8. Tennant #3
And that was how the home frottage sessions began.
When we were on the road, there was no more petting.
Mads had laid down that law after that one night, and I kind of understood it.
We were walking a fine line with this relationship…
if that was even what it was. Being discovered with our pants literally down would be one major mess for Mads and the team.
Knowing he was just a few doors down when we traveled was torture.
When we were home, I was at his place, because all I owned was a piano and a PlayStation, which he commented on all the time.
I found his worry about my undecorated place funny.
Mads was unlike any lover I’d ever had. He was tender, methodical, patient, and determined to take things S-L-O-W.
He was humorous, sharp, smart, and totally devoted to Ryker.
The only complaint I had was how leisurely Jared Madsen really moved.
I’d thought slow would mean a date or two then getting into the monkey sex.
Nope. With Mads, slow meant moving at the speed of a fucking glacier.
“I don’t want you to regret being with an old man,” he said whenever I begged, pleaded, or demanded he fuck me, or at least let me suck that fat, uncut cock of his.
I told him repeatedly over that long, incredible month that there was no way I’d ever feel that way, but he stuck to his guns.
And along the way, I learned things about taking my time, pleasing my partner, and not being all about the money shot.
Each time we came in each other’s arms, I grew a little closer to the man, trusted him a little more, and fell a little deeper.
He and I both went through a ridiculous amount of underwear from mid-September to Halloween, but I didn’t complain.
Well, not too much. Okay, I bitched constantly.
Then the first weekend of November arrived, and with it the knowledge that we were going up against Boston and Brady in a Sunday afternoon matinee game.
Brady would arrive sometime late Saturday.
We were to meet up at this clubby pub down by the Capitol building and do dinner.
Mostly Brady wanted to check up on me and touch base with Mads, I assumed.
Whatever. I was too busy trying to make Coach Benning acknowledge how much better suited I was for the first line to worry over Brady trying to dictate my life.
Benning, the stupid shit, had this mental block about playing the old vets no matter if he had someone faster, younger, stronger, and hungrier.
It drove me—and several sports writers—nuts.
While I was shoving clean clothes into an overnight bag, my phone chirruped.
It was my mother ringing. Guilt instantly washed over me.
Her calls had gone to my voicemail nine times out of ten over the past six weeks.
Not that I didn’t want to talk to her. I did.
It was just Mads. Really, Mads and hockey were my life now. But still, she was my mom…
“Hey there, Mom,” I said with all kinds of cheery goodness.
“Tennant, I’ve been trying to contact you for days. What good is having a cell phone if you never answer it? Your father was starting to worry that you were in a ditch somewhere.”
“Right, it was Dad worrying about me in a ditch.” I had to chuckle at her. I tossed a handful of clean underwear into my duffle.
“Don’t get sassy. There were two reasons I was calling. One was to ask if you’ve been playing the piano. Have you?”
I glanced at my dusty piano. “No, not recently.” I’ve been too busy playing hockey and grinding on Mads, Mom.
“I was afraid of that. Put the PlayStation controller down occasionally and play that piano. You’ll thank me someday.”
I rolled my eyes but mumbled something to placate her.
“Secondly, you remember Jennifer Gates?”
I froze with a clean T-shirt in my hands. “Uh, yeah…”
“She just completed her studies and has come back home to start teaching kindergarten over at your elementary school. Isn’t that exciting?
She’s staying with her parents until she can find an apartment.
Well, you know how much your dad and I always thought of Jennifer, so I invited her and her folks for Thanksgiving dinner. Tennant? Honey?”
“I… Uh, I’m here, Mom, just thinking.”
I dropped the shirt I’d been gripping into my duffel bag.
Jennifer Gates. Nice, sweet, perky Jennifer.
My beard all through high school. Hell, I’d even fondled her boobs the night of junior prom just to keep the ruse going.
When she’d moved off to Colorado to get her education degree, I’d pretended to miss her like a boyfriend would miss a girlfriend.
My eyes drifted shut. Mom started talking about old times and how Jennifer had always been so smart and clever.
Oh, and those big brown eyes of hers always sparkled.
“… after we eat and spend the evening. Maybe you and her can rekindle?”
I opened my eyes and stared down at the bag I was packing to take over to Mads’ place. “Mom, can we do a video chat?”
“Oh, sure. Let me grab my coffee.” She dashed off.
I sat down beside my bag. The bag holding the clothes that I was taking to my gay lover’s. Wow. Okay. This was not how I’d planned this. Actually, I’d never planned it at all.
“Okay, I’m back. Dad says hi.”
“Tell Dad to stick close, okay?”