the hunger that burned in my chest when he pushed back into the kiss, the way his tongue fought mine for dominance.
A thrill races down my spine, but I quickly shake it off.
It’s barely been a few months since I decided I’m totally and completely straight, and no way am I going to let a stupid kiss with an irritating asshole get in my head. Either head. My traitorous dick doesn’t agree. It’s still fucking hard.
I get back to my room and try to relax, but I swear I can still taste Beck on my tongue. Feel his chest pressed against mine.
I know I can wash the taste of him away by brushing my teeth. I know I can go out and hook up and replace the memory of his kiss by making out with someone else.
And yet … both of those things hold zero appeal.
Instead, my memories switch to Grant and the way I used to watch him on the ice. How every time I sent the puck sailing past the opposing goalie, excitement would race through me, because scoring meant getting attention from Grant. Out there, with the adrenaline running high, every emotion is put into overdrive, and it’s impossible to tell what’s real and what’s amplified by the endorphin rush.
I’d put it down to hero worship, but now I’m not so sure.
Because in the locker room, there was none of that high. It was a quiet moment, but so fucking intense my skin felt like it was going to zap right off my bones.
There was more charge in that kiss than a thousand hockey games, and that thought is terrifying.
The insecurities I’d thought I put to rest when Grant hooked up with Zach are starting to creep in again.
Zach is awesome, and I like him, but when he and Grant began dating, I couldn’t help the little seed of resentment I held toward both of them.
I didn’t know where it came from, and I didn’t understand it.
I felt something more than friendship toward Grant, but I wasn’t sure what it was.
The longer they dated, the less confused I became because it was obvious they belonged together. For it to disappear that easily, I’d chalked it up to an episode. Like, a phase.
But tonight, when Beck pulled away from our kiss, his blown pupils were from straight up lust, and the look made me want to grab him, shove him up against the wall, and kiss him again.
Then his panic kicked in.
Which reminded me exactly how I was supposed to be acting. How I was supposed to be feeling.
I groan into my hands and finally let myself admit that I liked it. I’d forgotten I was in a locker room with half the team watching because the only thought that filled my mind was how good another man felt against me.
My stupid brain didn’t even have the decency to forget who I was kissing.
The fact it was Beck should have been an instant boner killer.
It wasn’t.
It did the complete opposite.
Fuck this.
I’m not going to sit in my dorm room and wallow over this. I’m not even going to let myself think about it.
It was a stupid challenge that didn’t mean anything, and it sure as hell will never happen again.
Especially with someone like TJ Beckett.
I shudder. Even his name sounds rich, important, and pompous.
No more thinking about him!
I get up and change into loose shorts and a tank top, then head for the team gym. Coach gave me a set of keys for the summer so we can take the camp kids for early morning weight sessions.
Time to work out until I pass out.
Is that a healthy way to deal? Fuck no. But I don’t know a guy on our team who doesn’t face their problems in the exact same way.
It’s eerily quiet as I walk in and get started. The whirl of the treadmill, the heavy thump of my feet, and each labored breath are all I hear for a long time. Normally it’s enough to clear out my mind, but this time when everything else fades away, the kiss comes back in sharp focus.
His mouth. His big body pressed against mine …
I push harder and harder until I can barely see straight.
My tongue darts out to lick at my lips, and there’s that taste again. It’s not even anything specific, just warm breath and hard lips and a slight hint of something sweet.
My dick is being persistent, so I finally slow the treadmill to a stop