17. PARKER
SEVENTEEN
PARKER
A full night of spooning followed by a mind-numbing orgasm?
Damn, I’m glad I chose to travel with the team. I send a dopey smile toward the ceiling as I catch my breath. Never in a million years could I have guessed that would happen, especially since I always thought Connor was straight. The weird revelation I had about my high school self still hasn’t completely left me because how do you wrap your head around having sex with someone you’ve built up into a dream?
“Shit, I need to shower.” Connor glances down at himself.
I follow his stare toward the sight of my cum on his abs. Is this real life?
At this point, I wouldn’t be at all surprised to know that I’m actually dead and this is the afterlife I’ve conjured for myself. Literally no part of this feels real. Especially as Connor climbs out of bed, completely naked, and heads toward the bathroom.
He only gets halfway there before someone knocks on my door. “Mr. Duchene? Are you up?”
Connor whirls on me, eyes wide, as we both place the voice at the same time.
Coach Macklin .
I scramble into my sleep shorts as Connor ducks into the bathroom, and then I go for the door. “Morning.”
“Morning.” He looks tense. “Team bus is due to head off in five. Were you riding with us?”
Five minutes ?
“Sorry, I lost track of time. I’ll be right down.”
I close the door right as Connor bolts out of the bathroom.
“Holy fuck, what time is it?”
“Ten.”
“Fuck. Fuck .”
I watch in a daze as he pulls up his suit pants, throws his shirt on, and grabs his jacket. When he reaches the door, he’s careful to peek outside. The coast must be clear because he tosses me a quick “ see you down there ” and disappears out into the hall.
I’m staring at the place for way too long before I remember I need to pack.
This is the downside of unpacking that I never anticipated because I’m chronically early for everything. I pull on a pair of sweats and a zip-up hoodie, then thoroughly brush my teeth and throw everything into my bag.
I’m halfway out the door when something catches my eyes. Tangled in the sheets. Dark material.
Connor left his boxers behind.
I pick them up by the waistband, and of course, they’re Calvin Kleins. I don’t think I’ve ever, ever been left a slutty memento, and I’m torn between getting turned on or being grossed out. On the one hand, I bet they smell like him; on the other, there is nothing in this world that could get my face close enough to check.
At the very least, returning them will give me an excuse to talk to him once more.
I hate that I don’t have time to shower, and my hair is a fluffy mess, but Connor is going to be worse off than me because all our cum this morning ended up on him. It’s probably my imagination, but I swear I can still smell him on my skin.
I shiver as the elevator takes me down, remembering his weight wrapped around me. That heavy thigh between my legs. He might be only beginning to realize his attraction to men, but this is something I’ve been aware of for a very, very long time. Thick thighs, big hands, the scrape of stubble. I don’t know if Connor is coincidentally ticking all of my boxes or if he created those boxes because of my unrequited crush, but I know last night and this morning will never be topped.
There’s no point trying.
From now on, every man I ever meet will have to measure up to Connor and will fail.
It’s probably time to accept that I’m destined for a very lonely life.
I hand off my luggage to the driver and climb on board the bus, where bored, impatient hockey players are waiting. Some of them have their faces stuck in their phones, but the ones who don’t glance my way.
Lots and lots of eyes. Lots and lots of jocks. Being surrounded like this isn’t something I’ve experienced for a long time, and I hate the way it immediately makes me want to shrink in on myself.
Then I catch Easton’s eyes, and he smiles. “Mr. Duchene. Slumming it with us, huh?”
“Seemed economical.”
Munter turns my way. “But aren’t you a billionaire? Shouldn’t you have people driving you around and opening doors for you?”
Flores slaps him on the back of the head. “Inside thoughts.”
“That would imply Munter thinks,” Easton adds.
The three of them laugh, and I awkwardly hover there, not sure if I should laugh with them or slink away and find a seat .
Coach Macklin saves me with his booming voice. “Anyone seen Kikishkin?”
“Right here.” Easton raises his hand.
“Not you. Your brother.”
“Since when is he late?” Surprise crosses Easton’s pretty face. “Just leave him in New York, Coach. The better Kiki half is all you need.”
Macklin glares his way, and I make the mistake of meeting Easton’s eyes as he ducks down, like hiding will save him from his coach’s wrath.
Easton’s gaze narrows slightly. “You wouldn’t know where Connor is, would you?”
Alarm bells shout in my mind, and the urge to stutter all over myself rises. I can’t give Connor away like that, and I’m reminding myself to play it cool when he continues.
“If you killed him, I’m probably going to have to defend his honor, and that sounds like a lot of work for me.”
“Fucking finally!” Macklin shouts.
Connor jogs onto the bus, cheeks flushed and somehow looking hotter than ever.
He’s jeered by some of his team, and I quickly find a spare seat before he looks my way. Tisdale is beside me and sleeping, and Connor doesn’t even notice me back here as he takes the seat beside his brother.
