Chapter 16 #2
Ramsey groaned as Nate gave him a third. Slow and inexorable, pushing in and fucking him softly, then harder as his body adjusted around them.
“You’re good at this,” Ramsey said, panting.
He normally wouldn’t be so eager to pump a hookup’s tires, but Nate wasn’t just a hookup. Maybe he hadn’t ever been a hookup.
And he really was fucking amazing at this. Lighting Ramsey up from the inside out, his own self-control beginning to splinter.
“God, fuck me please,” Ramsey begged.
But Nate was on his own timetable, and it was at least half a dozen more eye-rollingly good thrusts later before he was pulling his fingers out and slicking up his cock.
“You sure you want it like this?” Ramsey asked with the last of his composure.
Nate didn’t say anything else, just pushed in, answering without words, his gaze warm and intent on Ramsey’s face.
Like he never wanted to look at anything else.
“Knew you’d look good like this,” Nate said as he slipped the rest of the way in.
God. Ramsey was so full and not just physically. That light inside him kept growing and growing until he wasn’t sure how to contain it any longer.
“So fucking perfect in my jersey,” Nate continued, voice growing rougher and rougher as he began to thrust. Tilted Ramsey’s leg back so he could get an even better angle, and Ramsey couldn’t hold his moan in any longer.
Even if he’d wanted to, he wouldn’t have.
It felt too good. Too right.
If he was being very honest, how it had felt that night back in June had been nearly enough to send him running for the hills, nevermind this very jersey.
But now he was wearing it, and he was going to keep fucking wearing it.
“You close, baby?” Nate panted.
He reached for Ramsey’s cock, his fingers tangling in the fabric of the jersey, but Ramsey didn’t even need that. He batted his touch away, shifted his angle, and let Nate’s thrusts carry him the rest of the way there, orgasm hitting him hard and fast.
“Nathaniel,” Ramsey wailed and Nate gasped out a laugh, and followed right after him.
“Fuck,” Nate groaned a minute later, the sound echoing against Ramsey’s neck. “We made a mess out of this jersey.”
“That’s what a washing machine is for,” Ramsey said with a low, tired chuckle. He felt wrung out, in the best possible way.
“Why do I have a feeling you’re not even going to bother washing it?” Nate hummed. “You’re gonna end up wearing it and smugly staring over at Brody the whole time, thinking of me fucking you in it.”
“Ew that’s gross,” Ramsey exclaimed, smacking him on the shoulder blade. “And I would absolutely do it, but Brody would kill me.”
“What he doesn’t know won’t kill him?” Nate offered. Ramsey could hear the smile in his voice.
“Buddy, don’t worry. You’ve staked your claim on me. I’m already wearing your jersey.”
Nate sighed happily. “Yeah, you are, aren’t you?”
Brody let out a half-gasp, half-yell the moment he spotted Ramsey entering the suite.
Ramsey knew it was coming. Had already prepared half a dozen fairly good chirps back for when Brody inevitably gave him so much shit for what he was wearing.
But somehow, faced with his other best friend and his incredulous, shocked, and thrilled expression, Ramsey couldn’t dredge any of them up.
Instead, he just pulled Brody in a big hug, his fingers digging into the fabric of Brody’s jersey.
Brody’s was blue too, but ocean blue, with the swirling wave logo of the Riptide on the front and Scott on the back.
“Hey, we match,” Brody said, voice muffled by Ramsey’s shoulder.
Ramsey pulled back and met Brody’s eyes. He looked tired. Tired but happy. Not for the first time, he wished he could’ve convinced Brody to take another path, but he was no longer convinced that path would’ve been as fulfilling or given Brody as much joy.
“You get one minute to say anything,” Ramsey said.
“Oh wait. Wait. This isn’t Wes’ jersey is it?
Oh my God,” Brody exclaimed, hooking his head over Ramsey’s taller shoulder and letting out a squeal.
“You’ve officially lost your mind. Are you okay?
Are you Ramsey? Really Ramsey? Or have you been replaced by a pod person?
Pod people?” A crease appeared between Brody’s golden brown brows.
Ramsey smacked him in the chest. Right over that stupid wave logo. “Did you really think I’d start dating Nate and finally wear Wes’ jersey to a game? I know you and Dean have been together like three years now, but I really wonder what kind of boyfriend skills you’re bringing to the table.”
Brody’s jaw dropped. “Boyfriend, huh?”
“You have one, you should know what it’s like.”
It was a little funny, watching Brody flounder like this, especially when Brody was one of the smartest, most intelligent people he knew. Zero common sense, though. Dean had gotten all the life skills in their relationship, for sure, but still with that huge ass brain, Brody seemed floored.
