13. Ryan
Ryan
Falling asleep after such an amazing night had been hard.
After replaying every last detail to Dad over coffee—bad choice when hoping to get some shuteye—the kisses shared with Gideon kept playing over and over in my mind, leaving me hard and wanting.
My makeup and hair needed de-beautifying, so it was cold cream and a shower for me, but first I gave my reflection one last twirl, then removed my dress.
The magic dress that had given a closeted fluid man the courage to fling open those wardrobe doors.
Carefully, I hung my Cinderella dress—it would forever be known as that—on a padded hanger, then took a few moments to admire it.
Then I yawned. Widely. A jaw-cracking one that spurred me to leave my closet—literally this time—to get ready for bed.
My hair would require shampooing and lots of it.
The makeup came off reasonably well with liberal amounts of cold cream and elbow grease.
Humming a song from an old Disney movie, I stepped into the shower, thoughts filled with dances, tiny party food, and kisses.
Kissing Gideon had been a life-altering experience.
Sure, I had kissed guys before. I was no virgin.
Old Ryan—the one who would do anything for some ketamine—had done anything for ketamine.
I wasn’t proud of that, but it was my past. As Lyle says, we are not our past. We have to accept reality—all of it—without using it for self-hate.
We have to make amends to those whom our past behaviors may have hurt, and then we have to learn to treat ourselves with grace.
Not easy things to do. I was not fully there with the grace bit. Shame was a heavy yoke to cast off.
So, it wasn’t like I’d never had my mouth on another man’s mouth.
My mouth had been… well, I’d kissed other men.
But never with that kind of glorious emotion.
Never with such gentle passion. Never with the knowledge that the man kissing me wanted me as I was.
As I showered, I felt a kind of loss over the fact that I’d removed my lipstick because it held the taste of Gideon.
“Next time we kiss, we can do it naked-lipped,” I told myself, eager for more kissing and whatever else might follow.
Just recalling his lips on mine made my dick hard.
Taking matters into my own hands, I jerked off in the shower with scenes of the night and those kisses looping in my head.
With a gasp, I came, spunk spiraling down the drain while I fought to stay upright.
Wow. That was an orgasm and a half. After catching my breath, I lathered, rinsed, and repeated it twice.
Dad was asleep in his room when I left the bathroom, his soft snores carrying to me as I tiptoed to my room in a towel.
Even after a nice yank in the shower, sleep eluded me.
I started thinking about what might come with the sunrise.
I’d seen the looks, even if Gideon and the art group gang had done their best to try to shield me.
There would be repercussions when I arrived at the arena tomorrow.
Today, actually. I finally dozed off into a fitful rest around three in the morning, coming awake with a jolt as my father pounded on my door.
“Hey, Slick, I know you had a big night, but we have an optional skate today, so we need to hustle our bustle.”
“M’yeah, I’m awake,” I muttered, wishing the sun wasn’t quite as bright.
Seems it would be getting paler now that we were a few days away from November.
Ugh, if the sun were up that high, it must be later than I generally roll out.
Kicking off the covers, I grabbed some clean work clothes—the dreaded polo, trousers, and work shoes—and pulled them on.
A quick piss and a dull old ponytail holder for my hair would have to do.
Dad met me in the kitchen, wearing the same outfit as mine, and handed me a travel mug of coffee and a fried egg sandwich.
“You’re still glowing,” he said as we headed outside. I grabbed Gids’ hoodie from the hall closet, juggling coffee and food, and wiggled into it, but only after Dad took the sandwich. Once I was fully engulfed in the soft fleece, I took back my breakfast.
“That’s just the lingering glitter from my new palette,” I mumbled as we made our way to his car. No point in driving both his and mine. “I hope there’s no blowback from management about last night.”
Dad cranked over the Nissan, then looked at me. “If there is, then we face it together, Ryan. Now eat. You’ll need energy. We’re preparing for another road trip.”
Great. That was always fun. Not.
Knowing we had a busy day ahead, I wolfed down the sandwich, knocked back the coffee, and arrived at the barn with a full stomach to accompany my rapidly increasing anxiety.
The place would probably be staff only. Most of the players had made a night of it last night, which was why morning skate was optional.
