Chapter 6
Dylon
T here’s zero possibility of getting comfortable in the hotel lobby’s excuse for a chair. I’ll never understand management’s preference for early morning flights, they make me want to punch someone. I prefer to ease my way into the day. We spent last night in Boston to celebrate, but absolutely no one felt good about the press or Richardson’s behavior.
Richardson griped to a sports blogger that the team has a toxic environment and playing time is based on seniority, not merit. It’s bullshit, but we had to fend off questions from legitimate news organizations and defend ourselves and the team. Coach benched him for our next game and said Coach Ass will babysit him in the locker room while the press is in there. Coach said it nicer than that and could’ve given a worse punishment.
This morning, we had to go through customs once we landed in Toronto. Fucking pain in the ass.
In another clusterfuck, the hotel isn’t ready for us, so we’re a pack of losers in the lobby at 8 a.m. when I should be sleeping. The uncomfortable club chair does not improve my mood. The entire lobby contains furniture that creates an upscale vibe, but it isn’t for lounging.
By this point, the team knows I’m not my sunny self in the morning. I used to fake it, but it was exhausting. A few rookies pass by the empty chair next to me and think better of sitting.
Lars and Jamal have their heads together, talking so low I can’t hear them. Another pang of possession hits me that Lars is my friend. It’s unwelcome for its implications.
The hotel bar isn’t open, but I’d bet if I went into the restaurant, I could get a drink with breakfast. I hate that the idea popped into my head. I’ve learned that although I never drank to my detriment, I have addictive thoughts, and those thoughts are how I became dependent on my pain meds and overdosed.
Drinking lurks like a poison in the recesses of my brain, ready to unleash itself and destroy me. The times when longing for alcohol takes over the forefront of my thoughts make me feel like a failure. Like I should be able to control my compulsion but can’t. Lars helped me construct my life so the intrusive thoughts can be easily ignored. I let Lars down every time the need to drink strikes me.
It’s no wonder I’m attached to him and want to make him proud. He rescued me from my family, moved me into his apartment, and gave my life structure so I could succeed when I was determined to fail.
He’s forgiven me for the way I treated him when he declared his apartment was alcohol-free with no exceptions and set a daily routine of healthy food, exercise, and positive hobbies. I haven’t forgiven myself. I overshared every bad thought as a strategy to push him away and wallow in my physical and emotional pain. My sponsor calls it trauma-dumping as a defense mechanism. He should have thrown my sorry ass out on the street.
Without his help, I would’ve fallen back into my old habit of having a few drinks every night and not gotten back into a workout routine. Of course, I’m overly fond of my best friend who rescued me from myself. Nothing to be concerned about.
He confidently strides over, folding himself into the club chair and crossing his powerful legs. “Are you awake yet?” he asks, running his long fingers through his hair. They’re elegant for a hockey player, with no busted knuckles and short, rounded nails.
He’s watching me expectantly, and I’ve forgotten the question while weirdly focusing on his hands .
Patrik Liska stomps over to the couch across from us with Caleb Benz right behind him.
“Tell me what it means so I can comment appropriately,” Benz says, holding his phone at the ready. His round cheeks and eyes make him look as eager as the energy he gives off. He reminds me of a cherub who had his glowup and turned hot guy with a strong jaw.
That thought jolts my insides. This is the second time I’ve noticed a man’s attractive features. I scan the lobby for good-looking women and find a few. I understand they’re attractive, but I’m not attracted to them. There’s a distinct lack of desire, and it’s strange because the sex of a person doesn’t seem to matter to me.
My palm smacks my forehead, and Lars looks at me with concern. No one is as good-looking as he is. His personality adds to his physical appearance. I shake the thoughts from my head. This line of thinking feels off-limits.
Patrik glances at me but says to Benz, “You don’t need to comment if you don’t know vhat it means. It’s for him and people like him not to feel ashamed.” Patrik’s exasperation bleeds into his accent.
Lars motions for the phone, and Benz waits for an answer. Mason leans against the side of the couch next to Benz, clearly interested.
“Who made the post?” I ask.
Mason raises a suggestive eyebrow. “Trevor.”
Lars hands Caleb his phone, but his gaze is on Liska.
“You know!” Benz cries. “Tell me! Never mind, I’m googling it.” He reads from his phone. “Fem Top Fall encourages queer people to celebrate their role as tops during sex for the fall season. Usually, fem tops present to the world as bottoms, but…” He trails off as the implication hits him.
Caleb’s wide eyes fill with excitement, but he can’t seem to find the words to say something.
“Didn’t see that one coming,” Mason quips without judgment.
I’m surprised, but it’s none of my business. Their sex life never enters my thoughts. I haven’t thought seriously about sex in forever. Maybe my sex drive was driven by alcohol. That would be a mother fucking shame .
“Okay, this isn’t an insult, but like you’re huge and a badass and dominate on the ice so…” This time, Benz’s lilt and expression suggest he hopes Liska will fill in the blank.
