Chapter Eleven #3
I’m on my knees, taking his thick cock in my mouth, sucking on the head and looking up to watch the gorgeous flush that spreads over Finn’s skin.
“Fuck, that’s it. Please, don’t stop,” Finn urges, licking his lips. “Oh God, Sel.”
I swallow him down my throat, all the way, until my nose hits his red pubes, and fuck his taste is addictive. I’m going to ruin him for anyone else.
Finn’s groan of pleasure is so clear in my mind that the real me strokes off like a man possessed.
“Yes,” I whisper. “Fuck, yes.”
“Sel!!”
What? That isn’t fantasy Finn shouting my name, it’s my real-life roommate outside the bathroom door.
“Hurry the fuck up, man, I gotta use the john!” Berg calls out. “It’s urgent!”
There goes my dream, and my erection…
“One sec!” I shout back. “Shit.”
I shut off the water, reach for a towel, and wrap it around my waist.
When I open the door and step out, Berg barges past me and slams it shut. Then I hear the awful sound of retching that tells me the captain ate something that didn’t agree with him.
Poor guy. I hope he’s okay.
I hear more painful noises coming from the bathroom and figure it’s going to be a long, loud night. Man, I can’t wait until I get my private room again. I’m not used to sharing space anymore. Not that I’d mind sharing it with Finn…
Jesus.
Forget about Finn! Go to sleep.
I stalk over to my bed, dry off, and slip under the sheets. Despite listening to my teammate vomiting his guts out, I’m still half hard, only I can’t do anything about it.
Think of something else.
Nope. My mind’s hung up on the fact that Finn’s only a few floors away. So fucking close, it’s torture. Does he feel this connection between us or am I the only one? What if this is all me?
Of course it’s all you. He’s never said anything about being queer or into guys. All he mentioned was his girlfriend, remember? You’re acting like the biggest idiot.
Which is why Berg’s interruption is for the best.
A door slams and I watch him stumble across the room and onto his bed.
“Don’t go in there,” he mutters. “I’ll clean it up in the morning.”
Best is pushing it.
The next night
The Rush triumphs again. We took the game 4–2 against LA, and celebrate after with dinner at a beachside restaurant. Nothing can settle us down, and buoyed by another win, the atmosphere buzzes with laughter and clinking glasses.
“Congrats, guys, that was a hell of a game. Two goals from Ranken, one from Makela, and one from your captain,” Coach Range toasts.
“And Berg did it without puking,” I quip.
“Kirkland, some of us are still eating,” Coach snarks.
“Sorry, Coach.”
Berg offers me his middle finger. “Thanks for the sympathy, roomie.”
“Anytime.”
Range shakes his head and holds up his glass again.
“I also wanted to say that our defense is solid and getting better every game. A notable mention to Baran and Kirkland, keep up the good work.”
We cheer to that, until Coach’s phone starts ringing. He excuses himself from the table.
“Another well-played game for the rookie and his partner,” Makela teases as he nudges me. “The New York bromance continues.”
Sorensen grins. “You guys should start a podcast. Oh! I’ve got a name. Hockey Moves: Win with Finn. You now, like Win as in Selwin, and win as in—”
Everyone groans. I shake my head.
“No,” Finn and I reply at the same time.
“Come on,” Sorensen replies. “It’s cute.”
“Cute? Do you even know what that word means?” Kuznetsov chuckles, and Sorensen launches a French fry at him.
Laughter erupts around the table, and I roll my eyes, ignoring the blush I can feel creeping up my cheeks. It’s happening way too much lately.
“I think it’s a cool idea, is that better?” Sorensen offers and turns to me. “You two might as well ride this bromance train. Fans eat that shit up.”
I’m about to reply to Sorensen when someone at the table grunts. The laughter in the room fades. I look around and realize that the only ones not taking part in this discussion are Brady and St Clare.
Brady shakes his head.
“I think it’s a shit idea,” Brady pipes up. “People might start making assumptions.”
