17. Xander #2
“But we’ve never let the team pick. Ever since the inception of this team back in 1924. The captain has always been chosen by management,” Brady stated.
“Yeah well, new times and all that. We have to be more willing to bend and change. I suspect that if the team chooses you as their captain, the hue and cry from the small but vocal homophobe squad will be lighter.” Nick threw me a look.
“As for you, keep doing what you’re doing.
The press hasn’t had a damn bad thing to say about you and we want to keep it that way. Now where’s the bar?”
“It’s a dry party,” Brady informed Nick. “We have kids here.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Nick grumbled. Off he went into the night muttering about the lack of a bar at a team party. Brady and I stood in the kitchen, staring at each other.
“Do you feel as if you’ve just been run over by a tank?” I asked and he nodded. What must it be like to be so certain on the future? Was there life after hockey? Of course there was, but to get there was the most difficult of decisions. “What are you going to do next?”
“Next? I’m going to go find my wife, kiss her on the cheek, and spend the rest of the night with my friends and loved ones. I suggest you do the same.”
I couldn’t imagine the Rebels without Brady. “But what about the decision about coaching—”
“It’s just a game, Xan. There are more important things than hockey.”
“Who are you and what have you done with Brady Rowe?”
He chuckled in what sounded like resignation. “I’m still here. Just an older and sorer version of that young man you met all those years ago.”
“You’re still the biggest, baddest asshole on the ice.”
His lips quirked. “Thanks. You’re a big asshole as well. Let’s go find our other halves.”
That night, well after midnight, I was lying in bed with Mason
It was hard to pin down what kind of mood I was in. Part of me was saddened to still be in this place where queer people had to tiptoe around. Yes, we’d made progress. Lots of it. But damn there was such a long way to go.
“Did you see the latest IG update from Marquis?” Mason asked as he scrolled through social media one last time before we turned out the lights. I had a book I was supposedly reading on my Kindle, which was propped up on my chest. I’d read the same line at least twenty times by now.
“No, I didn’t see it.” I’d not checked my phone other than for messages since we’d left the party. Too much on my mind for inane posts about what some starlet had for dinner.
“Do you even follow him?” Mason asked as he stretched out beside me, his bare body pressed tightly to my side.
“Maybe?”
His huff made me smile. “Well, he’s in Monte Carlo. On a nude beach.” I rolled my head to look down at him. He was smirking. “Yep, you heard me right. On a nude beach. With men all flocking around him.”
“Guess he’s not worried about being Mr. Conservative,” I muttered then sighed.
“Not in the least. Tonight he’s meeting with the crown prince of Monaco then he’s jetting off to some tiny little province north of Norway.
Or was it south? Well, whatever. He’s out there chit-chatting with royalty and flouncing around on nude beaches being an out pan Black man.
And Sinclair has the balls to tell you that you have to be above reproach.
It just pisses me off. Why do you have to walk this straight and narrow path? ”
“Not so straight.” He rolled his eyes. “That’s the catch. And I’m not walking any path, straight or queer until training camp. Right now, I’m not even sure I’d take the C if they offered it.”
“Oh please, stop. You’d be so damn honored to be the team captain your buttons would burst. If you were wearing something with buttons.” He chucked his phone, and the images of Marquis cavorting with crowned princes and nude French men, to the nightstand then walked his fingers down my chest.
“Yeah, you’re right. And that makes me mad at myself.”
“Why? You’ve been on the team for twelve years, you and Eli both. If anyone deserves that letter it’s you. Or him. I think you because you’re less prone to be a dumbass.”
I chuckled. “I’m telling him you said that when we play golf tomorrow.”
“Pfft. I’m not afraid of him.” His fingers strayed down around my navel. My cock started to stir to life as his hand drew closer to it. “You’re the natural choice.”
I rolled over to press him into the mattress. He gazed at me with adoration. I lowered my mouth to his. He tasted of mint toothpaste. His hands snaked around my neck, keeping my lips tight to his.
“You’re such a good kisser.” He sighed when I left his lush mouth to feast on his collarbones.
I suckled a dark mark on his armpit that left him breathless from a giggle fit.
Then I moved down his side, kissing each rib until I reached his hip.
I followed his pelvic bone to his cock then took the fat head in my mouth.
He arched up, his fingers clasping at my shoulders, easing more cock down my throat.
I sucked him off leisurely, taking my time until he blew to bits in my mouth. I loved the salty bitter flavor of him.
“You’re good at other things too,” he rasped when I moved back over him, licking my way back to his mouth.
“Am I good at loving you as you deserve?” I asked, bracing myself arms locked, my gaze grabbing his. He was mellow now. Sated and serene. “Are we doing this gay couple thing correctly? Should we be more out? Prouder? More vocal? I feel like I’m letting my queer brothers and sisters down.”
He placed his hands on either side of my face, his thumbs resting on my cheekbones. “And this is why the team will vote you in as captain if Brady steps down. You always worry about everyone else first. We’re doing us just fine. Are you happy?”
“Deliriously.”
“So am I. So we’re doing things right. Are we Marquis level? No, but that’s not our life, it’s his. Stop worrying over everything else.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t seem to shake the worry that if the guys do vote for me that I’ll bring some sort of upset or division to the dressing room. Maybe they’re not ready for a gay captain. Maybe Sinclair was right.”
“And maybe Sinclair doesn’t know you like I do.” He led my mouth to his. Our tongues met and tangled. “Mm, so sweet. Are you still thinking about the Rebels?”
“Maybe?”
His nose wrinkled. It was beyond adorable. “Let me see what I can do to get your mind off hockey.”
With a wink, he wiggled downward until my knees rested on either side of his head and my cock was in his mouth.
He took every inch of me down his throat with greedy sounds of glee, his hands on my ass, prompting me to fuck his mouth.
I studied him, the slip of my wet dick in and out of his mouth, the way his lips stretched to accommodate my girth.
He hummed and slurped as I rocked my hips.
Fingers splayed on the wall above the headboard, I pumped a load into his mouth.
He groaned around my cock, swallowing each pulse until he had me milked dry.
I collapsed backward, my dick leaving his lips with a loud POP! that made him snicker.
“Holy hell,” I gasped as I lay there staring at the ceiling as my lungs worked for air. Mason slunk up over me, dropping tiny kisses along the way until his lips were on mine. I slid a hand into his hair, licking deep, my essence fresh and strong on his tongue.
“Still thinking about hockey?”
“What is this hockey of which you speak?” His laughter fell over me like a soft summer sheet fresh from the line. No matter what darkness or worry rested on my shoulders Mason eased me. I brushed some hair from his face. “Did you know I love you more than anything?”
He spread his slight weight over me as a brush of a summer breeze moved through the open window to cool us.
“I’m not sure if I do know that. Better tell me again, just to make sure.”
“I love you more than anything.”
“More than pizza?”
“Yeah.”
“More than root beer?”
“Yeah.”
“More than puppies?”
I paused to consider. “Yeah. But only just.”
“Okay, that’s fair. More than hockey?”
“For sure.”
“Good. I love you more than anything too.”
He kissed me softly and all my worries blew away on that sweet summer wind.