Page 53 of One Touch

I didn’t necessarily want everyone to know I had sex, but it had been so monumental that not recognizing it lessened its importance. For once in my life, I wanted to shout from the rooftops and declare how Miller’s dick had transformed me. I was tempted to believe it had magical powers with how I wanted to wax poetically about it.

But since I couldn’t share with people how amazing it felt to get dicked down, and I was slightly worried I’d yell it out loud in the locker room, I turned to the one person I trusted the most—my brother.

“Have you ever had your prostate?—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Listen, bro. I love you, I do. But it’s a hard pass on hearing about you and Miller. I have a very distinct image of my college roommate that I plan to keep, so please, for the love of hockey, do not change that.”

“But… the prostate, Land.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s amazing, but I can’t. I just can’t. Oh, God. I’m going to be sick.” He made a gagging noise, and I rolled my eyes.

“So dramatic.” I sighed. “Fine. Let me talk to Cam.”

“Gladly.”

Luckily, Cam was not squeamish and willingly listened to me proclaim the greatness of gay sex. After getting off the phone, I’d attacked Miller and reminded myself just how wonderful it was. I almost couldn’t believe how I’d been willing to miss out on it, but deep down, I knew it wasn’t so much about the sex; it was the man I was doing it with.

In the blink of an eye, the end of November turned into the beginning of December. We won our two home games before returning to the road. We won against Utah in our first away game, thanks to the rookie goalie shutting them out. However, it wasn’t looking as good against LA. We were tied midway through the third period, and our team was out of gas.

“Second line, get ready,” Coach Mack shouted.

My gaze was on Miller, so I caught his grimace before he covered it. Was he hurt? Tired? Our line had been on the ice a lot tonight. Typically that wasn’t a bad thing, but Eriksson, the defender for LA, had been up Miller’s ass all night, disrupting our rhythm. I didn’t like how focused he was on him, but this was hockey. I couldn’t put him in bubble wrap and expect him to play that way.

“You got this,” I said, trying for something encouraging. It wasn’t my strong suit, but I wanted him to know I believed in him.

His chuckle was dark and didn’t fill me with lightness like usual. “Yeah, that’s not the problem.”

I tugged on his arm and stopped him. “What do you mean, Bambi?”

“Leave it, Silver. This isn’t the place.”

He broke my grip and moved into position for the face-off. O’Leary was in the center, so I took up my spot. I glanced at Eriksson. His gaze was zeroed in on Miller, but it wasn’t the typical hockey glare. This was more… it was almost lecherous. But why?

I didn’t have time to ponder it as the puck dropped, and the game resumed. O’Leary snagged the puck and zipped it over to Miller. I skated into position to receive, but the puck didn’t make it. Miller was slammed into the boards, and the puck was stolen. I hesitated as I watched the brute shove Miller and whisper something in his ear before skating off with a smug expression.

Miller’s face was red as he skated into play. The longer he played, the more tense his movements became. It wasn’t like him, and it bugged me that he was letting this guy get to him.

“Snap out of it, Bambi.”

“Yeah, of course. I’ll do just that. Thanks for the awesome advice, Silver Spoon.”

I jerked back, his words metaphorically slapping me across the face. Had I done something wrong? Did I mean nothing to him? I thought things had changed between us, but maybe I was wrong. Was I cliche? Confusing sex for emotion?

I sat on the bench and attempted to rein in my temper. Then, I noticed Miller and Bell exchanging glances. I leaned closer to hear their conversation.

“He’s an ass. I wish I could punch him in the nuts,” Bell muttered.

“He’d probably like that. I’d wager the jerk is closeted.”

“Hmm. You might be right. He does get a little too handsy with me when he shoves me into the boards.”

Miller nodded and took a swig of his drink. My mind spun at the news. I was an idiot. The guy was targeting them because they were out, and I’d blamed Miller. Fuck. I wasn’t any better.

But what could I do? Nothing.

And what if my interference caused him to get wind of us?

Panic threatened to overwhelm me at the implications. If I came out, would it be like this for me, too? Probably worse because of my last name. Dread filled my bones, and the high I’d been living on for the past five days evaporated.

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