21. Will
WILL
Iglance at the clock in the coffee shop and wince. My boss asked if I could stay a little later tonight because he needs the extra hands, but I’m gonna miss the library closing and there are a few books I really needed to grab before the weekend.
I race through the options, but there aren’t any. There’s nothing I can do. I’ll just have to make it work without the books for now.
There’s a lull in customers, so I come out from behind the counter to clean the tables and refill the milk and water jugs.
I check there’s enough sugar packets and napkins out.
See if the trash can needs emptying. While I’m putting the trash out in the alleyway, I check my phone and see a text from Priestley.
Need a ride home from work? Do you want me to get food or shall we eat later?
I chew my lip. Fuck, it’s nice having someone take the load off a little. A thought comes into my head, but it makes me uneasy. I don’t wanna take advantage, Priestley’s already doing enough by picking me up and getting us food. I put the feelers out, just in case.
Are you swinging by the library today by any chance?
He replies as I’m heading back into the coffee shop.
Can do. What do you need?
Relief washes over me.
A few books? Is that ok?
Of course. Send me the codes and I’ll grab them.
I fucking love that I can just send him a bunch of numbers and random-seeming letters and he’ll know what I need. He’s just made my life about a million times easier and he doesn’t even seem to realize it.
Thanks Rosie
No problem
…
Dots appear. I watch my phone while I wait to see what he’s going to send. But then they disappear.
Priestley comes to get me when my shift ends. Not only did he grab my books, but he has Chinese take-out, too. My stomach growls at the smell.
“Hungry?”
“Starving. You’re a saint.”
He snorts a laugh. “Never been called that before.”
“Well, there’s a first time for everything.”
There’s a hockey game on, so we eat in front of the TV. I sit on the floor because I prefer eating like that, and I can feel Preistley behind me, see his foot in its high-quality sock on the floor next to me.
“Why is he going into that box?” Priestley asks.
“Because he got a penalty. That’s the penalty box. Or some people called it the sin bin in juniors.”
He nods, a serious expression on his face like he’s expecting to be quizzed on the answers later.
“How long does he have to sit in there?”
I enjoy the inquisitive look on his face as he keeps asking questions.
“Two minutes for a minor like slashing.”
“What’s slashing?”
He asks me about a million and one questions and I answer them all in as much detail as I can.
“Thank you.”
I smile. He doesn’t have to thank me. Hockey fans love explaining the game to newbies, or at least, I do.
I’d love to take him to an actual game. We could go see a Devil’s game, or take George Wilkes up on his offer of a Rangers game at MSG, but every time I try to take Priestley somewhere other than the library or the diner, he balks.
I decide not to push him. I don’t know what the fuck is going on here, but I like it and I don’t want it to stop.
In the second period, a fight breaks out. I’ve finished my food and scooted back up onto the couch next to Priestley. When I look over at him, his eyes are wide and his face doesn’t know whether to be horrified or excited.
“I still can’t believe they’re actually allowed to do this,” he says. “It’s barbaric.”
“You’re smiling, Rosie.”
He tries to wipe the smile off his face but fails.
After the game, we clean up our take-out boxes, wash anything that can be recycled and sort it all into the proper places.
“I never thought Priestley Rosenthal would be an avid recycler,” I joke, watching him meticulously clean a plastic tub.
“What? Did you think I was some criminal mastermind hellbent on destroying the planet, one plastic container at a time?”
I laugh and shake my head. “I love it when you’re witty, Rosie. It’s sexy as fuck.”
He dips his head, looking shy. “It makes economic sense to maintain the planet’s natural resources,” he mumbles.
“Come here, you fucking dork.”
I pull him closer, finally getting to kiss him like I’ve wanted to all day. All the stress shucks off my shoulders and I just relax into it, feeling him relax, too.
I lead him over to the couch and start undressing us.
“The condoms are in the bedroom,” he reminds me.
“I know that. Let me play with you out here first.”
He closes his eyes and dives back into the kiss. By the time we fall back onto the couch, my hoodie is on the floor and Priestley’s pants are open.
“Why don’t you wear sweatpants as much anymore?” he asks as he unzips me from my jeans.
“Because you laid into me that day.”
He stops kissing me. “Really?”
I smile to let him know I’m not ribbing him for once. “It was good. You were right. I should be dressing smarter. Preparing myself for the office. You challenge me, in a good way.”
“Oh.” His cheeks flush and his eyes get brighter. “Like Bjorn Borg and John McEnroe.”
“Who?”
“One of tennis’ greatest rivalries—‘Fire and Ice.’”
I smile. I don’t make a habit of getting into conversations mid-makeout with the guy’s pants open, but I like the way he talks. I never know what he’s gonna say.
“Why are we like them?”
He swallows. “They made each other better. Bjorg was the ice to McEnroe’s fire.
Without a worthy rival, you settle for ‘good enough.’ But if someone keeps pushing you further than you thought you could go, you’re forced to be better.
Good enough isn’t good enough anymore. You reach heights you never knew you could reach. ”
My chest gets warm. Priestley looks shy. I never thought I’d see the day.
“So, who am I in this scenario?”
“I guess you’re McEnroe, because I have to be ice, right? And you can have a temper, I’ve seen it.”
I laugh. “You are a bit icy, Rosie, yeah. But you can be warm, too.”
I kiss him before he can say anything else. This is getting too far into boyfriend territory, and while I don’t mind, I can’t ignore the fact that Priestley finds me ‘unsuitable’ as a partner.
