The Understatement of the Year (16 page)

He was staring at me, though. At my bare chest, if I wasn’t mistaken. Not that I’d call him on it. The conditions of our truce were pretty simple. Graham was solid with me on the team, and I pretended to believe that he was straight. That was only fair, especially since he’d brought tequila as a peace offering.

Except I could feel those blue eyes on me. So I raised one languid hand to rub my chest. I didn’t do it in a porn film way — it was just a casual brush across my pecs, like anyone might do. But man, did his eyes flare. Oh, hell. I could feel his gaze on me, like a physical touch. I felt it in places I shouldn’t.

And then Graham turned away, toward the desk. He picked up the lime. “One more, I think.”

“Sure,” I said, wondering how this night would play out. Graham and I, drunk together. That’s something that had never happened before, back in the day. There was no telling what it might have led to.

He stood up to hand me my glass. “Cheers,” he said, holding his own into the air. Then he downed it. Then he set the glass on my desk and turned around again. “Rik?”

It took me a second to answer, because I was swallowing tequila. “Yeah?” I stood up to put my glass onto the desk beside his.

Before I could retreat again to my corner, he moved into my space. When his big hand landed at the side of my neck, I quit breathing. Time slammed to a halt for a second, until I realized that he was examining the place under my jaw where Eros had slashed me with his stick.

“How bad does it look?” I whispered, just to say something normal.

But Graham wasn’t even listening. He dropped his hand, only to put it on my bare waist. And then his mouth dipped down to graze the juncture between my neck and my shoulder. A pair of soft, moist lips began to nibble at my skin.

Jesus fuck.

Again, I froze with surprise, too shocked to say anything, or to shove him away. His mouth made a path along my throat, dropping wet kisses on his way. I didn’t react at all. Well, that isn’t true. My dick jumped to attention, straining against the zipper of my jeans faster than you can say “bad idea.” Then Graham raised his head, his tongue landing at my ear. When he sucked my earlobe into his mouth, I let out a gasp.

“Do I still do it for you?” he whispered. Not waiting for an answer, he gave me a shove backward, onto the bed. Even as I sat down he was straddling me, pushing me down. His mouth attacked mine a second later. He kissed me, hot and wild, and I let him. No — I practically rolled out a fucking rug for him, scrambling back to get all the way onto the bed, pulling him into my arms.

Yes, yes, yes
, my body chanted. Four shots of tequila in, it was easy to shut off all the logical parts of my brain. With the hard, warm body of my first love practically scaling me like a monkey, I couldn’t summon the will to think this through. His big hands threaded into my hair, his mouth slanting down over mine again and again. His lips were wet and warm, and his tongue made long, greedy draws against mine.

Suddenly, we were fifteen again, and crazy with desire. There was no finesse to our making out. We were too hungry, too desperate. It was all grip strength, grunts, and heavy breathing. The bed barely held four hundred pounds worth of horny hockey players who were trying to achieve nuclear fusion through their mouths.

My clumsy hands found their way under his shirt, and over the hard planes of his back. He dragged his mouth off of mine only long enough to yank his shirt over his head. And then we were skin to skin. When I grabbed his beautiful chest in two hands, tweaking his nipples with my thumbs, he let out a howl of need that I was probably going to hear later in my dreams.

And it was Graham.
My
Graham. Those familiar blue eyes were half-mast with lust, and his golden skin was flushed with desire. For
me
. There was nothing like it. With his hips grinding against mine, I thought I might blow in my jeans the way we did when we were teenagers.

“Want to suck you,” he said between kisses. And before my brain could even unpack that declaration, I lost his mouth on mine. He began dropping hot, open-mouthed kisses across my pecs, lingering over my nipples. Then he traced the centerline of my chest with his tongue.

It was all happening so fast, and I was on fire, panting like a maniac. Rough hands yanked my jeans open. When he tugged, I lifted my hips. But then I was lying there, exposed for him, my knees still tangled in my jeans. So vulnerable. I experienced a twinge of worry, hoping that Graham didn’t plan it this way, spreading me bare so he could teach me some kind of lesson.

