Page 31 of The Blame Game

I’m okay, haven’t coughed much today. Haven’t needed the inhaler, so that’s good, appeared below the earlier question.

Dom blinked. Hmm. He’d thought maybe Shea was out tonight. Then again, he might have been. Might have just gotten home from an appointment.

Fuck.

Great game, btw! Appeared a moment later.

Dom’s mouth curved up in a smile. Thanks. You watched?

Yeah. Sick assist there in the second. Still don’t know how you make those blind passes.

Thanks. It felt good.

Any thoughts about our “bro dates”?

Dom frowned. This wasn’t something he felt great about discussing via text. Can I call? It’ll be easier to discuss that way.

His phone rang a moment later, the name Sawyer Barnett flashing on his screen. Fuck, Dom needed to change that. Or no? God this two-name thing was fucking confusing.

“Hey,” Dom said when the call connected. “Thanks. I’m probably overthinking this but I feel like there are some things I shouldn’t commit to text. Call me paranoid but—”

“Oh, you definitely are,” Shea teased.

“Ha-ha,” Dom said drily. “Look, a teammate’s phone got hacked a few years ago. A video of him having sex got leaked and—”

“Yeah, the Nico Arents and Skylar Hanley on a balcony video, right?” Shea asked.

“Yes.”

“I remember that. Everyone at the agency was freaked out about it. It was used as a reminder of how unsecure most of our data is.”

Dom made a face. “Ugh, don’t remind me.”

“So what are you up to tonight?” Shea asked, his voice sounding very low and very warm all of a sudden.

“Uhh …” Dom glanced around his condo, taking in the black television screen, the unlit fireplace, the low lights. “Nothing much. Just trying to wind down.”

“Yeah, I know how fired up you get after a good game,” Shea purred. “Trust me, I remember that two-goal game you had last season.”

Dom had come this close to getting a hatty that night. It had been a fluke and he’d gone on to have a twelve-game scoring drought almost immediately after so it wasn’t necessarily something he liked to dwell on.

But he did remember the call he’d made to Shea that night, asking if he was free.

He’d made time for Dom, met him at the High Park Towers apartment, already prepped and ready to go.

They’d never even made it to a bed.

Still half-dressed in his game day suit, Dom had bent Shea over the back of the couch, fucking him so hard he’d left faint bruises on his hips and a bite mark on his shoulder.

He’d apologized after, because he figured the other guys Shea fucked probably wouldn’t appreciate that, though there had never officially been a “no marks” rule or anything that they’d agreed on …

“Dom?” Shea asked, his voice husky.

“Yeah, I remember it too,” Dom said. He could feel the thickening in his cock at the memory, the press of it against the fabric of his suit trousers. He ghosted a hand across the bulge and his breath caught.

Shea let out a rough noise. “Shit, Dom. Are you …”

“Yeah,” Dom whispered. “Thinking about it, anyway. You?”

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