Page 73 of From Coast to Coast

“You see what I mean about work being the way to my mom’s heart?” he asks, smiling. “She took one look at your shoulders and thoughtbingo.”

“I bet that was a fun house to grow up in.”

“Oh, you have no idea. Chaos, Gray, fucking chaos. It was just the two of us, but we always did okay. She never evenblinked when I told her I wanted to play hockey. I’d spent my whole life chasing waves, coming home covered in sand. She thought I’d end up getting sponsored by Rip Curl or Billabong and join the circuit. And then one day I got it in my head I wanted to play hockey, and she just saidokay, we’ll make it work—and we did.”

“Selfishly, I’m so glad you never became a professional surfer.”

“Me too. We never would have met.” He shakes his head, taking one hand off the wheel and resting it atop mine.

“I’d love to help you repaint your mom’s house this summer, if you’d like the company.” I give his leg a small squeeze, speaking softly. It’s relatively quiet in the car—no radio playing, just the sounds of the highway and us. To the west, the sun is setting in vivid splashes of orange and rose. The thought of leaving in a few days feels like a golf ball lodged in my throat.

“Yeah?” He glances over at me hopefully. “I wasn’t sure if you’d go back to Canada for the off-season, or if you would use the summer to explore Colorado a little more. But you’d…you’d be open to coming here? Even just for a visit?”

I’d stay if you asked me.“I have no plans for the summer. We can make our own.”

The half of his mouth I can see opens into a wide smile, and he picks my hand up off his leg to kiss my palm, before placing it back on his leg. I notice I’m now a lot closer to his dick than I was before.

“How much longer until we get home?”

Morning comes too soonafter a sleepless, sex-saturated night. By the time we’d stepped through the front door, neither of us could focus on anything but taking the edge off. Bending Remy over the dining room table and putting a few new sweat trails through the dirt on his back did the trick long enough for us to eat dinner and take a shower. Lazy blowjobs in the steam led to exploratory hands in the bedroom as we mapped each other with our fingertips. A long, slow night of lovemaking until we finally let ourselves drift to sleep in the early hours of the morning.

Remy is still on top of me, having not moved an inch from where he fell asleep in a boneless sprawl across my chest. He’s heavy enough that I’m surprised I didn’t roll him off to the side in my sleep, unconsciously trying to make it easier for myself to breathe. His head is directly below my chin, the messy mop of blond hair spiked up in disarray from all the times I ran my hands through it last night. The smell of sex saturates the room, and I can still taste his cum in my mouth. I take as deep of a breath as I’m able with him crushing my rib cage, and allow myself a few moments of bliss where I imagine how life might be if I could always have this.

He snuffles a little bit in his sleep, adjusting his head and scratching his cheek along my chest hair. I wait, but he doesn’t wake up; only moving enough to find a new space on my chest to settle into.I should just move here,pops into my head, and my stomach flutters with anticipation at the thought. Of course, it’s far too soon to be thinking about that—I’m not about to say it out loud to Remy. But in the privacy of my own head, I can let myself dream a little bit.

I could sell my place in Canada easily, with the housing market being what it is there, and my apartment in Coloradowill work perfectly fine during the season. As for the off-season? It’s a little unnerving how easy it is to imagine myself living here with Remy. Spending our nights wrapped up in one another and waking up the same way. Beach days. Household projects for his mom. I want it so badly, it feels like Remy’s body isn’t the only thing constricting my airway.

He murmurs again, shifting his pelvis so one leg slides more comfortably between mine.You’ll scare him off, a small voice whispers in the back of my mind. I’m not an idiot—I know that we came into this strong, and some of that fire might burn out. But there’s a stronger sense ofrightnessthat I just can’t ignore, and I don’t think I’m the only one feeling it either. It makes me think of the way Troy described how it felt to meet Sam; how it felt to sit across from them in Hank’s and realize my friend and brother had found his person.

I remember, quite clearly, sitting in that bar with them and thinking to myself:you will never find this—it is one in a million and Troy is the lucky winner. But now there’s Remy, with his sun-darkened skin and hazel eyes. His trim, lithe body, crooked smile, and chatty disposition. Everything in me is telling me this is it and he’s the one. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep him.

“Why is it so bright?” Remy mumbles, mouth pressed against my chest and words barely discernible. He turns his head, planting his face directly into my neck like he’s hiding.

“Well, the sun came up and we left the curtains open.”

He groans. “I feel like my muscles have melted. I’ve never been this relaxed in my life.”

I’d laugh if I could draw enough breath to do so. “Multiple orgasms will do that to you.”

“Mm. You’re sowarm. I feel like I’ve been sleeping on aheating pad.” He swivels his hips a little bit, and nuzzles my neck with his nose. “I could get used to waking up like this.”

Smiling helplessly up at the ceiling, I thread my fingers gently through his hair. It’s a mess. “You’ve got cum in your hair.”

He huffs a laugh, raising his head and squinting at me. I lift my face and wait for him to close the distance and kiss me. Without a doubt, it’s the worst either of us has ever tasted. Regardless, I cup the back of his head to keep him there.

“Gross,” Remy whispers against my lips, before coming back for more.

I trail my hand over the back of his head and down his spine, tracing the ridges with my fingertips. When I reach the dimples that straddle his spine, he groans a little bit and kisses me harder. Dipping my finger into his crease, I circle his hole gently. He groans again, deep enough this time for the sound to vibrate through my chest. I press a little harder, circling his rim.

He breaks the kiss, resting his cheek alongside mine. I slow the movement of my finger.

“Don’t stop,” he says into my ear, voice breathy and needful.

I press forward slowly, not wanting to hurt him and cognizant of the absence of lube. He’s still stretched from last night though, and once I’m past that first ring of muscle, his body sucks me in. Another groan, this one accompanied by a slow rock of his hips as he rubs his dick against me. I massage his prostate with the pad of my finger, barely applying pressure.

I enjoy getting off just like any other red-blooded male, but what I really enjoy is making my partner feel good.Nothing turns me on more—or faster—than earning each little moan and pant from Remy; knowing that I’m the reason he’s reduced to a sweaty, incoherent mess. I can get off on Remy’s pleasure alone.

“Gray,” he breathes, hips rolling in time with the steady slide of my finger. He reaches down and wraps his fingers around our dicks in a loose grip. Our position doesn’t lend him a lot of room to maneuver, but his touch is more than enough for me.

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