Chapter 10
Milo
Waking up tangled in Beau’s arms was eye-opening. Or at least, it opened something in me. I want this man. I want him in a way I was not expecting to want someone.
Like, "fuck, please bend me over every piece of furniture in this house, but also hold my hand while we eat together" – type of want.
Like, "call me baby girl, but also call me sweetheart" – type of want.
Like, "spit in my mouth and then kiss me" – type of want.
Like, "oh shit, I could fall for this guy" – type of want.
I have spent my whole life wanting from a distance. Now, for the first time, I want up close. I want something messy. I want it real.
So when he looks at my phone like he wants to smash it to pieces, I know I’m making the right moves. I know he has his rules, that he just got out of a long-ass relationship, that he’s not looking for anything serious.
I could wait for him to be ready.
Or…
Or I could help move him along faster.
“So you’ll help me, right?” I ask, a sunshiny smile on my face, a very specific app pulled up on my phone. He’s looking at my phone like it is the scum of the earth. Maybe I’m going too hard, too fast, but the way he is looking at me is absolutely delicious. I want him to devour me.
We sit there in silence that is too tense to be called amicable.
He’s busy glaring daggers at my phone, and I’m busy typing in my email where prompted.
I feel almost giddy going through this, even if I have no intention of actually using it, even if I fully intend on deleting it the second we finish setting me up.
“So, what kind of picture should I use?” I don’t look up from my phone, pretending to be engrossed in the setup process. Finally, I peek up at him. “What kind do you have on yours?”
He seems to shake himself out of it, because he flashes me a too-wide, too-toothy smile.
“You can never go wrong with a good shirtless torso pic.” His smile is so forced, but I smile right back at him.
“I mean, you want to be discreet, right?
Just a hot body. Nothing incriminating." He winks at me, and that wink does things to my insides. They’re busy flipping and flopping when he snatches my phone from my hands.
“Okay, so do I want to go through these pictures, or should we just take some right now?”
I laugh, suddenly a little nervous. Fuck, am I actually doing this?
But I school my features.
Yes. Yes, I am.
“Yeah, go ahead and just snap some faceless pictures, I guess.” It’s not like I’m going to use them, but I guess it would be interesting to see how Beau Bennett decides to focus a camera on me.
I stand up, looking down at what I’m wearing, and have to wonder if this is going to be too aggressive. But as I look up at him, he’s already pulling the camera back down after snapping some candid shots.
He smiles at me, a wicked little smile. “These are perfect.”
I look down at them, and he’s right. These pictures would be perfect to seduce faceless and nameless strangers on the internet.
The morning light is shining through the window, cascading off my body like ribbons.
My muscles are highlighted by the sunlight, and if I were trying to get fucked by anyone other than the guy standing before me, these pictures would do it.
Beau is staring at his feet while I admire the pictures he took. I can tell he hates this. And for a moment, I wonder if maybe I should nix this plan. If I should talk to him man to man about how amazing last night was. If I should tell him I want last night again and again.
But then he flashes me the world’s weakest smile, and I know I’m making the right decision.
I know that if I tried to ask for what I want, this man would just deny, deny, deny.
He would deny until he’s blue in the face, and neither of us would be happy.
Because I know I won’t be happy if I don’t get him.
Beau grabs at my phone again, and I hand it over willingly.
“Okay, so we want to bare-bones this info section. Height, weight, position, what you’re looking for…” I don’t miss the subtle look he gives me as he says that.
What am I looking for, huh? That’s what you want to know, Mr. Bennett?
“I mean, you know my stats as well as anyone.” I laugh, kind of awkwardly, just letting the silence fall between us.
Beau looks…
Well, in all honesty, Beau looks constipated.
He’s holding my phone in a death grip, and I want to just laugh.
His face is kind of scrunched up, lips pinched in a grumpy little pout, cheeks puffed slightly in his discontent.
His face is such an open book, and right now, that book is titled I Hate This.
I want nothing more than to poke at those puffed-up cheeks and tease him.
He’s tap, tap, tapping away on my phone, filling out my preferences for me. When he hands it back, I notice that what I’m looking for is listed as “a connection”.
My sweet lover boy wants me to be happy.
He’s not wrong, I do want that connection. I want to dance badly together at a club. I want to be able to enjoy a wild and passionate night together and just eat breakfast together the next day in easy silence. I want to laugh about that weird time I made him fill out my Grindr profile together.
We haven’t had many moments together, but I know those moments are the ones I want more of.
The silence is broken by a barrage of sleek, electronic little chirps.
Chirp, chirp, chirp.
Beau looks down at my phone, his eyes widening at whatever it is that he sees. His fingers swipe, and he drops the phone with a gasp.
I scramble to gather it up from the floor at the same time as Beau. He snatches my phone up just a second quicker than I can reach for it. The look he has on his face is downright feral.
“What?” I ask, genuinely confused by whatever is happening. “What was that noise? What does that mean?” I know exactly what it means. I’ve been up for over an hour, and I’ve done research.
Beau looks at me in exasperation, his eyes wild and his lips parted. He looks downright kissable right now, but he’s clearly upset.
Fuck, why is he so hot when he’s upset?
He kind of shoves my phone into my hands, and I flip it over. I have a ton of messages, or maybe they’re just notifications, I don’t know. All I know is that there are a lot of them.
