Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Felix
“Day three,” Gline says as we get dressed after practice.
“How’s it feel?” The teasing glint in his eyes makes it a little easier to tamp down my annoyance over the question.
It’s Gline—for all his unfathomable goalie ways, he wouldn’t be mean.
In fact, he’s been incredibly supportive since I told him about my meeting with Coach and Edison.
“It’s slow going,” I admit. “The emotional stuff is a lot better already, but the rage is a work in progress.”
His brow quirks. “And the horniness?”
I shake my head. “Please don’t go there. Thinking about it makes it happen.”
“That’s like a superpower,” he teases, and I throw my deodorant at him.
My phone chimes while he’s still laughing, and I grab it from the shelf.
Ari:
Can we meet? I’ll buy you dinner.
A shiver of nervous anticipation goes down my spine, and that’s all it takes for my dick to perk up. Thankfully, I’m already wearing clothes, so it’s a lot less noticeable than it might be otherwise.
A hard-on in the dressing room isn’t that big a deal—it happens to everyone at some point, and the etiquette is to not look at your teammates’ cocks anyway.
But given how often it’s been happening to me lately, plus the fact that I’m openly gay and our former coach was a homophobe, I’d rather keep it under wraps, so to speak.
“Who’s got you all moony?” Gline asks, leaning over to put my deodorant back in my cubby. Reflexively, I turn my phone away from him.
That was a mistake.
His eyes light up with curiosity and mischief. “Oooh, does Felix have a crush? Are you dating someone? Who’s making you smile foolishly at your phone?”
“Nobody,” I snap, but it’s too late. His voice carries, and it carried right to our teammates, some of whom are glancing over with interest.
Need a group of gossip-hungry busybodies? Check the nearest hockey team. They’ll also bet insane amounts of money on the stupidest things, so I’m fully expecting the next thing someone says to be a bet on who I’m “mooning over.”
“It’s nothing. My friend sent a pic of his cat, and then I matched with someone on Grindr.” That should cover all bases—mushy face and not wanting Gline to see my screen.
Suspicious eyes study me, but I stare them all down with a stony glare, and eventually they accept the lies and go back to what they were doing. Except Gline.
“You know you could tell us if you were seeing someone,” he says, looking troubled. “I know some of the guys are assholes, but the rest of us would be happy for you.”
Two days ago, that would have had me in tears, but today it’s only a grateful aww feeling… and okay, maybe a little urge to cry, but nothing I can’t handle. The new plan is working.
“I know. But it’s not that, I swear.” Even if I do want it to be.
The suggestion Jared and Dáithí made the other night, that I ask Ari to help me out with some casual orgasms, has been echoing through my head ever since.
I want to, so, so much. I’m pretty sure I’m going to, at some point. I’m just afraid of being rejected.
It’s a funny thing. A couple of months ago, I was lecturing Dáithí about not being willing to take chances. I’ve been burned by exes a bunch of times, and I’ve always been the first to say I have to keep trying. Someone is out there who’s meant for me—someone I can build a life with. Be happy with.
And now here I am, shying away from something as simple as a friends-with-bennies arrangement. Hiding from any chance of being hurt.
I put my phone in my pocket, grab my stuff, and manage to act normal until I’m in my car.
Do I want to go to dinner with Ari? Yes. Am I going to? I… don’t know. I have no doubt that for him, this is just a friendly invitation. If I go, I’ll enjoy his company and probably have a good meal.
But I might also end up propositioning him.
If we’re in a public space, I won’t even have the option to hide in my felid form like I did the other night—also, having his hands on me?
Not a great way to overcome this burning lust I feel for him.
I came very close to humping him like some uncouth dog.
Screw it. A little humping never hurt anyone.
Sounds great, I’m in.
The place Ari picked for us to meet at surprises me. It’s a little bistro-type eatery, tucked away down an alleyway, and the inside is cozy, dimly lit, and… dare I say romantic? It gives definite date vibes.
I’m probably misreading the situation. It’s also quiet, offers each table some privacy despite the small size, and is community owned, which means I can order as much food as I need without attracting attention.
It definitely works as a place for friends to catch up, especially if there’s stuff they want to talk about.
I approach the host stand, but my eyes have already caught sight of Ari standing beside a booth, talking with a server, both of them looking at a menu.
“I can see my friend,” I tell the host, and he glances over, then nods.
“Of course, go right through.”
As though he can sense me, Ari looks up as I get closer, and his smile lights him the fuck up. It’s beautiful, all the more so because he so rarely shows it, and my chest aches with how much I want him.
Not just sex with him. Him.
I’m so fucked.
“Here he is,” he tells the server, then turns to me. “We’re looking at food options for you. Kent says the kitchen should be able to adjust almost everything so it works with your diet plan.”
I blink hard to prevent the tears from falling and clear my throat. “Really? That’s so great, thank you. If you have any recommendations for what would be easiest for the chef, I’d love to hear them.”
The server—Kent—smiles at me. “I’ll ask Chef, but she loves a challenge, so you can probably expect her to say everything’s fine.” He lays the menu on the table. “Can I get you both anything to drink while you’re looking at the menu?”
