Page 82 of My Pucking Crush

“Sure.” He gets out and knots a towel around his waist.

“I have a few more hours of videos to watch. Watch with me? I can use an opinion from the bench.”

“Sure.” He finger-combs his dark curly hair, looking so damn sexy.

I’m suddenly starving. “Do you know how to make chili?” I ask, playing the sympathy card. “I have a real hankering for it.”

“With or without cornbread?”

I can fall in love with this guy.

WE EAT AND WALK OFFthe meal down at Stamford Harbor while the sun sets in a blaze of reds and purples on the horizon.

“You know, with that arrangement the four bosses have with their lady boss and each other, in that world, I’ll be accepted,” Luca breaks the silence. “We’ll be accepted.”

Acceptance. What a fucking concept. My throat tightens. People know me. How... How can I do this?

“You know, you can do so much better than me, Luc,” I mutter, turning inward.

“You are a moody son of a bitch.”

“Then why do you want me?” I lean against the metal railing, the tide lapping against the pilings. “Do you just want to fuck a hockey player?”

“You’re right.” His words drop my heart into my stomach. “But not just any hockey player. You.You’rethe hockey player I want to fuck. You could have been a quarterback. A tennis star. You could have been the goddamn bag boy at the grocery store.”

“That’s a good one.” I double over, laughing. “So, New York... It’s more open than Connecticut, isn’t it?”

“That I can’t argue.” He steps back. “What are you suggesting?”

“Nothing. Just a little punch drunk from the lack of sleep.” I feel my face heat up, and I wonder if he notices in the hazy twilight settling on the pier. “Are you going to keep sleeping in that bedroom which is basically a construction site?” I tear down my wall to see if I can knock down his.

“Do you have another bed to offer me?” he asks.

“Yeah. Mine.” I pull him in for a scorching kiss thatI get totally lost in.

Hearing the planks creak, I break the kiss. For once I don’t care who sees me. Me. But I’m still sensitive to people’s comfort levels seeing two men making out. I grab Luca’s hand and return to the car.

Scorching sexual tension hums off us on the ride home from the harbor and in the elevator, I push him against the wall to taste more of his mouth. But the game is starting any second.

Inside the apartment, I head to my media room where the tight space feels more intimate. Living rooms with a wall of windows invite spies. It’s not wise for either of us right now to be caught in a compromising position.

Luca joins me, and his mouth dips open looking around. For a moment, I’m embarrassed. It’s garishly decorated in memorabilia. My circle of friends are all players, or ex-players, and agents. To an outsider, it feels like I’m bragging.

There’s a reason all of this is in a room that only I use. And not the living room where I host guests.

“You’ve lived the dream, you realize that?” Luca says, looking around.

“I do.” I’m reminded that while I’ve experienced moments of trauma, I’ve had years of glory and success fading compared to those horrible seven days with Uncle Harris are a blip to the months I’ve had with Luca.

I never considered having a partner until this very moment, and wonder how a room only dedicated to me will fly in a home that I’ll share with someone else. The man who shares my refrigerator.

“What’s on your glory wall?” I ask Luca.

“I don’t need a wall.” He taps his forehead. “My successes are up here. The moments I felt proud.”

Scoring goals feels hollow compared to a life of realconsequences. “You’re proud of killing people for Belova?”

He ambles toward me, slow and measured. “Surviving horrific situations and to come home and kiss my son was the success part.”

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