We make out on the couch, the breakdown of the San Jose v Chicago game playing on the TV in the background. We kiss, slow and lazy, grinding, getting naked. I could do this all night, despite the ache in my joints from my two jobs and sitting hunched over in a library for hours.
“Let’s go to bed,” Preistley says. His cheeks are flushed and his lips swollen. How long have we been kissing?
“Not yet.”
He groans. “You’re such a tease.”
I climb off him and guide him so he’s sitting up on the couch. “Why don’t you familiarize yourself with hockey while I blow you?”
He doesn’t argue, but he doesn’t seem fully convinced either.
I make it a mission to change his mind. Maybe if I blow him every time we watch hockey, he’ll learn to associate hockey with pleasure and become the world’s biggest hockey fan?
Not sure I like the thought of him looking at those guys when he comes, but we’ll move into the bedroom before he reaches that point.
Priestley groans when I take him into my mouth. I don’t think he’s paying attention to the TV until he says, “That Cellebrini guy is quite good looking.”
I pull off. “Don’t make me bite you, Rosie.”
He gives me that evil laugh I haven’t heard in a while.
“And he’s only nineteen. Perv.”
“Oh.”
I smile around him as I take him to the root.
He makes a strangled noise and I chalk another point up on my side of the sex leaderboard.
But any sort of leaderboard disappears completely from my head when he starts moaning and burying his hands in my hair, whispering my name.
All I can say in my head is, I’ve got you.
Like he had my back today with the library books, and the food, and the ride home from work.
He pulls my hair and tells me to stop.
“Let me make you come,” I say, running my hands up his thighs while I look up at him.
He nods. “Bedroom.”
In the bedroom, I press him against the wall, unable to keep my hands off him for a second longer.
I can feel him smiling against my mouth.
It feels nice to make Priestley smile. It’s a shame the rest of the world doesn’t get to see it.
And I meant what I said to him about being warm.
He isn’t all ice and sharp corners. He has soft parts, too.
It’s even more rewarding getting to see them because they’re usually hidden.
He presses his weight against me to push me back onto the bed. I’m stronger than him, but I let him win. He straddles my waist and I run my hands greedily over his body, admiring him as he grinds his hips and bites his lip.
“Need inside you, Rosie, come on.”
He tuts. “You’re such a caveman when you’re turned on.”
“Who’s being a tease now, huh?”
He laughs, rolling off me to reach into the nightstand. I position myself on the pillows and watch as he takes out a condom and some lube. My eyes are glued to his pretty hands as he opens the packet deftly and rolls the condom down my cock. I groan at the contact.
“I’ve never seen someone get so turned on by a condom before,” he says with a smile.
I just grunt in response. I’m too far gone to explain it to him right now.
His eyes get glassy and he sighs as he drips lube over my cock and starts sliding his hand over me. My hips pump into his fist and we both pant while he jerks me off.
“Better stop doing that,” he murmurs before taking his hand off me. I let out a huff of complaint but he just smiles.
“Wouldn’t you rather finish …” he straddles my waist again and lines my cock up with his hole before sinking down, slowly, “… here?”
I hiss, grabbing his hips hard enough to leave bruises. Priestley bites his lip and keeps his eyes on my chest as he sinks down all the way, bottoming out with a satisfying slap.
He rolls his hips.
My eyes roll with them. “Fuck, so good.”
“Has anyone been better?” he asks.
When I look at him, I expect to find him wearing a cocky smirk. Instead, he’s watching me anxiously, waiting for a reply. I run my hands through his hair and pull him close enough to kiss. “No,” I tell him. “You’re the best.”
That seems to turn him on more than anything else I’ve ever done or said to him. He starts riding me like his life depends on it. All I can do is hold on and enjoy it.
He comes, pulsing and squeezing around my cock. I keep hold of his hips and fuck up into him while his cum pools in the dips of his abs.
“So fucking hot, Rosie.”
“Mm.” He looks calm, content as he rides out his orgasm, his eyelids heavy and his shoulders relaxed. I rub my hands up and down his arms while I finish filling the condom.
When he pulls off, I want to grab him and press him against me, but he gets up and disappears into the bathroom before I have the chance. He comes back with a towel to wipe off the drops of cum that landed on my abs.
“You’re just showing off with these,” he says, wiping in the crevices.
I grab his wrist and pull him closer for a kiss.
While Priestley’s napping, I throw my shoes on, take his key card so I can get back into the building, and head to the closest 7-Eleven to grab some snacks.
When he wakes up, I’m sitting on the coach, eating popcorn and watching highlights of all the hockey games that were on today.
I listen to him pad into the kitchen in his bare feet before stopping at the counter.
“What’s this?”
“It’s chocolate cake.”
“What for?”
“For eating.” I turn around and grin at him, but he’s too busy frowning into the counter. “That’s your piece. I already ate mine.”
“I don’t want it … thanks.”
I shrug, my heart sinking a bit. I know he wants the cake. He just won’t let himself have it.
“What are you watching?”
“Hockey highlights.”
I’m waiting for him to come and join me like he usually does when I watch hockey, but he’s hesitating over by the counter, still staring at that piece of chocolate cake.
I keep my gaze on the TV, pretending to ignore him.
When he finally pads over to the couch, he has half the piece of cake on a plate.
I try to keep my smile in as he takes a seat beside me and starts tucking in, but it’s impossible.
When I glance at him from the corner of my eye, he’s taking a bite and closing his eyes with a look close to the look he gets when he finally lets go in bed.