Chapter 20
CONNOR
By the time Madars and I had wrung three orgasms apiece out of our systems, it was a miracle I could still stand.
We’d fucked in the bed. Showered. Blown each other into oblivion.
Lounged together in the en suite’s enormous bathtub.
Fucked again, slowly and tenderly, until I was a breathless, trembling wreck and Madars damn near passed out.
“What time is it?” I asked as we finally emerged from the bedroom, bare feet padding quietly on the chilly marble.
“Almost seven.” He touched the small of my back and kissed my cheek. “I’d suggest going to get something to eat, but all the restaurants are closed.”
“Are they? At seven?”
“Mmhmm. They’ll reopen around eight.” He paused to stretch a crick out of his back. “The bakery is open, though. The one with the good coffee.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Good coffee, you say?”
Madars chuckled. “I take it that’s a yes.”
“Um, obviously. And I could go for a pastry. I feel like we earned it.”
He put a hand on my waist and pressed a soft kiss to my lips. “We definitely earned it.”
He helped me take my suitcases and bag, which we’d left in the entryway, into the bedroom. Then we both changed into shorts and T-shirts, put on our shoes, and stepped out into the thick heat.
“Wow,” I said as we headed down the porch steps to the front gate. “The heat here is intense.”
“It gets even hotter.” He opened the gate. “There’s a reason siesta exists—it’s the hottest time of the day, so everyone goes inside to cool off.”
“Smart people. Because holy shit… it’s hot.”
He laughed as we continued out onto the tree-lined sidewalk. “Whenever my friend and I skate while we’re here, we’re tempted to just lie down on the ice for a little while.”
“I can see that. When do we meet up with him, anyway?”
“He and his wife get in on Monday, and we’ve got the rink on Tuesday and Thursday mornings while we’re here.”
I nodded. “And you said the villa has a home gym?”
“It does. I’d rather have more ice time to stay conditioned, but there will be enough time to work up to game condition before the preseason.”
“True. You’re still supposed to be babying your knee a little, aren’t you?”
“Pfft.” He waved his hand. “The only reason I didn’t get back to playing was the season ended before I was cleared. If the season were happening right now? The doctors would let me play.”
I whistled. “Wow. You did bounce back.”
Madars half-shrugged. “The tear wasn’t as bad as they thought, and I didn’t have as many setbacks with the surgery this time.” He shuddered. “Last time, I had two infections that were fucking miserable and cost me weeks.”
Grimacing, I shuddered too. “None of that this time?”
He shook his head. “Nope. Clean bill of health. Full recovery.”
“Good.” I grinned at him. “I need your knee in working order.”
He returned the grin. Fuck, if I wasn’t already completely wrung out, I’d have suggested going back to the villa and going another round.
Not tonight, though. My dick and ass were both done for now.
At the end of the street, Madars led me to the bakery, which was tucked in between a doner kebab place and what I thought was a laundromat.
There were a few other restaurants and shops along the street, some open, some with their rolldown doors tightly closed.
One of the cafés was open, with people sitting at tables out on the patio.
I nodded toward it. “I thought the restaurants didn’t open until eight.”
“Some do. I learned very fast the first time I came here that you have to check the hours for everything, because they’re not universal.”
“Good to know. What’s the whole siesta thing, anyway? Like how does it work?”
“They close for a couple of hours during the day. Two to four, usually.” He pulled open the bakery door and gestured for me to go in ahead of him. “Sometimes they don’t come back afterward, either, especially on Fridays or the weekends. Just depends on the business.”
I nodded. Good thing he had a handle on things like that. My internal clock was still blinking 12:00, and I’d have been hard-pressed to keep up with business hours I was used to. Variable hours? Siesta? I was tired just thinking about it.
The bakery we’d walked into smelled amazing. Coffee. Bread. All kinds of smells I couldn’t quite identify. The glass case was filled with pastries I’d never seen before, and as hungry as I was, they all looked good.
“What do you recommend?” I asked.
He gestured at a tray marked Napolitana de chocolate. On it were what I could only describe as flat, rectangular croissants stuffed with chocolate and drizzled with more. “Those are amazing,” he said. “In fact, I’m probably having two.”
I turned to him. “Two?”
“Mmhmm. They’re pretty light.” He touched my back and grinned, and he lowered his voice so only I heard him add, “And I burned a lot of calories earlier.”
I laughed. Oh, we’d both burned quite a few calories. Two of those pastries sounded pretty damn good to me, too, but… maybe not quite yet. I’d start with one and go from there.
The staff didn’t speak any English at all, so Madars handled our orders. He got us coffees and three of the Napolitana de chocolate pastries. Then we took a table outside in the shade of what Madars said was an orange tree.
“They’re the bitter oranges,” he explained as we sat down. “The ones they use for marmalade, I guess.”
“Ah, so you can’t just pick them and eat them?”
