Chapter 3
Chapter
Three
I pull up to a duplex with a cute covered porch it shares with the neighboring unit. After double-checking this is the correct address, I message through the app then lug my bike up the three concrete steps and stow it on the porch. A townie kid messing with my bike is the last thing I need.
That confirms it. His voice isn’t as booming as it was back at the rink. It’s still deep, but he’s more casual, soft even.
I nod.
In my panic back at the rink, I hadn’t let myself get a look at his face. His broad nose is black with some grey speckles right in the middle, like freckles. His eyelashes are thick and white, drawing attention to his most captivating feature; large soulful brown eyes.
Chris steps back so I can come inside. I notice a stack of boxes by the door. Another step into what should be the livingroom and I find a well-loved leather coach and TV on the floor.
Chris clears his throat. “Sorry, still moving in.”
He shuts the door, averting his eyes.
This is far from the worst living situation I’ve seen, but I have been living on campus the past three years. It’s kind of endearing that he’s embarrassed by his lack of a TV stand. He slips his thumbs into the loops of his jeans.
“So… do you just want to be called Daddy or…?”
I realize I haven’t said a word to him. “We should talk.”
He perks up. “Yeah, of course. Upstairs? The bedroom is more unpacked.”
He makes a move like he’s heading for the stairs.
I panic, “N-no.”
Chris looks at me, his expression hard to read.
“We can talk here. Sit down.”
He pivots to the couch, sitting right where the two middle cushions dip.
Then he slides to one side, remembering he has company.
I opt to stand, but I’m not exactly towering over him.
Chris is eye level with my sternum, and he tilts his chin.
The warm light in the room brightens his brown eyes, his shrunk pupils locked on me.
“Chris, I go to Central Lehigh.”
The second I say his name, his jaw goes slack, then tightens like I’ve sprung a trap.
“My roommate is on the hockey team. I know you’re the new coach. I didn’t know that when I messaged you—obviously.”
“I uh—” he clears his throat, curls his chin in and looks down at his lap.
“I’m so sorry.”
“This is my fault,” he sputters. “You have nothing to apologize for.”
“Yes, I do. Look, I don’t know you, but you seem like a nice guy and I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble.” Chris’ head shoots up at the mention of trouble. “I’m the one who swiped on you knowing your age—”
“I messaged you back,” he counters. “I sent you a photo of my ass—shit.” He covers his eyes.
I keep my tone casual. “It doesn’t matter. No one is going to find out about this, so it doesn’t matter.”
His hand slides off his face. He glances up at me, timid like he’s not sure if he should believe me.
I join him on the couch. His shoulders hunch, making it easier to talk to him directly. “We’re both adults. Nothing illegal happened, just nothing I want to have to explain to the Dean. Or Terrence.”
His large ear twitches, like its shaking off a fly “Terrence is your roommate?”
“Yes—he doesn’t know I’m here. Just that I have plans.”
“What sort of plans exactly?”
“I kept it vague!” I say forcefully. “Obviously.”
“Sorry—” he rubs the back of his neck. “Still wrapping my head around this whole situation.”
“Right. Of course. I found out there are 250 tiles in the shower today, so I get it.”
Now I really feel bad. I ambushed this guy on his couch. Maybe we should have handled this over messages, but I didn’t want to leave a paper trail. Plus, it’s hard to be sincere over text. “I’m cool with forgetting this ever happened. Really.”
He huffs out a humorless chuckle. “Isn’t that my line?”
I lift a brow. “Why are you taking the brunt of responsibility here? It’s pretty obvious which one of us instigated.”
“But I’m older–”
“And I’m the one that’s into that.”
Chris sits up a little straighter.
“Don’t make this weird.” I roll my eyes. “I’m not the victim here just because there’s a decade between us. Let’s start over. Hi, I’m Roderick, Terrence’s roommate.” I extend a hand. “Good luck with the Dingbats, our mascot is the best thing about us.”
Chris lets out another breathy chuckle, but a small smile accompanies it. He shakes my hand. “Christos.”
The handshake was a bad idea, because his name does something to me—and the fact that we’re touching does not help. In an instant his name is on my tongue. “Christos,” I whisper, because it feels like a secret.
He shrugs. “Well, I’m not your coach.” He blinks like he’s waking up from a dream. “But, uh, on campus you should probably call me Coach Chris. Not that we’ll be seeing each other off campus—”
“There is one grocery store in this town. We’ll see each other.” I pat his shoulder. “But students run into staff all the time. I call my advisor by her first name. No one thinks it’s weird.”
“Right, okay, cool…” His eyes fall to my hand on his shoulder. I pull away, mindful not to be too jumpy. “It’s just—you’ve seen my dick.”
“And you’ve seen mine. I’ve seen a lot of dicks. You do hockey. With all your hours in the locker room you’ve seen more dicks than me.”
He nods, seeming to find this fact palatable in a locker room context. Though, I’m left with one big question. “You don’t have to answer this, but are you out?”
“People know. But the team? Not yet. What about you?”
“Everyone knows, including the Dingbats hockey team. There were a few assholes, but they’ve all graduated.”
Terrence might not be Team Captain, but he’s a senior player, and everyone on the team respects him enough to respect me by proxy. Leroy also doesn’t put up with that shit. He gets more worked up about any kind of phobic comments than I do.
“You’ve got a good batch of guys, Christos. I wouldn’t worry.”
The Dingbats might suck as a team, but with Leroy at the helm and Christos navigating, they’ll put up a good fight. Too bad I’ll be too busy chasing my own wins to watch their games.
“So that’s it?” He rolls his shoulders back, but his posture doesn’t get any straighter. “We go about our merry ways, ignore that we’ve seen each other’s dick, and pretend this didn’t happen?”
“You’re really fixated on my dick.”
Without missing a beat, he says, “That is why I invited you over.”
I try not to feel flattered, but my face is heating up. I do my best to swallow down whatever it is that’s bubbling inside me; lust, infatuation, admiration—I refuse to let myself discover which.
He notices my hesitation, offering me a soft smile.
“Sorry. I guess forgetting any of this happened really is the way to go about it.” He stands up, and I follow. Somehow I’d forgotten how large he is. The tips of his horns threatening to scrape the ceiling. His face is the same as out on the porch, welcoming, even if we’re about to say goodbye.
I tell him, “Good luck.”
He smiles. “Like you said, the Dingbats have some solid guys. This will be our season.”
“I meant unpacking.” I nod at another pile of boxes I’ve noticed in my periphery.
He looks at the boxes like they’ve popped into existence. “Right.”
“You won’t need luck this season.” I smile up at him before taking my leave.
He holds the door open for me. I think about that gesture the whole bike ride back to campus.