“I do. I do. But I didn’t think you would ever.”
“I think you’re nearing your sixty-second limit,” Ramsey warned.
He wandered over to one of the mini fridges set underneath the counter.
Scanned through it until he found the light beer he was looking for.
He could officially drink now, but he’d found he’d gotten out of the habit over the last year.
Still, this was a big day. One beer wouldn’t kill him, especially a light one.
He popped the top off.
Brody was still staring at him like he was one of Brody’s experiments, needing analysis. “I don’t understand what’s happening. You look like Ramsey—though weirdly happy for a guy who hasn’t gotten back on the ice yet.”
“I am back on the ice. Remember? I texted you. Last week.” Ramsey hoped that maybe the change of subject, especially a subject that was medically adjacent, might be enough to distract Brody from Nate.
“Don’t change the subject,” Brody complained. He leaned against the high top table in the middle of the suite. “You’re such an ass.”
“I’m just saying, you knew this was happening.”
“I know you were fucking him,” Brody said. Ramsey wouldn’t admit it even under threat of a red-hot poker, but he missed pre-Dean Brody. The nun Brody, the even more naive Brody, who couldn’t say the word fucking without blushing.
“I told you we were dating,” Ramsey said mildly.
“You did. So did Wes. But we both sort of assumed that was only because he resisted all your other advances. Not that it was serious. Not that you would show up to his game in his jersey. Like his WAG.”
“Hey,” Ramsey retorted.
“Yes, an outdated and horrible term. But still applicable here.” Brody crossed his arms over his chest. “What the fuck, Ramsey?”
“I can’t believe you think I’d tell him we were dating just to get into his pants.”
It had kind of been that way. But Brody didn’t need to know that. At least Nate had been in on it.
“Admittedly, you’ve never had to do that before, but Wes told me that Nate was tougher. Maybe the toughest challenge you’ve had yet—”
“Nate’s not a challenge.” It wasn’t like Nate had told him no thanks and Ramsey had seen red and done whatever he could to get the guy into bed. If he’d wanted sex, he’d have found sex. Admittedly, probably in another bed that wasn’t Nate’s. And that would’ve been a damn shame.
“Holy shit,” Brody said, his eyes going wide again. “You like him. You love him.”
Ramsey choked on his beer. “You don’t know that.”
“Uh, yeah, I do. It’s pretty damn obvious.” That settled, of course Brody changed the goddamn subject all on his own. “So you’re skating again. What does Rossbury think?”
“I convinced him to not bother sending me to the AHL.” That was not entirely true. It could still happen, but only if Ramsey showed up to the Wolves’ facility and wasn’t game-ready. And that would never happen.
“Wow, really?” Brody leaned over and rummaged through one of the fridges, grabbing his own beer.
“There’s caveats,” Ramsey allowed.
Brody rolled his eyes. “You gotta show up in a few weeks? A month? In game shape. Ready to play.”
Maybe Brody had never gone to the NHL but he could’ve. He’d been drafted and gone to two developmental camps with the Canes. But when push had come to shove, he’d decided he’d rather be a doctor than a professional hockey player.
Ramsey still didn’t really understand it, but he’d also learned, the hard way that year, that he didn’t have to understand things to respect them.
“Yep, that’s what we discussed,” Ramsey confirmed.
“And how’s that going?”
“Good.” He was sore, most days, but a good kind of sore.
Slowly but surely getting his speed and agility back.
He’d worried, just a little, that his puck handling, always a strength of his game, wouldn’t come back the same as it had been before the hit, but so far, everything seemed to be coming back.
He’d even taken advantage of the more basic drills to up his precision even more.
Maybe he’d even come back from injured reserve better than before he’d left.
“For a little while, I thought you’d have to find something else to do,” Brody said gently.
That had been the worst-case scenario. There’d been plenty of long, lonely nights where Ramsey wondered if that would be him. But that wasn’t the kind of thought he ever shared, even with Wes, even with Brody. Maybe he’d tell Nate, someday.
“And what would I even do? Professionally run people’s lives?” Easier to make it a joke.
But Brody just shook his head. Still thoughtful. “You have Vault. And I have a feeling that whatever you wanted to do, whatever opportunity came up, you’d be fucking great at it. Wes says the bar is doing amazing.”
Ramsey didn’t know about amazing, but it hadn’t hurt that it was now the favored spot of all the pro athletes in town.
Auston Matthews had just booked a private room for Anthony Stolarz’s birthday party.
The balance sheet was solid, even with the expensive remodel they’d done of the space, and the insane rent price of being in downtown Toronto.
Nevermind the rising costs of everything else.