Page 93 of Role Model

“You’re not,” Troy said quietly.

“No?” Harris turned to face him, his expression hopeful.

“But,” Troy said, because he had to make this clear, “I’m not sure what I can offer. You know I’m not out, and I won’t ask you to hide with me.”

“I don’t think I could hide,” Harris admitted. “I’m kind of an open book. I’m no good at sneaking around.”

No, Harris was the most honest and sunny person Troy had ever met. He didn’t belong in the shadows. “I know. And you shouldn’t.” Troy sighed. “I like you a lot, Harris, but I need some time to figure my shit out. Maybe until then we should just, y’know, be friends.”

Harris’s smile didn’t look effortless. Or real. “Sure. Makes sense.”

Troy nodded, his head feeling suddenly heavy. “It does. Thanks.”

For a moment, neither man said anything. Then Harris handed Troy one of the bowls. “Oatmeal’s getting cold. Let’s eat.”

Troy wanted to throw the oatmeal into the sink and kiss Harris against the fridge. He wanted to take him out for breakfast, and hold his hand while they waited for their food. He wanted to make coffee for him every morning.

Instead, he silently took his bowl to the table, and awkwardly sat across from his new friend.

Chapter Nineteen

Now that Troy had let himself have a taste of Harris, his body burned with sexual frustration. He told himself that he was distancing himself from Harris for the right reasons, and that it wouldn’t be fair to sleep with him if Troy wasn’t brave enough to hold his hand in the light. Troy needed to earn Harris. Maybe he would never deserve him, but he needed to try.

Truthfully, he wasn’t distancing himself from Harris at all. Over the past two weeks he’d seen as much of the man as their busy schedules would allow. Harris had even helped Troy with his Instagram posts, giving him a list of activists, shelters and organizations to follow, and showing him how to share their posts to Troy’s stories. Harris had been excited about the number of followers Troy had gained, but Troy continued to avoid looking at his account beyond creating new posts.

He felt good, though. He’d been making sizable donations to the organizations he’d been promoting and, though he wanted to do more, it was a start. For once in his life he was using his privilege for something worthwhile, and, even though he was still a bit terrified, he was excited.

Ottawa had also won every game since their big win against New York. That didn’t hurt.

And Harris seemed to be proud of Troy. That didn’t hurt either.

But Harris’s proud smiles and enthusiastic compliments did nothing to shut Troy’s body up. Every time he was near Harris, he ached to kiss him, to pin him against a wall and tear his clothes away, to go to his knees and suck him off in his office.

His body had lots of terrible ideas, so Troy was punishing it now in the team gym. He pushed himself through one more set of barbell squats, determined to keep going until he could almost forget the heated look Harris had given him in his office three days ago. It was one that made it pretty clear that he wouldn’t mind being ravaged by Troy.

“Whoa,” Bood said, grabbing the barbell so Troy wouldn’t have to support it alone with his trembling arms. Together, they set it back in the rack.

“Thanks,” Troy said. He dropped to the floor, sitting in a heap with his chin against his chest.

Bood sat beside him. “Is your goal to lift a Zamboni or something?” he teased.

“No. Just felt like pushing it a bit today.”

“Did it help?”

“A little.”

A phone rang nearby, and both men turned their heads toward the sound. “Is that you?” Bood asked.

“I think so. Hand it to me? It’s there.” Troy gestured lazily toward the shelf where he’d left his phone. “My legs are toast.”

Bood laughed as he stood and grabbed the phone. “Unknown number,” he said.

Troy took it from him. It was probably a telemarketer or something, but he answered it anyway. “Hello?”

“Troy Barrett?” The voice was gruff and male and vaguely familiar.

“Yeah?”

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