We order drinks, then when Kent departs, slide into the semicircular booth and… stare at each other across the table.
“Thank you for thinking of my diet plan,” I say quietly. I hadn’t even thought about how eating out might impact it, but Ari was ferreting out options for me before either of us even sat down.
He shrugs. “Of course. I asked around at work, and a few people suggested this place because they’re flexible for people with food allergies. It seemed like a good idea.”
“It is.” I take a breath, resisting the urge to leap across the table and curl up in his lap. “I’m grateful. You’re a good friend.”
The table jolts, as though he bumped into the leg. “Sorry,” he says, straightening his cutlery. “Ah, actually… I wanted to talk about—”
“Here we are.” Kent puts down our drinks and a bread basket. “Chef said to treat the menu as a guideline only.”
“Oh.” I reach for it, feeling bad that I haven’t even looked yet. Mostly I want to ask him to go away so Ari can finish whatever he was about to say, but he’s looking at his own menu now, and I sense that the moment may have passed.
I spend a few minutes glancing through the options available and asking questions, and once we’ve finally ordered, I sit back in my chair and sip my drink.
“I heard back from that researcher I called,” Ari says abruptly, and I nearly choke on my drink.
“The one who specializes in sex?” I feel stupid the second the words leave my mouth. It’s not like he’s told me about any other researchers.
He nods. “He wants to talk to you personally, if you’re okay with it. He runs a study into the effects of regular sex on metaphysical health, and he asked if you’d be interested in joining it.”
Heat climbs up my neck. “Uh…”
“You don’t have to,” he assures me.
“No, I don’t mind, it’s just… I assume a study about people having regular sex would need me to actually have… you know. Regular sex.” I’m pretty sure my face is the color of a tomato.
Ari coughs, gaze darting over my shoulder. “Oh. I thought, with the hormones…”
“Yeah, that would make sense, right? But I’m not with anyone at the moment, and hooking up with a stranger every night is a lot of work.”
“Every night?” His voice is strangled, and I shrug.
“That’s what the hormones want. The morning after too.
It might not be the smartest choice, but I just use my hand when I need to and then hook up with someone when I can’t handle it anymore.
But it’s kind of random, not, like, regular.
” I can’t believe I’m talking about my sexual habits with Ari Oensjord.
“That counts. For the study. Your hand, I mean.” His face is lightly flushed, but his eyes are back on me now. “Or at least, that’s what I was told when—”
I wait for him to finish that sentence, but he just licks his lips, and it dawns on me. Ari’s in a sex study.
I pick up my drink and drain it.
“So,” I croak. “Did, uh, did your researcher friend have any advice for me?”
He nods slowly. “Yeah. Yes. Well… he said he needs more data to understand what exactly is happening. But—Hold on, I took notes.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a square of paper, then unfolds it and smooths it on the table.
I look at what he’s written, but it’s not in English.
It’s not even in an alphabet I can recognize.
“Is that your native language?” The question comes out on a whisper.
I’m not sure why, but somehow, this is something that deserves my reverence.
Now that the elves live here on Earth, assimilated into our cultures, will their children continue to learn the languages of their homeland?
Or will they eventually be forgotten? I hope not.
They’ve lost enough already without losing that too.
“Yes. I’m sorry, I should have thought to write it in English so—”
“No.” I shake my head. “Of course you shouldn’t. But if you could tell me what it means, I’d be grateful.”
His smile flashes again, briefly, just enough to send a jolt of lust through me.
“Dr. Griffiths said he’s had a sufficient number of pubescent shifters take part in the study to be able to draw some initial conclusions.
Quite a few of those shifters joined prior to their puberty, so he has data from both before, during, and after to work with.
And he has several athletes, though none are professionals like you. ”
I sit up straighter. This sounds promising. “Go on.”
“He said he called a random sampling of participants to confirm the information in their files and ask some other questions, and that,” Ari picks up the paper and reads directly from it, “there is a direct correlation between mitigated symptoms and those who regularly had sex with a single partner. As yet it is unknown why or how the identity of the partner or why sexual intercourse versus masturbation had different effects on hormonal symptoms.”
The words swim around in my head, and I try to make sense of them. “Wait, wait… So… wait.” I stop.
“Having sex with the same person regularly might help,” he says quietly.
I blink fast a few times, because what? “Might?”
He shrugs. “Dr. Griffiths wasn’t willing to commit to it being definite without further data, but he said it’s most likely.
Apparently every shifter in his study who went through puberty with a committed partner or partners—” He stops.
“Wait, I missed that bit. He’s got a few polycules in the study, and he said their results were consistent with the others.
So I guess if you had a few regular partners, that would work too, but the key element is regular. Not a different person every time.”
I exhale. “Wow.” That’s so trippy. And also really unfortunate for me. “Well, thanks for asking. Too bad I can’t take advantage of his advice.”
Clearing his throat, Ari meticulously refolds the paper and puts it away. “Actually, I was thinking… what if you could?”
My heart starts beating faster. “I don’t understand. I told you before, I’m not seeing anyone, not even a fuck buddy.”
“I know, but… you could. What I mean is, I would be willing—happy—to help you.”