But before I could even finish that ugly thought, his breath was there, nuzzling my groin. On the sound of his sigh, my shoulders relaxed against the bed. Hungry lips began tracing my shaft, and I flexed my hips, desperate for a little friction.

When he opened his mouth and took me in, my brain took another sabbatical. Everything was wet heat and motion. I looked down my body, and the sight almost undid me. Graham knelt on the floor beside the bed. With eyes shut tight, he worked me over. I saw his cheeks draw in, and he gave a good, hard suck. An involuntary shout flew from my mouth. And at the sound of it, Graham moaned. The vibration caressed me, and as I watched, Graham’s free hand dipped down to rub himself through his jeans. He moaned again, and the vibration almost finished me off.

I reached toward his body on the floor. “Give it to me,” I rasped, smacking him on the hip so that he’d understand what I wanted.

Graham jerked up from the floor. With two hands, he yanked his jeans open. They hit the deck with a jingle, and then he was stepping out of his jeans and boxers. Putting one knee on the bed beside me, he bent over my waist again, taking me in from an even better angle than before.

“Uhhhn…” I said. Because it’s hard to be eloquent when your dick is in somebody’s mouth. I ran my hand up the inside of Graham’s bare thigh, my fingers sifting through his soft leg hair on the way to the good stuff. When I cupped him, he gasped. When I stroked him, he moaned.

And then it was practically all over but the crying. He was moaning and thrusting into my hand, and I was not going to survive it. My nuts got tight and my spine hitched and I took one more big breath. “Look out,” I gasped. Graham didn’t duck and cover, but it was probably too late anyway. Slamming my head back onto the pillow, I came like a rocket launcher. And he took it like a champ. A few seconds later he came on a muffled groan, spilling into my hand, shuddering with satisfaction.

When silence descended a minute later, Graham lay panting on my belly.

“Up here,” I croaked. I pushed further back onto the narrow bed, my back up against the cold plaster of the wall. I wiped my hand on my discarded T-shirt, and then threw that on the floor.

Graham swiveled and fell, his head landing near mine. But his eyes were focused on the ceiling, and I had no idea what was in his brain. I tucked my chin down to place a soft kiss on his shoulder. He didn’t flinch or move away, but neither did he roll into me. “Graham, are you…”

But that was as far as I got, because he held up a hand. “We’re not talking right now,” he said, his eyes drooping. “Don’t want to discuss it.”

I gave a strangled laugh. “Okay. I was only going to ask if you’re as drunk as I am.” Because I’d just noticed how loopy four shots of tequila could leave you after a long, disastrous game and on an empty stomach.

“The room is spinning,” Graham mumbled.

“That’s because you got naked with me, baby,” I joked, biting his shoulder a little.

“Shut it,” he whispered, hitching away from me, rolling onto his side.

Right
. Even drunk, I could extrapolate. Graham would probably crawl out of here in about two minutes. Then he’d shut down again, and go back to ignoring me.

But at the moment, the bed was so small that his body was still only inches from mine. I put my hands to his shoulders and squeezed, massaging the muscles under my palms. He was beautiful, and I didn’t want to stop touching him.

With a firm grip, I dug my thumbs into his traps, my fingers working his neck. I gave it a fifty-fifty chance that he’d pop up off the bed and go away. But I kept going. Carpe Diem and all that. I worked both my hands up his neck to the base of his skull. And then I massaged his scalp, because there isn’t a person alive who isn’t a sucker for having his head rubbed. All that fine, pale hair went sifting through my fingers. Finally, I felt Graham sigh and relax.

I knew there was wisdom in quitting while you’re ahead. But Graham had thrown a switch inside me that could not easily be turned off. Just from massaging him, I was ready to go again. So I slipped an arm around his waist, hitching my body against his, so that my erection lay against his ass. His muscles stiffened in my arms. But I wasn’t going to give up easily. My hand began a slow tour of his chest, and I pressed my lips to the back of his neck.

