Sugar and Ice - RJ Scott Page 0,32

an arthouse fan?”

“Perhaps. Sue me for seeking out intelligent entertainment.”

He took my face in his hands. “We’re going to have to work on getting you looser.”

“I plan to do that to you,” I whispered then captured his mouth. He sighed into the kiss and somehow we ended up back in bed, minus any food or movies until well after two in the morning. I did tend to his sore bottom with ample cream. Then came mutual hand jobs, a long shared shower, and a last minute call to room service for chicken tenders, curly French fries, and root beer. Which I placed as the taste on his mouth when he’d first arrived. Root beer.

He was lying beside me, feeding a long spiral fry into my mouth as Guardians of the Galaxy was playing on his phone, which was propped up on a pillow resting on my stomach.

“I like this Drax,” I said after we’d clocked an hour of movie time. Perhaps not all superhero films were bad.

“That’s because you and he are the same person,” he said around his mouthful of curly fry.

He fell asleep with his head on my chest. I ran my fingers over his cheekbones, wishing I could close my eyes and drift off to a talking raccoon shooting a huge gun. But that was not to be.

“Tate, you cannot be here in the morning,” I said, giving him a shake after the movie ended. He sat up, looked around groggily, and then nodded. “I’m sorry. It is not as I would wish it.”

“Nah, it’s cool. We both have far too much bullshit to deal with in our lives right now. We don’t need the media nightmare that Tennant Rowe suffered through.” He slid from the bed, taking his phone with him, and pulled on his clothes. I’d been the one to answer the door when room service came and had left my jeans on after the food had arrived.

“Do you want the leftover food?” I held up the plate that held only two out of thirty tenders. He shook his head then tugged his tank top on. “I do wish you could stay. Waking up with you would be nice.”

“Yeah, it would. Maybe when we’re back home without nosy coaches and teammates right across the hall?”

“That would be fine, most fine.” He gave me a soft, fleeting kiss. I handed him his iPad, walked him to the door, peeked out to see if the coast were clear, and then let him step out into the hall. “See you at breakfast.”

“Yeah, cool. Thanks for…well, thanks.” He moved as if he sought another kiss and I almost capitulated. It was the ping of the elevator down the hall that kept me from pressing him to the wall for another kiss or, worse yet, leading him back to my bed.

“Good night,” I said, smiled feebly, and closed the door on him. I’d had many lovers, all on the sly, but saying goodbye to Tate was by far the hardest farewell I’d ever experienced. I yearned for him already.

Obviously, caution had flown the proverbial coop.

Chapter Nine

Tate

Our game against Vancouver was a shit show. It was chaotic, nasty, pushing, shoving, hell, and when we finally left the ice with a five-two loss, it was a relief more than a shock. Vancouver were hot this season, winning all of their games so far, and jeez, did Canada love that one. The signs in the arena were deadly accurate, including the first appearance of the SHT line poster with the little ‘I’ in the middle.

“I think the Zamboni got me,” Andre dragged himself from the shower, and I couldn’t see bruises yet, but some of the one hundred mile an hour pucks had hit him hard, and twice he’d been steamrolled by the D, plus a whole heap of his own team who were losing their shit and trying to keep the puck out of our net. In Andre’s defense, he’d put up a good fight, and I didn’t think Colorado could have done any better.

“That last save, dude, that was insane,” I high-fived him as he passed, and at least he smiled, before he winced again. How he’d seen that puck and gotten across the crease as fast as he did, I don’t know, but it had been awesome to see, a glimpse of a wonderful future.

Alex had dropped gloves with one of the Vancouver D, but the fight hadn’t lasted long and it was Alex on the ice with the D