10. Connor
CONNOR
T his is ridiculous.
I’ve been driving around for hours, trying to stay out of the house so I don’t have to see Elliot getting ready for his date with ‘Cute Bookstore Guy.’
I drove around for a while until I found a spot to stop and then I scrolled through Elliot’s Instagram page and tried to find this bookstore jerk in his friends, but obviously no one has Cute Bookstore Guy in their bio.
I couldn’t even find anyone who said they worked in a bookstore.
And yeah, I did look that hard. I even scrolled through Scout’s friends—luckily, she doesn’t have many.
I got way too hung up on Elliot’s posts.
Initially, I was relieved that he’s not the kind to post thirst traps, before realizing that every photo of Eli is an unintentional thirst trap.
Most of his pics look like they were taken by Scout.
She probably hassled him into posting them, too.
He looks relaxed in the pictures, hanging out at familiar sites on the Harvard campus.
Sitting under a tree in the sun, reading a book or pulling faces at the camera.
Posing with some record I’m guessing was a rare find in some hipster-looking record store.
I don’t know how long I’ve been stalking Eli’s Insta until my eyes start to burn.
I need to go home and stop acting like a psycho.
Elliot’s probably been on loads of dates over the years. Fuck, Elliot’s probably had sex. Why do I hate the thought of that so much?
He doesn’t belong to me. We had one sort-of kiss. But he feels like mine. He’s our Elliot at home. Doesn’t that make him my Elliot, too?
I park the car at the end of the driveway and let myself into the house. It’s getting late and it looks like everyone’s already in bed.
Did Elliot get back from his date already?
Is he upstairs in Scout’s room, asleep on the fold-out bed?
Will he come downstairs to study if I wait up for him long enough?
I don’t see his shoes by the door. Even if Scout is a slob who wears her boots everywhere, Eli always takes his shoes off in the house.
I imagine letting myself into Scout’s room and crawling into bed with him. Scout’s snores telling us she’s fast asleep as I take his face into my hands and kiss him. Sliding my hand under the blanket and feeling his warm skin against my palm.
Fuck, what is wrong with me? I run my hand over my face and head to the kitchen to grab a drink. I hesitate over the OJ for a second, thinking about all that sugar and liquid calories. How sluggish I felt in the last practice. How much faster those kids will be than me in a few years.
The lock on the front door snicks open. I close the fridge and spin around, heart pounding in my ears .
By the time Elliot’s let himself into the house, I’ve come out to join him in the hallway.
He freezes with his keys in hand when he sees me. I study him, trying to read his expression. Did the date go well? I’m so relieved not to find him grinning like a lovesick teenager that I could cry.
He looks … tired. Tired because he had the most boring night of his life? Or tired because he spent the last few hours having sex with Cute Bookstore Guy?
“Connor,” he says at the same time I ask him how his date went.
He looks down, pushing his glasses up on his nose. “It was … okay.”
Okay … good, that’s good.
“Why are you smiling?” he asks.
“Honestly?”
He nods.
“I was jealous.”
He blinks at me.
“Why are you surprised?”
“I …” He shakes his head. “It’s just crazy that you’d be jealous.”
“Why?” I frown.
He bites his lip. It forces me to focus on his mouth.
How good he tasted when I kissed him. I take a step closer, close enough to touch him.
He looks up at me, his hair in his eyes, worn in that messier style he’s been wearing it in recently.
I reach out and brush it out of his face, leaving my fingers in his hair as I repeat my question.
“Why are you surprised that I’m jealous? ”
“Because you’re you and I’m?—”
I don’t let him finish that sentence. Instead, I slide my hand down to cup his face and kiss him. Unlike last time, this kiss isn’t hesitant or unsure. This kiss knows exactly what it wants.
His back bumps against the door as we take a step together. I press my chest against his body, feeling his heat pulse through me. His hand is on my hand, cupping his face. My tongue in his mouth. Tasting Sprite and popcorn.
I pull away, admiring how plump his lips look and how wrecked his hair is. “Did you kiss Cute Bookstore Guy?”
He shakes his head.
“Why not?”
“I didn’t want to.”
I cradle his face in both hands and dive back in, ignoring the evidence of his date and focusing on him instead. His lips, his tongue, the graze of his teeth.
Elliot puts his arms around me and slides his hand under my shirt, dropping his keys. His fingers are a little cool from being outside. My skin is on fire. He grasps and scratches with blunt nails, hands fanning out over my shoulder blades.
