CADEN
Chapter Fifteen
Every touch, every breath he released over my lips, every stroke of his hand down my hair, and every inch his knuckles crossed along my jaw felt like a new lease on life.
That night, his appetites awakened again, matching those of my body, and he did as he had promised.
He made tears stream down my cheeks, his thickness wedged in my throat. But I returned the favor, too.
And even when we slept, I was aware of him. He existed both as a delight in my increasingly lonelier life and as a dread of something impossible.
He was impossible.
A straight guy with a lust for a single man, his sworn rival at that, was not something that happened very often in real life.
I was aware of it while we slept and still when we woke up.
I remained aware of it when we joined our team for the trip home.
I knew my predicament was impossible when we all arrived at the team house and hung out in the basement with the arcade games and the soccer table.
Beckett was with his crowd, surrounded by Paxton and Jordan and the rest. And I was on the other end, watching Asher lose at flipper.
He slammed his open palm against the side of the vintage arcade game and cursed under his breath.
“Whoa, are you sure it’s the game?” I commented, trying to focus on Asher’s problems, but Beckett remained in the very center of my mind.
Not Beckett, exactly, but all the things about him.
The fact that he had been straight all his life bothered me.
Could I trust him not to change his mind just as quickly?
The fact that we had simply swept our issues under the rug for the sake of fantastic sex worried me.
Asher ran a hand through the mop of honey-brown hair and pointed his eyes at me. His strong jaw stiffened as he nodded. “What else would it be?”
I shrugged. “Dunno. But I do know what unresolved issues look like.” I grinned at him to soften the intrusion of privacy. His symptoms were not too unlike my own, except that my destructive actions had been pointed inward when I had attempted to tank my career.
Asher sighed. “Thanks, man, but…” He hesitated. “I’m not sure I want to talk about it.”
I gave him a significant nod. “If you ever do, I’m a good listener.”
He thanked me again, touching my shoulder to emphasize how genuine he was, then focused on the game. I glanced at Beckett, but Jordan’s scowl drew my attention. It was gone as soon as our eyes met.
Whatever the hell was up, it was no business of mine unless Asher decided to speak up.
But even so, I could make out the basics.
Jordan had probably lectured him again. It was a constant presence in their strained relationship, if such a thing could even be called that.
I’d seen Asher light up on the ice, only to leave the rink in a sour mood after an encounter with Jordan.
And I had seen Jordan cross his arms in concern over Asher’s dramatic walkouts.
I was the only child in my family. I didn’t know what it would have been like to be forced to change that in young adulthood.
But I didn’t linger on this question too long.
Beckett met my eyes for the briefest of moments.
He looked at me and then at the door. At any other time in our relationship, I would have taken it as a challenge.
But I knew what he wanted. And even the slightest reminder that he wanted it made my pulse quicken.
I casually walked away from the basement, not even glancing at him. I had barely shut the door of my room before it opened again.
“A gentleman would knock,” I said as the door shut again. I turned on my heels, arms crossed on my chest, and faced my unlikely lover.
He arched an eyebrow at me. “When have I ever given you a reason to suspect I’m a gentleman?”
I laughed, which was becoming a common thing when we were alone. Three days in a row, I reminded myself. “My mama warned me against bad boys like you, Beckett Partridge,” I joked, attempting a Southern accent.
Beckett’s lips stretched into a grin. “Is that a sense of humor you’ve got there, Jones?” He lightly pushed himself away from the door and was up against me in the blink of an eye. “Who would’ve thought?”
“Oh, shut up,” I said, letting my hands climb to his chest. He wore an unzipped hoodie over a plain white T-shirt, so I took the lapels into my hands. “Or I’ll start slapping you again.”
Beckett bit his lip. “I don’t hate getting slapped.” He neared me so much I thought he would kiss me already, but it was just a tease. He moved his head and brought his lips to my ear. His hot breath made me shiver. “It’s funny seeing you think that it gives you power over me.”
I relaxed my fists, gripped him harder, and took his T-shirt into my hold, too. “And it doesn’t?”
