Page 114 of Pucking Strong

The words roll over him like a wave, and he just purses his lips. “Fair point.”

“I thought so,” I say in English.

He chuckles, dropping my hand to resume his meal. “Oh, don’t try to hide it now, Mr. Big Shot. That felt really good, didn’t it? Foreigners love making Americans feel dumb by speaking languages they know we don’t understand. How many languages do you speak, by the way?”

I consider for a moment. “Fluently? Or just enough to get by?”

He sighs. “Let’s go with fluently.”

“Three.”

“Swedish, English, and …”

“French. I played three seasons with the Canadiens before I joined the Rays.”

“Fuck, that’s so hot.” He takes a bite of the risotto. “And this is so fucking good.”

It is good. Creamy and hearty with chunks of grilled scallop and a whole lobster tail. As we sit and eat, and as I watch Teddy try andfail to stop glancing to the corner, I get bold. This will be our last chance to be alone for several days. Even once I get back from these away games, our schedules mean I’ll hardly see him.

In this moment, I feel greedy. I want his attention on me. And I want him out of his own head, not focused on how he looks being photographed eating this damn fish. “Can I ask you a question?” I say, setting my fork aside to sip my water.

“Sure.”

“I’ve been researching demisexuality this week.”

“Well, that’s good, right?”

I nod. “I’ve learned a lot. I’m currently exploring what it means to feel primary versus secondary sexual attraction. I’ll admit, I’m not sure I’ve ever felt primary attraction before. At least, not the way the article describes it.”

“Well, I think that’s actually common for a lot of people. Not just those who identify as demi. It’s no big deal if you don’t cross some rando on the street and think, ‘Whoa, he’s hot.’”

“Is it like that for you?”

He nearly chokes on his water. One hand to his chest, he lowers the glass. “Pardon?”

“Do you meet people and feel an instant sexual attraction based solely on their physical attributes?”

He shrugs. “I mean, sometimes. Depends on the person, I guess. And maybe a little on my mood. It’s definitely happened before though, sure.”

I wait until he has the glass to his lips again, and then I ask, “Did it happen with me?”

He doesn’t choke this time. His eyes narrow, and he quickly sets the glass aside, lowering his voice. “Okay, asshole. Fuck you, I know what you’re doing.”

“What am I doing?” I reply, taking a bite of the grilled fish. It’s crispy and flaky, with just the right hint of citrus.

Teddy rolls his eyes. “You’re just trying to distract me from thinking about the photographer. Also, I think you’re fishing.”

“Fishing?”

“Yeah, you want me to get all flustered and admit that I think you’re handsome.”

I say nothing.

His eyes flash as he leans across the table. “You want my attention, Henrik? You always have it. And for your information,yes. From the moment I first saw you, I thought you were the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. I then spent one of the most sexually frustrated years of my life pining after you, so lost in lust with your beauty and poise and primary sexual attractants that, I swear to god, I don’t know how I survived.”

I forget to breathe as he holds my gaze, daring me to look away.

“Now that you’re my husband, I spend every day agonizing over my attraction to you—when you press against me in your sleep, when you pant on your little stationary bike, when you step out of the shower, when you stand at the stove in those sleep pants that curve so perfectly to every inch of your ass and thighs. Get some bigger pants, Henrik. They don’t need to be that goddamn formfitting. There. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

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