Twenty-Five
ADAK
We’re sitting at the table enjoying breakfast. I’m having a hard time keeping my eyes off Oren. He’s only wearing a long-sleeved Bobcats shirt of mine and underwear. Not his usual underwear either, though they cover his ass beautifully.
There’s been barely a handful of times in my life when I’ve looked at someone and thought they were sexy. I have a feeling that I’m going to be thinking this a lot as Oren becomes more comfortable in his skin.
He’s still self-conscious. I watched him silently as he debated internally whether to pull on a pair of bed pants or not. When he eventually decided not to put them on but just grabbed one of my shirts and a pair of socks instead, he looked at me shyly, his cheeks a pretty shade of pink.
“Is this okay?”
“Are you comfortable?” I countered.
He chewed the inside of his lip for a minute and looked down. “I think so. I don’t know what it’s like not wearing pants and I’m a little curious.”
“Then that’s more than enough clothes for you this morning.”
The smiles he gives me when I do nothing but show him my support breaks me a bit. It’s such a little thing. It’s what you should do to everyone, including strangers who might need a little pick me up. But Oren’s never had it from the people who should have supported him the most.
It’s small and natural for me to give it, but to Oren, it means the world.
There are moments when I see that smile that I would love nothing more than to tie his father and brothers to goal posts and let my team shoot pucks at them. Hard. Constant. Until they’re broken and bleeding.
I promise, I’m not a violent person.
Anyway, now my man is walking around in underwear and my shirt. I love it.
Sometimes, I wish there was a way to truly make someone understand how I feel and how my sexuality affects the way I view someone. I’m not demisexual in that attraction will come with an emotional bond. That kind of attraction never solidifies.
But looking at Oren, especially as he finds his confidence, there’s no doubt in my mind that I’m attracted to him. That attraction just doesn’t translate to sexual desire.
Like yesterday, that desire can drive me to want to worship my partner. To please them until they’ve had enough. There’s no stirring inside me, no matter how much I’m into it.
Thankfully, Oren’s lack of experience facilitates a different kind of learning curve.
He doesn’t feel obligated to try to reciprocate when he already knows I’m not physically interested in receiving.
I’m not always interested in giving either.
But the way he surrendered to me yesterday was a feeling and experience I’ll not soon forget.
My phone pings with a notification and I open the screen to find an email. I frown at the name, not recognizing it, but the subject line has me intrigued.
Re: Carolina Blue Hawks offer
Raising a brow, I tap on it and skim it before reading it more thoroughly.
I’m… surprised. It’s an invitation to entertain an offer for employment as their lead coach beginning next season.
They’ve asked for a phone call if I’d like to consider the position to talk details.
They’ve requested a response in acknowledgement that I received the email and then another by the end of May about whether I’d like to discuss it further.
“What is it?” Oren asks.
I wonder how I’m looking at my phone. “Carolina asked me to consider a coaching position with the team.”
His eyes widen. “Really?”
I nod. “Yeah.” I continue to skim the email a few times. It’s not long, but I read it over and over, a little shell-shocked.
Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised. It wasn’t long ago that I received the feeler email.
When I look at Oren, his eyebrows are knitted together. Setting down my coffee, I reach across the table. “This is a conversation we’ll have together.”
“Are you looking for a new job?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No. I love the Bobcats. I love the franchise. But there are other things to consider when presented with an opportunity like this.”
“Me?” he asks, unsure.
Leaning across the table, I press my lips to his until he melts into me. “I’m never going anywhere without you, Oren. Okay?”
He nods.
“I’m not seriously considering this, however , I want you to think about how you’d feel moving somewhere new. Whether that be across the state or across the country. Do you have limits? Are there hard nos in location? Just think about it. Okay?”
“But you’re not going to take the job?” he asks.
I can’t tell by his tone or the way he’s looking at me whether he’s relieved or disappointed. “Tell me what you’re thinking right now.”
Oren chews on his lip when he’s nervous.
I watch as he reaches for the popper ball that’s sitting in the middle of the table.
There are now several scattered throughout the house, so there’s always one on hand when he feels stressed.
The quiet, rhythmic popopop makes me smile.
I wait for him to answer without pushing further.