The whole ride to the airport, all I can see is the back of his head, and I watch it wistfully. What we shared was in the past, and he’ll never know what it means for me to finally feel seen. I’m fully aware that guys like me don’t get guys like him, so I know what happens from here. He goes on to explore his sexuality, and I get to be content with the knowledge that I helped him get to that point.
I’m one lucky man.
We get to the airport, and I catch up with Macklin as we head inside.
“Sorry about this morning. ”
“No harm done. You weren’t the only one we were waiting on.”
I’d apologize for that too, but if he knows it was my fault, he’ll know what happened between us, and that isn’t something anyone can know. Connor was right. As the team’s owner, the imbalance of power is heavily in my favor, even if I don’t feel anything close to powerful, ever.
Macklin sighs. “Something’s going on with Connor Kikishkin.”
“What?”
“Just a hunch. Normally he’s one of the dependable guys, but I get the feeling something’s off. Even if he does go and do something stupid after a game, he’s still normally on time for the bus.”
Wow. I think this is the first time ever that I’m something stupid. I don’t hate it.
“I was also thinking about the night after the benefit. Where he was sick all day and I had to pull him from the lineup.”
“It was food poisoning,” I say. It definitely wasn’t my fault for taunting him into thinking he could lose his job.
“Mm. Maybe. Then there’s the fight between the Kiki brothers during preseason.”
My heart rate picks up because I can’t help but think the only reason Macklin is suspicious is because of me. Me coming back into Connor’s life has caused him to have some existential crisis, and it’s affecting the game he is paid millions to play. “They seemed close on the bus,” I point out, but it’s a weak argument.
“Shit. I shouldn’t be talking to you about this.”
That brings a flicker of annoyance. “Why not?”
“It’s not something you need to worry about.”
“Considering this is my team, I’d say everything is something I should be worried about.”
“Yeah, but gossiping like a preteen doesn’t help anyone. He played a great game last night. In the end, that’s all that matters.”
I’m getting the distinct impression he’s trying to put me back in place. That position slightly out of the inner circle where I don’t have to worry about the intricate workings of the team. I just have to keep throwing my money at them.
That same crippling feeling of being left out and ostracized by peers claws at my throat. I’ve experienced it my whole life, and while I know the power I hold here is from a financial advantage, I don’t want to be known for only that. “Actually, I care about my players on and off the ice. I know Brendan did things one way, but I want to be involved. That means talking through concerns, being part of strategy meetings and?—”
“What would you know about strategy?”
He doesn’t ask in a mean tone, but I feel inferior anyway. “Not a lot, honestly. Dad taught me what he could, and I know a fan’s perspective, but that’s the point. I want to learn. I want to know how my team runs. I want to shadow people as they work and know the organization inside and out.”
“So do it. No one can stop you.”
“I’m also acutely aware that people don’t want me around.”
Understanding lights up behind his eyes. Macklin stuffs his hands in his jeans pockets. “Want to know what I think?”
After this conversation? I’m scared to. But I force myself to stop being chickenshit and nod.
“I respect you because you’re professional and you don’t get in my way. You also really care about the team—or at least winning—otherwise, you wouldn’t be making it to all the games. Not many owners do that, so it gets you immediate points in my book. But you’re young, you’re rich, and you’re kind of hard to approach.”
“I am?” Me? Is he sure he’s talking about me? Parker Duchene ?
“You intimidate people. Not me, but I don’t think anyone does. The others … yeah. You’re a hard guy to read.”
That’s not my impression of myself at all. It’s hard to shake the timid guy I was in high school and the closed-off guy I was in college, but I’ve been working on it. Most of the time, my brain is a rambly mess, and I’m trying to control it when I’m around other human-type people.
“It’s hilarious that you think people are scared of me when I’m literally scared of everyone.”
“I would never have guessed that.”
Really? “I’m five foot nine. I think I’m the shortest man around this team.”
He cracks up laughing. “You forget the skates add height. But when you walk in, wearing your suits, with that pissed-off expression on your face, telling people to call you Mr. Duchene … trust me when I say your height doesn’t factor in.”
None of that would have ever occurred to me. Here I was, trying to be professional and grown-up, and all I’ve done is terrify my staff.
“How do I fix it?” I ask.
“Loosen up.” Macklin runs his eyes over me. “This. This morning. This is good. No suits, you’re chatting, and you don’t smell like disinfectant.” He cuffs me on the shoulder. “Sit next to me on the plane. I’m good at telling people things they don’t want to hear. We’ll have you a true Colorado boy yet.”
I know enough not to point out I literally grew up there. Macklin wants to help. He’s also not scared of me. This is a good start.
And sitting next to him on the plane means that I don’t have to deal with finding an empty seat and being disappointed when Connor doesn’t fill the one beside me.
It’ll also take the pressure off him feeling like he needs to.