When I felt his breath catch a minute later, I knew that I had won.

It didn’t take long until he was rolling over, reaching for me. His mouth was salty now. I could taste myself on him. We went slower this time, exploring one another thoroughly. Graham’s eyes were slammed shut, as if looking at me was more than he could handle. But his touch was reverent — his big hands sliding around my hips as if trying to memorize them.

He reached between our bodies and took me in hand. Arching his back, bringing his torso even closer, he was able to grasp us both at the same time. It was glorious. I rocked my hips, thrusting into his hand and against his cock, taking long gulps from his mouth. As good as it was, this taste of him only made me hungrier.

Someone knocked loudly on my door.

Graham jerked his hand away from me as if he’d just discovered he was touching a stick of dynamite. His whole body went rock solid, his eyes popping wide with panic.

The knock came again.
Bang bang bang
. “Rikker, if you’re in there, open up.” It was Bella’s voice. “Or at least answer your phone. Tonight wasn’t your fault.”

Beside me, Graham began to tremble.

I put my lips right beside his ear, barely whispering. “The door is still locked.”

“Come on, Rik,” Bella called again. And when she rattled the doorknob, Graham’s body gave a horrified jerk, like he’d been tasered.

But the door held, of course. And then after an achingly long silence of a minute or so, we heard the sound of Bella’s footsteps tapping away, heading down the stairs.

It was so quiet then that I could actually count our heartbeats. And after a dozen or so of them, Graham got up and fumbled for his clothes.

“Graham,” I whispered. “You don’t have to panic.”

But he wouldn’t even
look
at me. With shaking hands, he stumbled into his jeans.

I pulled the blanket up from the foot of the bed, mostly covering myself. And I watched a freaked-out Graham prepare for a hasty exit from my room. I could almost hear the worry loop trailing around inside his head.
Never should have done that. Never should have done that
.

Whatever. If he wanted to freak out and run away after hooking up with me, that was his loss. That’s what I was going to tell myself, anyway. What’s one more bruise on a battered heart? Mine probably already looked like a veteran NHL player’s face.

Before the door closed on him, he said one word to me. “Sorry.”

I was tired of hearing that word from him.

His footsteps echoed as he retreated down the stairwell. For the second time tonight, I lay alone on my bed, nursing my wounded ribs. The next time I heard footsteps on the stair, I knew that it was only one of my exchange-student neighbors on his way in for the night. There would be nobody else calling, or coming to visit me.

My bruises throbbed again and my head began to ache. But the silence hurt worst of all.

The next event in my fun-filled life was a team meeting in the wood-paneled club room at the rink. Like a brave man does, I snuck in at the last minute, holding up the wall beside the door. At the front of the room, Coach paced, his hands in fists.

“It’s not that you lost the game, you idiots. It’s that you lost your
cool
. That asshole played you like a whole fucking
orchestra
of fiddles. Watching last night’s tape? It took me half a bottle of scotch. Seven minutes, guys. Seven. Minutes. That’s how long it took that dickface to wreck your game. The wheels came off early, and they stayed off. And all because of a few carefully planned taunts. Baby stuff! You got taken down by yourselves, basically. Because if you don’t know how to be immune to petty shit like that, you’re not going to last very long in hockey.”

He stopped pacing, his hands clenched at his sides. “We’re not watching that tape, because there’s nothing to watch. There’s no point in analyzing the plays, because you idiots didn’t even show up to play the game.”

I was new to the team and all, but I’d never seen Coach as angry as this. It must not happen very often.

Fuck me
.

“I don’t know if you noticed, but I gave one of your teammates the day off. The only guy who can hold his head up high after that shit show is Orson.
Seventy-six
fucking shots on goal Saint B’s took. And you punks took
thirty
. And Orson kept his shit together for three periods, and only let in four! Who was your MVP last night? Orson. That ass from Saint B's taunted him the worst of all, and it was a fucking waste of breath, people.”