“I don’t know,” Oren says after a few minutes.
“I… I don’t want to leave my friends, but I don’t know that I want to stay in Anaheim either.
It feels like…” his voice trails off. “A constant reminder and a constant threat. But this is also the only place I’ve ever known.
It’s kind of scary imagining myself somewhere else. ”
“Starting over can be intimidating but it can also be very rewarding. There’s no pressure, Oren.
Not only do we have time to discuss this specifically, but I wasn’t really on the market to take another job.
But life happens and sometimes what looks like it came out of nowhere is a huge blessing in disguise.
Which is why I want you to think about it. Okay?”
He nods. “Okay.”
“I have to head out. I’ll be home in a couple hours. You’ll be good here?”
Oren gives me an amused look. “Yes. I’ll be fine.”
I kiss his forehead, letting my lips linger.
There’s been no reason to think we’re not safe. Nothing at all. No suspicious activity in our neighborhood or anything even slightly alarming. Yet, I feel uneasy because as far as I know, his father is still out there. Planning.
The memory of the deadbolt on the thick door and the bars over the window in Oren’s childhood room chills me. Jessup has every intention of forcing his son back under his control. There’s no thought in my mind that he hasn’t been dissuaded.
He’s biding his time.
Because I can’t shake the uneasy feeling when I leave the house, I give Jack a call. He assures me he has men he trusts making extra circuits through my neighborhood and Jessup’s. He’s also suspended three officers for abuse of power and is still investigating another handful.
I feel better knowing my house is being watched. That Oren’s being looked after.
The arena is still. It’s always kind of a sad feeling when the parking lot isn’t full and there aren’t crowds of people in black and orange laughing and excited for the game.
We have a very energetic fanbase in Anaheim; so the stands are always close to capacity, whether we’re in a winning season or not. I feel very fortunate for them.
I arrive at the conference room just as others do. Traer is here today and I’m glad for it. We’re assembled within minutes and besides the addition of Traer, the same familiar faces surround me as the previous management meeting I attended briefly.
“What an end to the season,” Radcliff says with a big smile. “Gibbon, man. That was remarkable.”
There’s a moment of murmured agreement and smiles around the table. Except the sour look of Demitri, which is predictable.
“He’s a hero,” I say. “It was definitely the bolster we needed after the bogus penalty.”
“It wasn’t enough to bring the score back,” Demitri says.
“Of course, it wasn’t,” Traer says. “That’s not how math works. Just because he made the goal from the other end of the rink, doesn’t mean it’s worth more points.”
Radcliff snorts, covering his mouth to hide his grin.
Demitri glares at Traer.
“We had a rough season,” Bozendorf says. “Speaking of which, how’s Kearney?”
I nod. “Holly is all right. A hairline fracture and he promises he’s listening to Brandon as if he were a god. I have every confidence that he’ll be back to full strength before the next season.”
“Any word on the others?”
“I think it’s as we thought at the last meeting. Imonovich and Min will be back, especially since they’ll have had more than four months to recover. Messer isn’t looking good. Neilson called and said he’s considering retiring because he doesn’t think he’ll be ready to play by the fall.”
“I hate to see him feel forced out,” Radcliff says.
“We need to make room on the team for someone who can play,” Demitri says.
Taking a note from Oren, I chew my lip to keep my mouth shut and pointedly don’t even look at him. “How are our picks looking?”
“We’ve got two first round picks. I’m going for the top two names on the list—Lionel Bessier and Raman Tudi,” Bozendorf says. “Thoughts?”
I nod. Beside me, Traer is grinning. He’s been following Bessier’s career for a while now. “I like those picks.”
“Think they’ll gel with the team?” Radcliff asks.
“Yep. I’m planning some team-building activities for this summer that I’ll hope they attend.”
Radcliff leans forward. “What do you have in mind?”
“I’m thinking about whitewater rafting and paintball.”
Most of the table breaks out into a grin. “I love that,” Bozendorf says. “If you feel like allowing the suits to join, I’d definitely consider it an honor for an invitation.”
I grin. “They’d love that, sir. For the most part, they’re very proud to be a part of Anaheim. We have a very unique chemistry and they don’t feel uptight when you come around. I’m sure they’d love to have you on board.”
