Page 29 of Cherry Picking
When we finally separate—the need for rest and hydration from the game and our extracurriculars winning out—I watch as my cum leaks from his hole and down his cheeks.
Hot.
Griff immediately clamors for the couch, sprawling face first across it without a single thought of cleaning himself up. It’s fine. We’ve done any number of indecent acts on that couch; one more stain isn’t going to hurt.
I grab a rag from under the counter and wet it at the sink, wiping down my dick, nuts, and thighs before tossing it to Griff and smiling at the tiny yelp he lets out when it lands on his back.
“Asshole,” he mutters while I grab us two cups and fill them with water.
He’s not facing me when I turn to walk to the couch; he’s on his knees facing the door, rag shoved between his legs as he tries to clean up.
So he doesn’t see when I stumble, take a step forward and my knee just gives out. It’s only for a second, and I manage to catch myself, but the cups I’m holding tumble to the floor, water sloshing everywhere.
By the time he whips around, I’ve straightened, wincing only internally at the pain radiating in my knee.
“Fuck. You good?” Griffin jumps to his feet and runs to the hall closet for towels, tossing them down and spreading them around with his foot.
I nod and offer him my best smile. “Wore myself out. Hands are too sweaty.” When I laugh, he rolls his eyes, but keeps up with cleaning the water.
“Go sit your old ass down.”
As is his favorite insult to hurl, me being five years older and passing into my thirties means he gets free reign to take jabs at my age any chance he gets.
He’d really buckle down if he knew this isn’t the first or even the worst bout of issues I’ve had with my knee lately.
Two injuries and one surgery later, it’s a miracle the damn thing even lets me skate anymore. One day it’ll give out for good.
But that day isn’t today.
And there’s no point worrying him about something that isn’t here yet.
CHAPTER 7
GRIFFIN
Doyou ever know something is a bad idea before you do it? But you plan to do it anyway because—fuck—you want it so bad?
That’s me, planning the stupidest kind of proposal after tonight’s game. Riley said if we win—if I play my ass off—then he’ll give me whatever I want.
What I want is to make our relationship team official.
I’m not talking about coming out to the world, but I want to be able to throw my arms around him in the locker room and bury my face in his sweaty neck—taking him in. I don’t want to force him; I don’t want to pressure him if he isn’t ready, but the guys have always been cool about my orientation, about my supposed relationship with Locke—they’d embrace Riley and me in a heartbeat.
So, if I bribed the guys to clear out of the locker room a little early so I can sneak in a victory blowjob before enacting my plan to butter him up for the request, it’s not to make him feel like he has to but to gauge if hewantsto.
Locke might have agreed to be my cover story to make things simpler on us, but he’s made his disapproval of the whole situation well known.
“I’m just worried about you,” Locke says as he plops down beside me on his couch, two breakfast sandwiches in hand.
“I’m in a happy relationship, and you’re worried?”
He slaps me on the shoulder and shoves one of the sandwiches into my hands. “After what you went through with Hayden in high school? And Ethan at the start of your career?”
I groan around the bite in my mouth. “There’s a difference between being private and not wanting to be seen with me in public.”
“Both of those things can be true, Griff.”
He’s quiet as we eat, and when I ball up the foil the food came in, I nudge his knee with my foot. “Say what’s on your mind. I know you aren’t done.”