I sent a quick text to Gideon, sure he was sleeping in today, to thank him for a magical night as we entered the players’ gate, a shared entrance for the team and the staff.
I came up short when we nearly ran into Gideon, Bob, Walker, Chip, Sable, and Arnaud having a soccer game just inside the door.
The ball bounced over the dog, who never flinched, on a direct line to my face.
Arnaud, always the one with the fastest reflexes, leaped to the left to block the shot from Bob just as I threw up an arm.
“Oh shit, sorry,” Bob hurried to say. Gideon shot him a glower before heading over to me with a look of worry.
“Stupid gooseberries, man, you cannot kick the ball at the staff. They will get mad from a purple eye and make your skates dull. Which would match you perfectly,” our goalie quipped as he bounced the black-and-white ball in his hand.
Bob parried with a meticulously worded string of curses.
Arnaud responded with something that sounded like Moose Breath, which devolved into a little argument, half in French, between the two.
“Wish you two would fuck or something,” Walker barked at Bob and Arnaud. The two of them stared blankly at Walker, then started back up again.
“You okay?” Gideon asked, taking my hands in his as he dipped his head to inspect my face.
“Yeah, fine, Arnaud blocked the shot.”
“Arnaud blocks all the shots. He is a powerhouse, a lethal dancer, and a fancy gem in the tiara that this team wears on its head!” Arnaud crowed. Bob rolled his eyes. Sable wagged her tail. “Surely this is not news to anyone?”
“News to me,” Bob mumbled.
I gave Gids’ hands a soft squeeze. “I didn’t think I’d see any of the players today. Why are you here?”
Dad stood at my side, arms folded, probably wondering the same thing.
“We’re here in case you need us,” Gideon replied, dark blue eyes falling to my lips and down to his—now mine, sorry not sorry—hoodie and back up to latch onto my gaze.
“In case any kind of shit filters down from management, we want them to know that the players are with you. All of us.” He jerked his head in the direction of the Art Club guys. “And many others.”
I had to clear a huge wad of emotion from my throat.
“Thank you, all of you. Your support means a lot.” I looked from the others to Gideon.
“Yours means the most.” I rose to my toes to peck his scruffy cheek just as a duo of young professionals in dressy casual arrived, both wearing lanyards and an air of being driven.
Both were women, late 20s to early 30s, maybe.
Vaguely familiar. I’d seen them around the rink.
“Gideon, Ryan, we were hoping we’d run into you two,” the taller brunette said, walking up to us and offering me, then Gids, her hand.
“Tivida Jones, public relations.” She shook firmly, briskly, and then motioned to a chubby woman in what I’d call goth-inspired makeup.
It was artfully done. “This is Paulina Nowak, marketing. We’d like to have a little chat with you two privately if that’s okay? ”
“Whatever you want to say can be said here,” Gids said immediately.
Shit. I stiffened, but Tivida held up her hand.
“It’s okay,” Tivida said. “We received a complaint from one of last night’s donors. Ownership has reviewed it, along with statements from several people who witnessed what happened. We wanted you to know that the organization supports both of you.”
Some of the pressure left my chest, although not all of it.
“He actually complained?” Gids asked in shock.
“At considerable length,” Paulina said. “He’s also been reminded that a donation doesn’t buy him the right to harass our staff, players, or their guests.
” She paused and wrinkled her nose. “However, management has said they would prefer players bring security into any future disagreement rather than personally inviting donors to leave.”
“He didn’t do anything wrong,” I began, but Gideon shook his head.
“That’s fair,” he said. “I’d still do it again.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Tivida said with a smile. “We’re also here as part of the Copperheads’ inclusion and diversity department.”
“The what now?” Gids asked.
“It’s new,” Paulina said.
“Very new,” Tivida added. “We’re putting together a committee for staff and players, and we’d love you both to be involved. We want to make the team more inclusive and build stronger ties with the LGBTQ+ community.”
“Oh,” I said, which was echoed by everyone aside from Sable.
“We’re not asking you to become the face of anything,” Tivida assured us. “You decide how public you want to be and how much, if anything, you want to share.”
“Okay, sure, that sounds fine.” I looked up at Gideon. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
“At your side, always.” He gave my fingers a squeeze as if to say there was no way to shake him off.