Chapter 5 #4
“It’s legit.” Trevor pushed a little harder and wasn’t even very surprised—but still smug—when an outraged noise escaped from Lane and he swung his body over, tackling Trevor to the couch.
They grappled for a moment, like the two brothers they’d never been, and then Lane slid a thigh between Trevor’s legs, hovering over him. Their gazes locked and Trevor froze, breath still billowing out of his lungs.
He didn’t know who moved first. Maybe they moved together. But then they were kissing, fiercely, like it was the natural conclusion of the flirting and then the fighting they’d been doing.
Trevor groaned into it, his hands that had only a moment before been halfheartedly pushing Lane away now pulling him in closer, tighter. Winding their way around Lane’s neck, tangling in his hair.
“Fuck,” Lane groaned. “You make me—”
Trevor felt like he was holding his breath, waiting for the end of that statement. He could imagine half a dozen different adjectives that Lane could use, good and bad, but in the end, Lane didn’t say anything, just broke off, and broke the kiss too, rising to his knees.
Staring at him stupidly, all the blood in his brain drained to his dick, Trevor didn’t know what to say. What—where—why did you stop? nearly came out, but he swallowed the words back at the last moment, thank God.
Then Lane pulled his phone out of his pocket, clicking it on. “Yeah. Okay. Sure. I’ll be down in a minute to pick it up.”
After hanging up, he tossed the phone behind him on the couch. “Food’s here,” he said.
“Oh. Oh.”
Lane eyed him, his gaze steady, but his chest was still rising and falling, betraying how he was still worked up from their kiss.
“Do you want me to go?” Trevor asked, self-consciously. He was half chubbed in his sweats, only from a single wild kiss.
“No, I can do it,” Lane said and slid off the couch. He glanced over at the TV. “Oh, the game started.”
Trevor swallowed. They’d been too busy kissing to pay attention to anything happening on the screen.
“I’ll . . . uh . . . pause it and go back to the beginning. To puck drop,” Trevor said.
Shooting him a small smile, Lane grabbed a sweatshirt hanging on the back of a barstool, tugging it on. “Look at you, becoming an expert, too. Puck drop, even.”
Trevor flushed. He was already half jealous of Ramsey Andresen. He didn’t need to embarrass himself by using the wrong terminology in front of him, on top of it.
And then he flushed even hotter, because he realized that the sweatshirt Lane had pulled on was his. His number. His name.
Not something he’d ever seriously considered. But now he was craning his head, watching Lane disappear out the room, heading towards the front door so he could go downstairs and pick up their food.
It wasn’t going to take Lane very long to take the elevator downstairs, grab the food, and come back.
He had probably less than five minutes to get himself back together, but there was no way that was going to be enough time—not with the echoes of Lane’s touch and Lane’s kisses and Lane’s body pressed up against him, never mind the glimpse he’d gotten of his name plastered across Lane’s back.
Trevor took a deep breath and then another, shifting back to a normal sitting position. Picked up the remote and hoped focusing on a task would be enough to cool the remnants of the arousal simmering in his system.
It mostly worked.
He had the beginning of the game cued up when Lane came back in, and they’d just spread out the food across the coffee table—chicken and pork souvlaki on beds of rice, a big tub of cucumber-and-tomato salad, and a container of the best garlic sauce that Trevor had ever had.
When he’d been drafted here, one of the first things Lane had mentioned was how good the food was here, and he hadn’t been lying.
The first period had almost ended when Trevor’s phone buzzed. He picked it up, half in a food coma, and glanced at the screen.
It was a text from Cameron. Missed you tonight, bud. Me and Jordo were chatting—we should get together tomorrow. Grab some food. You in?
Part of Trevor wanted to say no, because what could possibly be better than coming back to Lane’s apartment, just the two of them closed in here together, Lane wandering around half dressed, Trevor unable to get quite enough air in his lungs because of how fucking good he looked?
Doing his puzzle as Lane gently roasted him about it?
But he should say yes. He liked Cameron, and what he was beginning to see of the real Jordan was definitely more intriguing than the guy he’d presented himself to be in the first part of the season.
He texted Cam back. Yeah, I’m in.
Turned to Lane and felt a little jolt, deep down in his stomach, when he realized that Lane’s gaze had already been on him. “Um, I’m gonna go out with Cam and Jordo tomorrow.”
Lane’s mouth tilted up into a wry smile. “Rookie bonding?”
Trevor nodded, and Lane said, “Better late than never, I guess.”
And even though Lane should want him to go, should want him to form other friendships on the team, Trevor discovered he was actually a little disappointed at how readily Lane had let him go.