a plane, I’ll consider storing it at Jenson. You seem like a guy who’s good with his hands.” Jack flashes me another smile, and I damn near go googly-eyed.
“I mostly learned on the job. I needed something to do after high school when hockey didn’t pan out.”
“Learning how to fix a plane or a car is much more valuable than shooting a puck,” Jack says. Shooting a puck has gotten him multiple asset classes, so I don’t know how true that is.
I walk up to the front door and pull. It’s locked.
“We’re not going in the front door.” Jack signals for me to follow around the building to the fire escape. He puts his hand on my lower back to guide me, sending a jolt of heat up my spine.
“You first,” he says. “I’ll make sure you don’t bust a hip and fall.”
“I’m not that old.”
“I was thinking of old hockey injuries flaring up. Don’t worry. I’m not going to check out your ass as you go up.” He seesaws his head. “Well, no more than twice.”
This guy has zero flirting shame. It makes my head fuzzy with dirty ideas.
“It’s okay. I checked out your ass while walking here,” I say back. Jack’s smile goes extra wide on that one.
The rusted metal of the fire escape chafes my hands, but a rush of excitement makes me push through. As does the knowledge that Jack is likely checking me out.
“I can’t believe I’m climbing a fucking fire escape.”
“Life is full of surprises. Embrace it,” he says.
I haul myself over the edge of the roof. When I stand up, I go speechless.
Moonlight reflects in the ripples of the Hudson River framed by a row of mountains on the other side. A flush of trees canvases the mountain, and bright stars salt the clear, black sky. It’s so peaceful and captivating that I forget I’m in civilization at all. This town I’ve lived in forever can still find ways to surprise me. It’s a reminder that we are but a tiny cog in the great machine of nature.
“Worth the climb?” Jack asks, returning his hand to my lower back.
I give him the barest nod yes, as I continue to drink it all in. The older we get, the fewer moments we give ourselves to stop and enjoy ones like these.
Jack watches me. Gone is the cocky flirt for a second, a softer grin lighting his face.
“It’s incredible,” I say. “Is this why you bought the building?”
“I wish. Added benefit.” He shuffles closer to me, putting a firmer grip on my back. His warmth sends a bolt of joy through me.
“My girls would love this. Though there’s no way in hell I’m letting them climb a fire escape.” I shouldn’t be bringing up my daughters when I’m on the cusp of a sexy moment. It’s a parent reflex.
“How old are they?” Jack asks.
“Nine and seven. It’s a fun age. They’re obsessed with Frozen . Please tell me you were too old for that movie.”
“I was. I was in high school when it came out.”
That makes me feel a tad better, but I’m still reminded of the giant age gap between us.
“I’m picturing you belting out ‘Don’t Let Go’ with your daughters.”
“‘Let It Go.’ And yes, I have been known to join in a singalong with them. It’s something I never thought I would do. I thought I was going to be a strict dad. Stern. Here to set boundaries and discipline. But nope. I’m a total girl dad. I host tea parties. I can do a mean French braid.”
What the fuck am I doing? Yeah sure, rich hockey player Jack will totally want to have sex with a guy bragging about his French braid skills and epic tea parties. Maybe this is why I haven’t been with any guys. I get right up to the net, and I still miss the shot.
“Are you turned on yet?” I ask, trying to play it off.
“Actually…kinda?” I can’t tell if Jack is being serious or not. But then he skims his thumb down my arm, tangling our fingers together. My heart is ready to leap out of my chest. I breathe in his scent by the lungful yet still want more.
“They must think you’re cool. Dad’s a big, bad hockey player.”
“I don’t talk about it.” I shrug.
“At all?”
“It’s in the past.”
“Do you miss it?” Jack peers straight into my eye. The energy vibing between us is like a truth serum I am powerless against.
“Yeah,” I say, my voice hoarse, like that one word was pulled out of a deep hole. “I think I do. But I can’t play again.”
“Why not? If you love it and you miss it…”
My free hand grazes over my eye patch.
“I don’t know you, Griffin, but I also know you. And your eye is not the reason you’ve avoided the ice.”
Jack smooths a hand over my patch, our fingers touching. It’s the final spark of electricity that throws me over the edge and makes me pull him into my arms for a kiss. I don’t know what comes over me. Nerves. Unrelenting desire. Curiosity. Jack.
He kisses me back, his tongue surprisingly tender, the taste of his drink mixing with his cologne and lingering sweat. Kissing a guy is one million times better than I dreamed, no offense to my ex-wife. I thread my fingers through his hair and pull him even closer until I can feel his erection poke through his jeans.
Jack rubs a hand over my beard, making me growl with want. His hand dips between us, feeling the ridges of my chest. He moans against my lips, giving my bottom lip a bite.
I’m lost in his kiss, in how thick and hot he feels in my arms, when Jack steps back and sinks to his knees.
Whoa.
I may be a total newbie with gay stuff, but this feels fast. Like we leaped over a few steps. Do guys always move this fast? Did I let Jack assume that we were sucking each other off tonight by coming up here? Fuck, am I cocktease? Fuck, is he going to expect me to blow him and am I going to bomb? Is he expecting us to have sex on this rooftop?
Panic overtakes me, leaving me scared shitless. My first guy-on-guy kiss was less than a minute ago. I’m still figuring out how to put on ice skates, and I’m already being drafted into the big leagues.
He begins unbuckling my belt. Then he undoes the top button of my jeans. Alarm bells ring in my ears.
Ever so tenderly, I push Jack’s head away from my crotch. He resists for a second, thinking we’re playing a game, until I zip up my fly. He looks up at me, still on his knees, lust rapidly vanishing from his face, replaced with something much darker.
“Sorry,” I mutter. “I, uh…I appreciate it, but…”
“You appreciate it?” He spits out, his cocky smile from before flipped to a menacing sneer. He hops to his feet in one swift move. “Go fuck yourself.”
“Wait,” I start. I reach out for him, but he’s already storming down the fire escape.