Page 106 of Cherry Picking
God, I fucking missed this.
“I love you, Griff,” he says when I let him breathe, when my own urgent need has me rocking my hips into him as I grip his thighs and drag him close.
“I fucking love you, Riley. If you ever leave me again, I’m chaining you to a goddamn Zamboni.”
Laughter ripples out of him. “I’m done making decisions and regretting them. We’re in this together.”
“Even if they ship me off to Canada?”
Riley rolls his eyes and kisses me tenderly.
“Even if we have to move to Canada.”
So we didn’t make the playoffs. Didn’t even have a chance at The Cup. Given the crapshow of a season we had, it’s not all that surprising.
But this right here?
Months without my best friend and finally having him back?
Better than any fucking playoff game.
Just don’t tell the guys I said that.
After a week of camp, a handful of us decide to get together sans a group of children and relax.
Walking through the front doors of Lucky Sparks has never felt so sweet.
And not just because the lights are dimmed with glow sticks and fairy lights and people are actually dancing on the impromptu dance floor that used to be filled with tables and chairs for casual sitting.
It reminds me of that club in Boston. The one that tentatively brought me and Riley together.
That’s not what makes coming here so special.
It’s that Lucky Sparks is having its first official Pride Night sponsored by the Chattanooga Hornets—much to our GMs chagrin.
Apparently when half of the starting lineup is queer, it’s really easy to get upper management to sign off on Pride related activities. Least they incur the wrath of the goalie currently being optioned for a move up to the NAPH.
Which I haven’t talked to Riley about yet.
We just stepped foot back into our relationship; the last thing I want to do is throw a rock straight into the path.
Rory and Mash already have an array of shit set up by the air hockey table—they’re go-to—with a foldout table and drinks sitting at the ready.
The two of them are standing close together, laughter bubbling out of them. Rory is sitting on the table with his hands splayed out behind him, Mash standing in front with a hand on Rory’s hip, shaking his head at whatever nonsense is coming out of his friend’s mouth.
I catch Hawks’ eye from where he’s leaning on the high-top behind them, and we share a knowing look in the direction of the duo.
Before I can make my presence known, a solid form brushes against my back, thick arms winding around my waist, and the tickle of Riley’s stubble rubs against my cheek as he places a kiss there.
“How cool is this?” I ask, gesturing to the room, but instead of looking, Riley trails his lips down my neck.
With Parker staying with us until the end of summer, we’ve had to keep most of our interactions at home PG, so anytime we get a smidge of privacy, our hands and mouths explore like travelers on unmarked land.
“I feel like I missed a lot while I was away.”
Winding an arm back around his neck, I draw his mouth to mine but don’t quite apply pressure. “Rory got drunk. Tried to dry hump Hawks, got very publicly reprimanded by Mash … and came in his pants.”
“Like …?”