“Wow.” I’m genuinely shocked. All this for a set of abs? I tap on one notification, and a guy instantly messages me.
Hot4u77: Those tits are perfect for fucking.
Oh fuck. Okay, then.
I guess the guys on Grindr are a little intense.
“Wow,” I start, shaking my head at the phone, slightly exasperated. “This is kind of really… Wow, just really a lot.” My laugh is void of real emotion, and I think Beau can tell, the way he’s looking at me like he’s so done with my shit.
I put the phone off to the side, apparently done with my own shit today too.
Beau has decided to move on with his morning, standing up and stretching, the muscles in his abdomen pulling taut as he maneuvers his body.
“I’m so ready for our first game,” he says on a yawn, his arms stretched high. He then looks at me and winks. “Are you ready?” he asks like it’s a dare.
“More than you know.” I’m not just talking about hockey, and from the look he gives me, he knows it.
Hours later, the weight of the morning still sits heavy on my chest. But being on the ice has a way of clearing my head or at least forcing me to focus on something else.
“Let’s go!”
Beau is skating circles around my net during morning skate. I laugh at his excitement at actually getting one past me, especially when I have dozens flying at me that I’m supposed to block.
Still, he is the first to get one by me this morning, so I guess that bodes well for us tonight.
“That’s it, BB!” Oskar calls out, grinding to a halt next to me and waving at Beau, a big grin taking over his face. He leans in close and pats my mask. “Is good, yes?” he asks me. I’m not entirely sure why, but I nod anyway.
Oskar is an interesting guy. He’s funny and loud, a tall Swede who’s been playing for the Fury all thirteen years he’s been playing professional hockey. He’s all tan skin and dark blond hair, blue eyes, and tattoos covering his skin.
Beau is clicking with Paxton and Brennan like crazy this morning.
They’re practicing passing drills, and I can tell Coach Waldor loves the wordless communication between them.
Paxton and Brennan skate up to the bench and pull off their helmets, showing off their sweaty hair, Paxton’s a dark, almost black and Brennan’s a deep, yellowy blond.
They squirt water into their mouths before replacing their helmets and moving back in line.
I watch the three of them move seamlessly across the ice, Oskar and Kirill trailing after them, Oskar smiling and Kirill just sort of scowling. They’re all laughing about something funny Beau just said, even Brennan, who until now has kind of had a stick up his ass about Beau.
I don’t think Brennan likes Beau too much. He’s always scowling at him and never wants to go out with us after practice or on the weekends. Paxton always says he’ll talk to him, but nothing ever seems to come from it.
I wonder if he misses Max. I never asked what happened between them, but they were really close when he was on the team. Some things just can’t be brought up in the locker room.
Max was the left winger we had on their line before he was traded to Dallas for Beau. They never seemed especially close, but he was always a lot friendlier with Max than he is with Beau now.
Brennan picks up the puck and carries it toward me at breakneck speed. Immediately, I get in the zone, ready for him. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Paxton.
Brennan breaks in with speed, cutting down the boards before angling hard toward the slot. I square up, tracking the puck, weight set and stick flat on the ice, already reading the shot.
He sells it.
Brennan drops his shoulder and pulls the puck across his body like he’s loading a quick release, forcing me to bite. My pads tighten, my glove lifts, and my eyes lock on the blade. For half a heartbeat, it looks like a clean look, the kind that ends in twine.
Instead, the puck slips off his stick at the last second.
A soft, perfect feed slides across the crease, threading through my reach just as Paxton crashes the net. I explode laterally, pushing hard, but I’m already chasing the play now, not controlling it.
Paxton meets the pass in stride and snaps it home before I can recover.
Fuck, our first line circles around, cheering their lucky shot. I point a glove at Brennan, as if to say, Don’t you dare do that to me again. But I’m smiling with them, laughing.
Our first game is against Chicago. It’s a fitting match. Our biggest rival has always been much better than us, but I’m feeling really good about this matchup. Something about how our team is just skating circles around during this morning skate has me feeling good about tonight.
When morning skate is over, I hurriedly undress in the locker room, desperate to get out of there. Beau is with Mia, one of the athletic trainers, getting some soft tissue work,. I probably could use some myself before tonight, but I’m just desperate for time alone with Beau.
“Brunch at my place,” Oskar calls out. He lives in this ridiculous house in Saint Paul. It’s huge.
I groan internally because I can’t miss the first team meal of the season. It’s right before a game, so it’s not like it’s a rowdy party or anything overstimulating, but still., I want the alone time.
More importantly, I want the alone time with Beau so I can flirt with him. Because one thing I didn’t account for with this dumb little plan of mine was how much time it would take.
Oskar walks over to me, clad only in a pair of briefs. I focus very hard—bad choice of words—on staring at his face and absolutely no lower than that. He claps me on the shoulder, pulling me close.
“You are coming, yes?” he asks, his voice lower. I appreciate that he’s not using his normal booming voice to bring attention to me potentially not going. The last thing I need is a guilt trip.
Beau walks into the locker room in a state of undress, and his eyes land on me and Oskar, narrowing.
I smile my biggest, most sincere smile at Beau before turning it to Oskar. “Yeah, man, we’ll be there.”