When I grind against him, I can feel him getting hard.
The first time I ever felt another guy’s hard cock against me was such a thrill.
There was a mix of fear and desire I hadn’t felt since I lost my virginity to a girl in high school.
I’d told myself that being with a guy was a novelty.
That the thrill would wear off. And it did, to a degree.
Though it never got boring. But this … this is like the first everything all over again.
I pull away enough to see his swollen lips and feel his breath on my face. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful, Eli.”
He squeezes his eyes closed, like my words are hurting him. “Connor, don’t.”
“What?”
I press kisses to his cheek, moving down to brush my mouth over his jawline before reaching his neck. He grasps my bare shoulder under the shirt, tangles his fingers in my hair as he arches his back, panting, murmuring my name. I can’t remember the last time I felt this good.
We start rutting harder, my dick leaving a wet patch in my boxers. Fuck, we could make each other come like this. Up against my parents’ front door.
I lift his shirt and spread my fingers out over his bare stomach. “I fucking love this.”
“Love what?”
“Your body.”
He lets out a strangled, slightly hysterical laugh before I drop to my knees and kiss his stomach. I bury my face in his crotch, inhaling the worn denim smell and his cologne. His cock presses against the fabric insistently. I lick it through the layers and Elliot whines.
“We can’t …” he pants. “We have to stop.” His hands are gripping my hair, keeping my head firmly in place. I stop moving because he told me to. Keep inhaling him, though.
“Do you want me to stop?”
“Yes? No.”
I plant my hands on the door behind him and force myself to get up. Elliot looks wrecked. He runs his hand through his hair, making it even messier and so fucking sexy.
“Eli, what do you want? Tell me and I’ll do it.”
He gives me this look that I can’t read. “Do you know how many times I’ve fantasized about you saying that to me?”
I had a clue Eli had a crush on me growing up, but I didn’t exactly think he sat around pining for me. Definitely not after all these years. I didn’t take it too seriously or let myself get an ego over it .
“Elliot,” I say, running my hand through his hair.
“What I want and what’s right are two very different things in this instance,” he says.
My voice comes out way huskier than I’d meant it to. “Tell me what you want. ”
He looks at me, biting his lip. “I want …”
A creak on the floorboards upstairs forces us apart. Eli’s straightening himself out when someone whisper shouts from the top of the stairs. “Eli? That you?”
He throws me a look. Is it apologetic? Frustrated? A little of both?
I want to stop him from leaving and going to Scout. She’s going to ask him about his date. They’re going to sit up there talking about Cute Bookstore Guy when we just had the hottest kiss of my life.
But I don’t stop him. Instead, I’m left down here alone while he follows Scout to her room and closes the door.
The second I get out on the ice with the kids, the fact I barely slept last night doesn’t matter anymore. Chasing them around and watching them celebrate their goals is the only thing stopping that itch under my skin that’s been there since the minute Elliot walked through the door last night.
These kids look at me like I know what I’m talking about. Like I have the secret ingredient that’s gonna send them to the NHL or the PWHL.
Once again, I’m disappointed when Coach blows his whistle to signal the end of practice. This time, that disappointment comes with a dose of dread because I’ll have to see Elliot. Face up to the fact that I want him and can’t even hide it from myself anymore.
I’m about to help Coach clear away the cones and pucks when he stops me. “Someone’s here to see you.” He nods to the stands, where a guy in a suit is standing behind the plexiglass.
“Who’s that?”
Coach shrugs. “Go ask him.”
I’m sure Coach has it wrong and this guy wants to talk to him, but as I skate over, the guy flashes me a friendly smile and nods a greeting to me.
He holds his hand out and introduces himself. “Damien Rogers. Nice to meet you, Connor.”
“Hi. One of the kids here yours?”
He laughs and rubs the scruff on his chin. “No. I’m a scout for the Worcester Railers.”
“Oh. You got your eye on someone here? Sam’s looking good out there, you’ll have to wait a few years, but?—”
“No, no.” He shakes his head. “I’m here to speak to you .”
It takes my brain a second to compute what he’s saying. “You’re here to scout me?”
“Yes. Why is that so surprising?”
“I….” I trail off with a shrug.
“I’ve been trying to get in touch with your agent, but I haven’t had much luck.”
“We, um … parted ways.”
“I see. Well, if you’re looking for representation, there are a few people I can put you in touch with. They’d jump at the chance to represent a young, up-and-coming player like yourself.”