Page 70 of Role Model

Harris placed a hand on Troy’s forearm and pressed it tighter against his chest. “I could stay here all day.”

So could Troy. He was utterly, wonderfully cozy and relaxed in a way he didn’t even think was possible for him.

Which was exactly why he couldn’t stay.

He retrieved his arm, then left the bed while he still had the willpower to do so. Harris rolled to his back and blinked at him, sleepy and confused. His hair was rumpled, and one side of his face was pink from where it had been pressed into the pillow. Troy wanted to eat him alive.

“You’re leaving?”

“Yeah. I, uh, I should get back to my own room. Y’know.” The last thing Troy wanted was for anyone on the team to know that he’d spent the night with Harris. For Harris’s sake, more than his own.

“Right.” Harris sounded dejected.

“So, okay. See you later, I guess.”

Harris sat up. “Are you sure we shouldn’t talk first?”

God, he looked so hurt. But the kindest thing Troy could do for him was leave.

“Nah. I’m gonna—” He pointed to the door, then after one last glance at Harris’s miserable face, left.

Well.

Harris certainly wasn’t going to let this stand.

He would give Troy some room, let him enjoy his day off in Florida as much as he still possibly could, and then he would talk to him. Because they needed to talk.

There was a chance that last night had been Troy’s first sexual experience with a man. If it had been, then Harris knew his brain must be a mess of confused thoughts now. Everything about last night, from the plane to falling asleep in each other’s arms, had been overwhelming and surreal. Harris wouldn’t let Troy deal with all of that alone, no matter how self-sabotaging the guy was.

Harris eventually left the bed to take a shower. He’d have to get in touch with his boss, figure out a plan for today after the airplane incident. Let her know that he needed a new laptop. This was still a work trip, even if everything was fucked.

God, he didn’t want to look at his phone. He was sure the team had released an official statement, and would have posted that to the social media accounts themselves. He probably had a million worried texts and voice mail messages from his family.

At least he could honestly tell them that his heart was doing its job. Props to the surgeon who installed his mechanical aortic valve three years ago. Props to whoever invented the mechanical aortic valve too. Holds up during near death experiences on airplanes, and hot and heavy make-out sessions with NHL hunks.

When Harris was dressed—excited to be wearing shorts and a T-shirt in January—he retrieved his phone from the bottom of his suitcase and turned it on. As he suspected, there were a ton of messages. He sent a group text to his parents and his sisters, assuring them he was fine and that he would call them later. He sent an email to his boss, Theresa, to let her know about the laptop situation and to see what she wanted him to do today now that no one on the team was in the mood for fun videos.

There was a text from Gen. What the fuck!!!! Are you ok?????

Harris: I’m fine. A bit shaken up. Everyone is, I think.

Gen: No shit. This team can’t even win at days off.

Harris laughed out loud at that.

Harris: I wonder if they’ll be ok playing tomorrow night.

Gen: We’ll see. Also...you have to get on a plane again!

Harris: Or we could stay here forever.

He added some palm tree emojis.

Gen: Fuck you. It’s minus twenty-five here today.

Harris: Can’t relate.

Gen didn’t reply, which was normal for her. She often abruptly vanished during a text conversation. Harris decided to go see about some breakfast. It was almost noon, but he was sure there was an IHOP or a Denny’s or something around. He could crush some pancakes right now.

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