Page 14 of Finders Keepers
Nate winced at the foghorn blast from his bedside table. He pressed the fingers of one hand into gritty eyes and reached for his phone with the other. He squinted at the screen. Ten-thirty? Fuck. Why? Why was his alarm set at all?
Memories of the night before flooded his brain.
Right. House guest with a concussion.
He sat up, rubbed his eyes again, and ran a hand down his face. Hopping into basketball shorts, he headed down the hall.
The door to the spare room was cracked. He pushed it open enough to peek inside. Wesley lay sprawled face down across the queen-sized bed wearing Nate’s basketball shorts and tee shirt. The sight of Wesley in his clothes tickled his libido and spiked his heart rate. It shouldn’t matter. Shouldn’t mean anything.
But something about seeing Wesley wrapped up in his things, taking up space in his home, scratched at an unfamiliar part of him. He looked small, vulnerable, swallowed up by fabric a size too big for him. And maybe that’s what got to Nate—not some misplaced sense of duty, but the unsettling pull of wanting him here. Of liking it. Of wishing, just for a second, that Wesley belonged to him.
No. Just no.He shook his head. This was bad timing all around. Outside of the club and NDAs, that was asking for trouble to jump the boards, charge the net, and take him out like a highlight reel hit.
They might have shared some sexy times at the club; they might have connected on some level; but the difference between the club and his real world was like the Wild West compared to the Middle Ages. Separated by centuries, an ocean, and half a continent. He couldn’t afford to fuck up this new opportunity.
Nate was in a new city with new ownership; new management that he didn’t know very well and who didn’t know him. He needed to establish himself in the dressing room and on the ice. His sexual activities needed to remain his business and his business only. He couldn’t afford to be exposed again. Couldn’t bear to be tossed aside again.
Besides, Wesley’s stay was temporary. Once they established that he wasn’t going to slip into a concussion-induced coma and die, the man would go home and back to his own life. That would be that.
Nate dragged his gaze away from his guest’s perky ass to his beat-up face and pictured himself neck-deep in an ice bath. That got his morning wood under control. He shifted his stance to adjust his dick before calling, “Wesley? Can you hear me?”
The fabric of Nate’s old tee shirt hung loose around Wesley, almost comically oversized, but it didn’t hide the way his body shifted as he slept. Getting no response, Nate moved to the side of the bed and lightly shook a soft, smooth ankle. “Wesley.”
Nate swallowed hard, his gaze flicking from Wesley’s battered face to the vulnerable sprawl of his body, the slow rise and fall of his breath. The sight tugged at something deep in his chest—something unclaimed, something dangerous. He wasn’t supposed to feel this, wasn’t supposed to want this, but with Wesley lying there, wearing his clothes, trusting him even in sleep, the loneliness he never let himself name pressed in like a too-heavy weight.
Wesley shifted with shallow breaths and a grimace, rolling from front to side, then side to back. The motion revealed a morning erection, mostly veiled by the excess folds of the too-large shorts. The pink head peeked out above the loose elastic waistband. He stroked his morning wood once, revealing more flushed skin.
Nate’s eyes locked on the pink tip of Wesley’s erection as it slipped in and out of view beneath the waistband as he continued his slow, painful roll. Nate’s breath caught in his throat, and he couldn’t seem to pull his gaze away, no matter how much he should. His mouth went dry and all the blood in his body surged straight to his dick.
Wesley curled into an almost fetal position, but he didn’t wake up.
Fuck.
Nate’s dick throbbed. He about-faced and marched down the hall and straight into his master bath, yanking off his shorts and briefs as he stepped into the glass-and-stone-lined shower stall. He cranked on the water, and, pumping body wash into his hand, he jacked himself off fast and hard under the lukewarm spray. His mind snagged on the image of Wesley stretched out on the bed, skin flushed, lips parted. A low moan escaped before he could stop it, the sound swallowed by the rush of water.
He cranked the handle to cold and stood under the icy blast for several minutes until he gasped for breath and couldn’t stand the chill any longer. He dried off and dressed in clean boxer briefs and a pair of cotton jersey shorts with the Lumberjacks logo on one leg. A reminder that he was expendable.
* * * * *
Wesley remained curled up on his side, but the sheet had been tugged over his lower half. Nate had no idea how old the guy was, but he looked young in his sleep. Vulnerable. Add in the purple and red discoloration and every nurturing instinct Nate had ever experienced went on high alert. His breath stuttered, a sharp inhale followed by a shaky exhale.
This wasn’t a road he could travel, dammit. Hockey was unforgiving that way. Even if Wesley were similarly inclined—and there was no indication he was—the man had his own life to get back to and was also keeping his sexuality a secret. Natewould see him through a few days of recovery and send him on his way. End of story.
Nate gently shook a tanned shoulder. “Wesley...are you with me?”
Wesley sucked in a breath and his long lashes fluttered open. Surprise and uncertainty flashed across his face. He rolled to his back again, the sheet draped diagonally over his mid-section, hiding his groin area effectively enough for Nate’s peace of mind. He struggled onto his elbows with a grimace before looking around and meeting Nate’s eyes. The raw pain on his face made Nate want to do something, anything, to make it better.
“Um...m-morning.”
“Morning. How’re you feeling?”
“Mmm...like there’th a drum corps practithing in my head.” He dropped back to the bed and covered his face with his hands. “God, it hurtth. Why’d you wake me? It wasn’t good thleep, but my head didn’t hurt ath much.”
Nate grimaced at the thought of causing more pain, but it couldn’t be helped. “Sorry. Concussion protocol. Take some more ibuprofen and go back to sleep. I’ll bring you more pillows. Try to keep your head above your heart.”
“Gonna use the bathroom. But yeah.” He tossed the covers aside, morning wood still evident, but completely covered, and slowly struggled upright.
“Okay. I’ll be back around three for the next check-in.” Nate’s voice was steady, even though he felt anything but. The guy needed the rest so his body could work on healing without burning energy for awake things.