“We can make it a company trip,” Radcliff says excitedly.
“I’m going to say this and take my chances on starting an argument,” Traer says. “I’m all for a company trip, however, there are exceptions to the list that I would feel comfortable allowing to join us.” He looks pointedly at Demitri.
Demitri scowls. “You can’t invite everyone but me.”
“Considering it’s Adak’s trip and he’s hosting… I think we can.” Traer looks at me.
I meet Bozendorf’s eyes and address him for a minute.
“I want to call attention to the fact that one of the first things you asked was about Min’s wellbeing.
While I understand that this is a business and we make more money when we’re winning, I feel confident that you look at these players as men.
As people. They have lives, personalities, and families.
They’re not just numbers on a roster and paychecks. ”
“Absolutely,” Bozendorf insists. “I was definitely asking about how he is because I was concerned for him.”
“The team is important, as you said,” Radcliff says. “But the season is over. Our biggest concern right now isn’t whether he’s getting on the ice next week. It’d be heartbreaking if his injury was permanent, not just for us but for him.”
I nod. “Now I want you to consider what Demitri’s first comment has been at this meeting. And then his comment after talking about our injured men.”
Eyes turn to Demitri. Frowns.
“Please understand that I will not put my players in a position where they’re uncomfortable for an entire week because it’ll hurt this man’s feelings. He doesn’t care about our players individually. He cares about what they can do for us and if they can’t perform, they’re easily replaceable.”
“They are!” Demitri shouts, slamming his hand down. “We’re not a daycare. We’re not a dog play center. Our business is winning. If a player can’t perform, they have no business being here. Why is it that I’m the only one who understands that?!”
“You must have had a very cold childhood,” Traer says, crossing his arms over his chest.
The rest of the meeting doesn’t get better. We manage to discuss the potential trade, the season, and plans for next year, all while trying to ignore and verbally slap Demitri.
If any inside force would cause me to leave a team, it’s Demitri.
I drive home, my hands slightly shaking from the meeting. How can one man be so fucking infuriating? Stepping inside, my head is chaos. I snap the lock home and nearly punch the alarm buttons in my frustration.
When I turn away from the door my breath leaves my body entirely. All the fight in me evaporates. I find Oren standing against the railing of the stairs. His cheeks are hot and he’s chewing his lip again.
It’s not uncommon that I find Oren close by when I get home. Unless he’s absorbed with something, he usually greets me with a smile and a hug. Honestly, I cling to him far longer than he’s probably expecting each time I get my hands on him.
I’ve missed physical touch. I miss affection. Having someone who is just as touch starved as I am is convenient.
What’s new about this vision of Oren is what he’s wearing.
He’s been trying on more of the clothes his friends sent.
My eyes track from his socked feet, up his bare legs to where his hips are wrapped in the tiniest, sluttiest little shorts I’ve ever seen.
His semi is incredibly prominent. The shirt matches, not in color but in lack of fabric, as it just covers his chest and is hanging off his arms.
“You haven’t said anything,” he whispers. “Do I look okay?”
His insecurity breaks me from the moment and I drop my bag. I cross the space and pull him into my arms. “Oren, you’re… a vision.”
“I hope you mean that in a positive way,” he says quietly.
I laugh, squeezing him to me. “Yes, definitely. How do you feel?”
“Uh… exposed again. Albie says Henrik really likes his booty shorts. He also says they’re some of the most comfortable pieces of clothing he owns.
But I kind of feel, uh… chilly, and like the angels might cry because every single curve and inch of my dick is very much visible, even if it is covered. ”
I laugh again and nip at his neck. Dropping my hands, I grip his sexy ass and hike his feet off the ground as I pull him harshly to me. “I don’t use this word often, but you’re hot as hell, sweetheart.”
He smiles.
“I’m not wearing this for… attention. I just wanted to see how it felt. And to see if you liked it,” he says quickly.
“I’ve had a very irritating meeting,” I say. “And right now, what I’d really like to do is lose myself in pleasing you so all I think about is you chanting my name.”
He moans, his fingers digging into my hair as he lets his head tip back. “Okay,” he says breathlessly.