17. Ben #2
Fraser’s thumb moves when mine does, slow and absent while we argue about whether the winger should’ve been lower. During the next stoppage, he turns his head and kisses me.
There’s no rush in it. His mouth opens under mine, and we kiss until play starts again. Then he pulls back to yell at the television without taking his hand out of my pants.
This is the easiest relationship I’ve ever had.
The thought is wrong. This isn’t a relationship. It’s curiosity. We’ve gotten comfortable because we’ve done this enough times to know what feels good. Watching hockey afterward doesn’t change that.
Fraser strokes me through the commercial break. I get half hard in his hand and kiss the side of his neck.
My stomach growls against his arm.
“I’m ordering Pad Thai,” I say. I reach for my phone without moving his hand. “This place is really good, and there’s a fifty-percent-off deal in the app. Do you want anything?”
Fraser looks at me. “Your salary has too many zeros in it for you to care about fifty percent off dinner.”
“A deal is a deal.” I open the restaurant page.
“Your contract is worth millions.” Fraser gives my cock a slow stroke.
“And dinner is half price.” I choose two orders of spring rolls.
He starts laughing. “Fine. Pad Thai. Extra spicy.”
I check out. The delivery estimate is thirty-five minutes.
Fraser’s hand is still in my pants. I put the phone down and kiss him again.
The game reaches the second period before Grayson’s name appears on my screen.
Fraser pulls his hand away. “You should get that.”
I hesitate. Grayson and I still don’t call often enough for me to ignore him.
“Yeah.” I answer. “Hey.”
Fraser gets up while Grayson asks what I’m doing. He pulls on his jeans and finds his T-shirt near the other end of the couch.
“Watching a game,” I tell Grayson.
“You sound weird.”
“I’m fine.”
Fraser reaches for his hoodie as Grayson asks, “Is this a bad time?”
It will be if Fraser leaves. “No.” I sit forward. He already has one arm in his hoodie. “What’s up?”
“Nothing. I was calling to say hi.”
The buzzer sounds from the panel beside the door.
Fraser pulls the hoodie back off. He points at the door, and I nod before telling Grayson to wait.
I unlock it from the wall panel. Fraser opens the condo door when the delivery driver knocks and takes the bags. He looks at me, ready to hand them over.
I point toward the kitchen counter instead.
He carries the food over and starts taking out containers.
“Who was that?” Grayson asks.
“Dinner.”
“Dinner opened your door?”
“The driver was at the door.” I watch Fraser find plates in the first cabinet he tries. “How’s Korolev?”
“He’s good. Are you trying to get rid of me?”
“No.” The answer comes out fast enough that Fraser looks over.
“You asked about Vasya after forty seconds.”
I turn away and lower my voice. “I ask about him every time.”
“Usually after at least two minutes.”
Fraser is still watching me. I face the window. “I have food getting cold.”
“Okay.” Grayson draws the word out. “Call me later.”
“I will.”
“You always say that.”
Fraser carries both containers toward the coffee table. I don’t want him putting his shoes on again. “I’ll call tomorrow.”
He makes me promise before he lets me hang up.
Fraser has the food set out on the coffee table when I put my phone down. His jeans are buttoned, but his shoes are still beside the couch.
“Everything okay?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
He hands me a container. “You got off the phone fast.”
“Food was getting cold.”
“Right.”
I open my Pad Thai. “It was.”
Fraser doesn’t argue. He picks up his fork and takes a bite. His eyes water almost immediately.
“Too spicy?”
“Fuck off.”
He takes another bite to prove whatever point he thinks he’s making.
The food is good. Fraser admits it after half the container, then tries to claim the discount made it taste cheap. I tell him he can pay full price next time. He tells me there won’t be a next time if I keep talking.
There will be. I still have the restaurant saved in the app.
We keep talking after the game ends. Seattle’s next road trip leads to whether Bobby cheats at cards. When Fraser starts making fun of the condo again, we end up on the boxes in my second bedroom.
“Are you ever going to unpack them?” Fraser asks.
“There’s nothing in there I need.”
“Do you know what’s in them?” He lifts his head from the arm of the couch.
“Books. A lamp.”
He looks toward the hallway. “You own a lamp.”
“Apparently. I don’t remember packing it.”
“And you left it in a box while the team gave you three ugly ones.”
I look at the three lamps. “The light works.”
Fraser lets his eyes close. “I’m going to unpack it next time I’m here.”
“What makes you think there’s going to be a next time?” I ask.
He smiles without opening his eyes. “The fifty-percent-off Pad Thai.”
His words are starting to run together. He’s stretched across the couch with his feet over my legs, one arm wedged behind his head. I finish stacking the empty containers on the coffee table while he tells me my lamp is probably embarrassed.
His sentence stops halfway through.
“Fraser?”
He doesn’t answer. His head has tipped into the corner of the couch, mouth slightly open, with one foot trapped under my thigh.
He was supposed to go home.
I could wake him. His car is downstairs, and he has his own bed.
I turn the television down and let him sleep.