He bit the soft spot of my ear and purred. Then he pulled back and looked into my eyes with all the flirtatious blinking of a cartoon character. “The one who lets himself be slapped is the one who holds all the power.”
“You seriously think I couldn’t take you down in a fair match?” I asked incredulously. “I’d break you like a twig if I wanted to.”
Beckett threw his head back and laughed. “Why waste strength on that? I’ve got a better idea on how to settle this.”
It made my cock rise to think of it. And it was precisely what Beckett had wanted.
But tonight, neither would let the other dominate.
We kissed roughly, moving through the room in an attempt to take power from the other until we ended up sprawling on the floor, lying on our sides, pleasuring each other with our mouths.
Again and again, night after night, Beckett and I would return from hockey practice, and he would come by.
I remembered, then, Riley Brooks and his sneaking out to Cameron’s room downstairs, and it amused me to remember the way everyone had discovered them.
But it also clenched my heart to think how happily Riley and Cameron lived since those days.
They had a history together. And they had chosen to build a future.
It wasn’t a prospect I could hope for. Not with someone who’d only just discovered he was into guys as well as girls.
And while we were having fun night after night, I knew I needed to keep the walls up.
He was, after all, Beckett Partridge. He wouldn’t shy away from breaking me into pieces if it gave him an edge.
Or would he? Had things changed between us since Milwaukee?
By the time we played against the Blizzard Breakers on Saturday, there were several things happening simultaneously.
On the ice, Beckett had grown more gracious.
He’d received praise from Coach Murray and approving murmurs from the entire team for it.
He had been more willing to let others take risks while he played along.
In private, Beckett had become an anticipated event for every evening.
It felt strange on Friday when he hadn’t knocked, but relief shuddered through me when he appeared closer to midnight.
“Jordan’s having a day,” he said after shutting the door.
“Asher, too,” I replied, pitting us once again against each other, even if it was a proxy war. “Jordan’s acting like a stepdad more than a stepbrother.”
“He wants to be neither and you know it,” Beckett growled. “It’s only because Asher is making rooky moves that Jordan needs to step in.”
“If Jordan’s that reluctant, he should let Asher find his own way instead of making a fuss about babysitting when nobody asked him to,” I said, crossing my arms.
We resolved this conflict the same way we resolved all other conflicts. We rocked my bed to near destruction. Beckett took his turn topping me, taking me from behind, pressing his foot on my face while slamming his crotch against my butt and making me come hands-free.
He had had me so thoroughly and roughly that I could still feel him the night after while playing against the Breakers.
We took that victory almost too easily. And aside from some friction between Jordan and Asher, the celebrations went smoothly.
Even Coach Murray joined us for one non-alcoholic cocktail at the Thirsty Thinker that night.
While having him join us was a hoot, the real fun started when he left us to our own devices.
I found myself sitting next to Beckett and Asher was on my other side, just like Jordan sat to Beckett’s left.
Sawyer and Noah were smooching and whispering to one another at the far end of the joined tables.
Paxton was crudely teasing Tyler with a hotdog while Sebastian approved.
Avery’s expressionless, gray eyes were locked to his screen.
I took a sip of a new red ale the tavern promoted. The sourness of added flavors failed to conceal the alcohol levels, so I thrust it to Beckett. “You have to try this,” I insisted.
He shot me a look that, if we had been alone, would have had me stepping closer. He shrugged as he stated, “I’ll try anything once.” That joke was for me. He took a good, long sip and wrinkled his brow.
“And if it’s good, you might try it again. And again.” My voice was just loud enough for his ears.
Beckett’s face hardened. His eyes darted around, then met mine once again.
“Might try some more later tonight.” It was barely louder than a whisper.
I sputtered as he pushed the ale back to me.
“Enjoy your poorly disguised absinth, Jones,” he roared for everyone’s ears. “I’m not getting poisoned tonight.”
A murmur of laughter passed around the tables, but nobody paid much attention to us. Though playful at times, Beckett kept a safe shield around himself. An occasional rub of his leg against mine told me he wanted me, but then a snarky comment for everyone to hear felt like a punch to my guts.
It didn’t bother me. Not really.