Page 10 of Square to the Puck

He doesn’t start eating right away. Instead, he waits for me to take my first bite, gaze steady on my face. I don’t moan, but it’s a close thing. “Holy shit that’s good.” I mutter, and stab my fork in for more.

I am so close to seeing a smile on his face I can taste it. He chases it away though, nonetheless sounding pleased when he says: “I’m glad you like it.”

“What kind of noodle is this?”

“It’s not. It’s zucchini.” I watch the muscles in his forearm flex as he twirls his fork. The vein that wraps around his arm is prominent and I long to follow it with my tongue. “Like I said, diet plan approved.”

“Tell you a secret?”

“Not sure we can take any more secrets tonight.” He says, playfully, glancing over at me.

“I’ve never followed any of the dietary restrictions.” He gasps, theatrically. “On any of the teams I’ve played for.”

“Neither does Lawson. But it’s more because he doesn’t know how to do anything other than barbeque. He’s hopeless in the kitchen.”

I raise my hand. “Guilty.”

A very small smile teases along his mouth, and he keeps his eyes locked on mine. “I always make enough for two.”

The offer sits between us as we continue to eat in companionable silence. I try not to focus too much on what he said, but the admission that he hasn’t kissed another man other than me feels like an elephant sitting on my chest. I shouldn’t feel possessive of him, but I do; sitting here in the rapidly dimming light of the foyer, homecooked meal between us and his blue eyes melted to a degree below freezing, I can easily imagine how it might be between us if given a chance.

I wish I’d had the foresight to eat slower, but soon enough our plates are cleared and I grab both of them before he can and head toward the kitchen. He leans against the counter, watching as I clean them off and load the dishwasher, one socked foot propped up against the other. He looks so cozy, I want to curl up on the couch and watch a movie with him.

“I guess I’d better get going.” I say, regret lining my voice.

“Yeah.”Do I detect a hint a of regret there as well, or is that just wishful thinking?He pads slowly toward the front of the house, flicking a light switch to illuminate the front of the house. He stands by the front door, head turned as he looks out the window into the dusk and hands tucked into his pockets. I gaze at him hungrily, wanting to eat my fill of him in private before tomorrow comes and we’re surrounded by watchful eyes again.

When he turns to look at me there’s something in his face I don’t recognize; he’s so hard to read, and I’ve already made enough missteps when it comes to him that I can’t trust myself anyway. I tuck my own hands into my pockets and wait, staring back at him.

He clears his throat. “Do you think…would it be okay if I hugged you?”

I suck in a breath and take an involuntary step forward before halting.No,I tell myself, firmly,let him come to you, don’t rush him. I’m eager for the feel of him, but just in case that’s not obvious, I nod. “Yeah, of course.”

He takes a few measured inhales before he steps forward; I lift my arms partially, unsure if he’s going to go low or high with the hug. He wraps both arms tentatively around my waist, one hand curled around the opposite hip and the other firm on my middle back. I can feel every single fingertip through my shirt. I settle my own arms around his upper back, shirt soft beneath my palms. My heart is jackhammering in my chest, and I wonder if he can feel it where we are pressed together.

I jolt when I feel his lips press into the juncture between my neck and shoulder. Not a kiss, I realize, just him tucking his face in; slowly, I slide a hand up to the back of his neck, palm gentle on his nape and fingertips brushing his hair. Not holding him in place, just letting him know I want him to stay and needing to feel his skin warm against my own.

I can feel him breathing against my neck, so slow and even he could be asleep; the only indication to the contrary is the slight contracture of his fingers on my hip, as though he wants to tighten his grip and pull me closer.

“We’re good, right?” Corwin’s voice is muffled, words tickling my skin. I wonder if he’s about to pull away, and I feel a sharp pang of regret as though he’s already gone.

“Yeah. We’re good.” I punctuate this with a slow caress of my hand from the top of his spine down his back.

What feels like a dismally short amount of time later, he steps back, hands sliding away and leaving me bereft. I let my own hands fall to my sides, still tingling with the memory of him.

“Sorry.” He says, tucking his hands back into the pockets of his sweats. “Didn’t mean to take advantage of you.”

It’s full dark outside, the night pressing against the bright interior of the house, which means we were probably standing there for a solid chunk of time. “Take advantage of me, literally, any time.”

He smiles, and I commit it to memory.

“Hey, Corwin?” He looks at me, waiting. “Do you think…could we do this again, sometime?”

Another smile, this one wider. “Sure. I’d like that.”

I feel lighter than I have in years, and as I make my way home I smile to myself. Maybe this trade wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

Corwin

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