St. Clare nods. “Yeah, and then the rest of us would have to deal with the fallout.”
“I say we head it off by giving Kirkland his own locker room,” Brady adds with a sneer.
His comment is a cold echo of my last days in Chicago. I place my glass on the table and lean forward.
“What did you say?”
Brady shrugs, offering me a smug smirk.
“I’m joking, man. Relax.”
“Do you see any of us laughing?” I ask.
“Lighten up,” Brady hisses. “What did you expect? You’re the one who made a big deal about your sex life and playing for both teams.”
“It has nothing to do with my job,” I insist.
“So you say,” he scoffs. “We all know you’re banging that pro football player, so who’s next? I’m surprised you can find the time to play hockey at all.”
“Shut up already,” Finn barks, startling everyone. “Or should we start asking around about your private life, Brady? If you have one. That ugly mug says doubtful.”
“Burn, baby,” Makela whispers beside me.
I’ve never heard Finn pissed off like that before, and I’m humbled by his protectiveness.
Brady glares at him. “No one asked your opinion, rookie. Button that fat yap of yours.”
“Leave him out of this,” I growl.
I throw my napkin down, ready to take this outside, when I look over and see Berg shaking his head at me.
My temper’s barely in check, but Captain is right.
The last thing we need right now is a brawl in public.
Range will murder us and so will Hugo. Berg steers the conversation elsewhere until Coach returns to the table.
I’m grateful things didn’t escalate any further, but I’m mad as fuck.
Unfortunately, the great mood I was riding from our win has vanished. Finn’s silent too, but when our eyes meet, there’s something more than concern lingering there. It’s the same fiery look he gets when he’s on the ice and in the zone.
Or maybe I’m imagining things again.
Later, alone in my hotel room, I have way too much time to think.
Berg’s out with his LA friends, so I’ve got the place to myself.
He asked me to join, but I begged off. Instead, I’m lying here, wondering what the fuck I’m going to do about Finn.
And while I’m pissed about Brady’s comments, they also struck a nerve.
He wasn’t totally off the mark when it comes to my feelings for my teammate.
Does he suspect that I’m into Finn that way?
Does the rest of the team? Fucking hell, I hope not.
My phone buzzes with a notification. It’s a media clip from Hugo, and I notice that he’s sent it to me and to Finn.
Hockey’s Newest Bromance Takes LA.
There’s a photo from the game—the moment Ranken scored and I’m celebrating with Finn, both of us laughing and hugging.
Fuck, we look good together. We’re standing close.
Close enough to kiss. I glance at my expression and it’s telling, but hopefully only to me.
I read the related comments and it’s a mix of jokes, teasing, and speculation.
While I should be elated about tonight’s win, I’m also worried.
The media attention shouldn’t bother me anymore, but it does, and I wonder if it’s getting to Finn?
I’m used to it; he isn’t. I reach for my phone again, but before I can start typing, a message pops up.
Finn: How’re you doing?
The phone slips from my hand, but I grab it before it hits the bed.
Sel: I’m fine. I was about to text you. I guess you’re like me and can’t sleep.
State the obvious, Kirkland.
Finn: Not after the high of that win
Sel: Did you see the clip Hugo sent?
Instead of texting back, Finn video calls.
When his face pops up on my screen, I know I’m in trouble.
He’s like me—lying in bed, sheet down to his waist, propped up on pillows.
Only, Finn’s got a long piece of cherry-red licorice stuck between his curved lips, and while I know it’s completely innocent, my cock doesn’t agree.
Does Finn know how sexy he is? Man, I need to get laid so I can get back to thinking of Finn as nothing more than a friend.
“Late night snacker?” I quip.
“I’m a nervous eater.”
“Nervous? About what?”
Finn’s cheeks flush a gorgeous shade of pink, and he takes a bite of his candy.
“Performance anxiety.”
My mind veers off to a place that’s not about hockey.
“About the next game,” Finn adds with a smirk.
I chuckle. “Of course. What else?”
Finn laughs and offers a rude hand gesture with his candy.