“Sometimes it is good to set those things down. And you’ve met Trevor, you know he’s bossy. Not many people yell at Mr. Dimon.” Liska shrugs as if discussing the weather, not his sex life. Patrik’s boyfriend is a bit of a legend for telling off our GM, Mr. Dimon, at a charity event last season. He’s the definition of small but mighty. Personally, I would rather fight a lion than defy Mr. Dimon.
“Cool,” Caleb says, which makes Liska laugh.
“So glad you approve,” Liska says sarcastically.
“Totally great and I fully support you and Trevor,” Caleb tells Patrik.
“Can we change the subject now that we’ve kicked open the door to Liska’s bedroom?” Lars’s head lolls back as if he can’t handle it anymore.
“I’m sure Liska appreciates the support, but we should ask him if he feels comfortable talking about it and respect his boundaries.” That statement comes right from my sponsor’s mouth to mine. My sponsor and I were talking about addiction, but it still applies.
“I love my fiancé, and I am not ashamed, but I do not vant to discuss it in public.”
“Wait. When did he become your fiancé, and why don’t we know?” Caleb pouts.
“I proposed on our trip this summer, and he said yes. You think I vas going to vait to put a ring on it?” He mock-glares at Caleb, who often harmlessly flirts with Trevor.
“Congratulations.” Lars gets up to nudge his shoulder, which is a lot of contact for him.
“Bring it on, Foxy.” Caleb wrestles him into a hug, and Mason bro-hugs him as well.
“I’m so happy for you guys. Does this mean we get to throw you a big party and go to the strip club? So like a men’s strip club. Or do we sit around and watch porn?” I survey the guys, and they’ve all got their mouths hanging open. “ What. If he was straight, we’d do it, and we’re not treating him differently. I just gotta know the limits. What am I working with?” I ask.
“Can ve stop talking about my love life?” Patrik sighs as my face falls. “Fine, I’ll talk to Trev, and ve’ll decide after a vedding date is set.”
“Cool.” Caleb grins and high-fives Mason.
“Done talking,” Lars decrees as if the subject is closed.
We hear Richardson yelling at the desk clerk about the room situation.
“He’s such a dick,” I mutter.
“Nah, dicks are way better than him.” Caleb makes a jerk-off motion.
“Who’s going to fall on the sword and trip him so he gets run over by a Toronto Titan?” I ask for a laugh.
“Oops, my skate slipped.” Lars mimes slashing his throat. I shouldn’t howl with laughter, but when he casually drops slicing an asshole on the ice, it’s hilarious.
After a thousand years, we get our room keys, and the guys make lunch plans before our afternoon skate.
“Come to my room, we can watch a movie or nap.” Lars nudges me in the elevator.
“Perfect.” Sleep calls my name, but hanging out sounds better.
To the dismay of my self-preservation and the elation of random thoughts, Lars has a king room. He’s got the TV synced with his phone so we can stream whatever we want.
He rounds the bed and sits propped up by pillows on the side by the windows. The curtains are closed, casting the room in semidarkness.
“Have a seat.” He pats the bed next to him, and my feet move quickly, but my mind is hesitant.
I remove my shoes and arrange the pillows to get comfortable. “What are we watching?” I eye the space between us, and it’s only inches closer than we normally sit on our couch. His couch. I have to stop claiming his things as mine. The missing few inches spark an awareness in my body.
“Whatever you want. We’ve seen everything good.” I watch how his smile softens his face. Lars has angular features, and with his reserved personality, he often looks stern. But when he smiles, his eyes crinkle and his lips…whoa…wait…what’s happening?
“Put something terrible on in the background. I’m catching up on my beauty sleep.” I roll with my back to him to put more distance between us. The sex talk in the lobby got me curious, and my mind hopped on that train of thought.
“Sure, Sleeping Beauty.” Lars reaches over to smack my leg but gets the lower part of my ass. My body lights up, and my dick gets half hard. I need to get laid. This reaction is ridiculous, and I blame the fact that it’s been over ten months since I’ve had sex. It’s one thing to want to hoard Lars’s time because I’m too attached, but it’s another for my dick to wake up.
The thought of going to a bar tonight and picking up a woman curdles my stomach. I’m not a puck-bunny whore, but I’ve indulged a couple of times in beautiful women who offered sex with no strings attached, and I’m only human, but I don’t usually enjoy it as much as I think I should. It’s degrading for both of us. Meaningless sex is lonely and empty. I need my head examined.
Lars selects something I can’t hear over the pounding in my head, and I feel him move, lying beside me. I shut my eyes and visualize hockey drills over and over until my dick behaves.
We’ve fallen asleep on the couch countless times, and when I was going through withdrawals from the pain meds, he’d crawl in bed with me so I could sleep. Being so close to him shouldn’t be a problem.
I’m hyperaware of his breathing and movements. Great. I’m at barnacle level of attachment now.