“I mean, you can.” He shrugged, picking up one of his pastries. “But you might not like it.”
“Too bad they’re not growing right now. I could find out if you’re full of shit.”
He laughed. “And I could film your reaction to biting into one.”
“Are they that bad?”
“Don’t know. Never tried one.”
“You? The adventurous eater?” I put a hand to my chest. “I’m shocked.”
“Yeah, well…” He shook his head. “I heard ‘bitter orange’ and said ‘no, thanks.’”
“Hmm, I guess that’s smart.” I picked up my pastry and took a bite.
I instantly understood why Madars had recommended these.
I’d kind of expected it to be dense and rich, but it was surprisingly light and airy.
The chocolate must’ve been some variety of dark chocolate—not what I’d call bitter, but not overpoweringly sweet, either.
Madars grinned. “What do you think?”
“It’s really good.” I dusted some crumbs off my shirt. “I might have to get a second one, too.”
He chuckled as he went for a bite of his own. “Or try some of the others.” He tipped his head toward the bakery. “Some of them are a little sweet for me, but I’ve never tasted one I didn’t like.”
“Well, damn. Now I just want to graze my way through the whole place.”
“We can come here as often as you want.”
That brought me up short. And then I remembered—this wasn’t a one-time thing. We’d have day after day to come here and drink their coffee and try their various pastries.
Because this wouldn’t be over after today. Or after this week. Or even after the end of the month.
Somehow, I had weeks in this place with this man.
I wondered when that would start to feel real.
I’d never had much of an inclination to watch a partner sleep, but this time, just like that one morning in Prague, I couldn’t help it.
Or, well, I was listening to Madars sleep, since the siesta shades had rendered the room pitch black.
I had no idea if there were streetlights on or moonlight or anything because we were completely sealed off from the outside world.
I liked it, and once I was fully adapted to the time zone, I’d probably sleep like the dead.
Thanks to my body clock being scrambled by traveling, though, I was wide awake in the middle of the night: 3:12 am, to be exact, according to the blindingly bright screen of my phone.
That was now facedown on the nightstand again, and I just lay there in the darkness, listening to Madars breathing softly and steadily beside me.
The only time we’d ever slept through the night together had been the final handful of nights in Prague, and he’d been restless from pain and drugs thanks to his torn MCL.
Tonight, he was completely relaxed. Every now and then, he’d shift or stir a little, but for the most part, he was sound asleep.
As I listened, my mind went back to those days when we lived across the hall from each other.
We’d text back and forth until we were sure my parents were asleep.
Then one of us would tiptoe across the hall and slip into the other’s room—silently, of course, since we kept those door hinges thoroughly greased.
There’d always been something exhilarating about sliding under the covers with him. It felt reckless and risky, like we might get caught at any moment even though my parents had been on the opposite end of the house and could sleep through anything.
Sometimes we’d make out. During the second year, as we’d both neared eighteen and were getting a little braver, things got hotter and heavier. Even then, sometimes we’d just lay there and talk until we were nearly falling asleep.
We’d both been terrified of my parents busting us in bed together.
Even after I’d come out to them, and later, Madars had done the same, we couldn’t take that chance.
It was no different than my siblings bringing their boyfriends and girlfriends around but never being caught in a compromising position.
Plus we’d never actually told my parents there was anything between us.
They knew we were friends, but everything beyond that we’d kept a secret.
Sometimes I wondered what they would’ve said or done if they’d known.
Our biggest fear had been them deciding it was “inappropriate” for us to be living in the same house if we were dating.
Shortly before we’d started—well, “dating” was being generous but whatever it was we’d been doing—another billet family’s daughter had started dating the player living with them.
They’d immediately had him transferred to another house.
The boy and girl were still allowed to date, but the consensus had been that they shouldn’t be living under the same roof.
Neither of us had wanted to risk being separated like that, especially since it meant outing Madars to the major junior league. He hadn’t been ready for that yet, and what other explanation could be given for why he suddenly couldn’t stay in our house?
So we’d kept it out of sight, and admittedly, I’d always gotten a little thrill about sneaking around with the hot boy across the hall.
That thrill was gone now, replaced by something… quieter. Something steady and even that didn’t feel like it would inevitably flame out.
My heart sped up as I stared up into the darkness. What if this had some staying power? What if we really, truly could make it work? He wasn’t playing in the NAL, so there was no conflict of interest. The distance was something we’d have to contend with, but so far, so good.
Beside me, Madars sighed in his sleep, then fell back into his usual slow, gentle breathing.
Closing my eyes, I smiled to myself. I’d honestly never imagined reconnecting like this as adults.
I’d been a teenager—I hadn’t really thought much further ahead than the next semester at school.
We both had grand professional plans, but this thing between us?
It had been all about right here, right now.
And a decade later, here we were…
Right here.
Right now.
Was it too soon to hope this was only the beginning?