Page 22 of Square to the Puck

“Are you serious?” I say, grinning as I look at the graham crackers, chocolate, and marshmallows that are stacked on the tray. I’m already turning around in my chair, trying to find the roasting sticks.

He chuckles, handing me one and watching as I pluck up a marshmallow to get started. “Can’t have a campfire without s’mores.”

“Nope.” I look up at him and pat the arm of the chair that I moved next to mine. He sits down and I realize I miscalculated on the distance—he’s still farther away than I want him. Carefully, so as not to lose my marshmallow in the fire, I scoot my chair closer to his. “You know, before this season I pretty much just ate premade meals that were delivered by a service that catered to athletes. I couldn’t even tell you the last time I had a homecooked meal that wasn’t made by you.”

“No wonder you were so cranky all the time.”

Laughing, I reach over and shove his leg. He’s relaxed back in his chair, one leg bent at an angle and the other stretched out in front of him toward the fire. The light dances across the angles of his face, making them sharper. It takes me a moment to realize that he’s staring at me, watching my face as I look at him.

“What is it?” He asks, and runs a thumb over the side of his mouth like he’s wondering if there is food on his face.

“Nothing, I just like to look at you. I don’t know how you managed it, but somehow you gotmorehandsome in the past six years, which is saying something because you were already beautiful back then.”

A faint hint of color stains his cheeks and his eyes widen, which is a pretty over-the-top reaction from him. I’ve surprised him.

“Beautiful.” He repeats, skepticism dripping from the word.

“Mon chou, you have no idea.” I hold out the s’more I just made for him and he takes it from me gently.

“Did you just call me a cabbage?”

I bite into my own s’more, marshmallow oozing over the side. “It’s a term of endearment.”

Licking my thumb clean, I lean back in my chair and reach over to rest my hand on his knee. Almost immediately, as though he’s been waiting for the chance, he puts his own hand on mine. Turning my head so I can see him, I carefully flip my palm until it’s flat against his own, sliding my fingers between his and curling them until we are holding hands. It takes him seconds longer to return the gesture than it would have with anyone else, but he does and a small thrum of electricity passes through me when he begins rubbing idle circles on the back of my hand with his thumb.

It feels like a big win, being able to spend the day with him and his friends, and then be allowed to touch him so casually. If I had tried to hold his hand a couple months ago, he probably would have reacted as though I had stuck his arm into the fire. Brick by brick, the walls were coming down.

“Thanks for inviting me today.”

He squeezes my hand, eyes on the fire. “I’m glad you came. I uh…I think I sort of came out to Sam.”

He’s not looking at me, and I can’t tell by his expression or his tone whether this is a bad thing. I tug his hand over onto my lap and trail the fingers of my opposite hand over the sensitive skin on the underside of his forearm. The move catches his attention, and finally his eyes meet mine.No more hiding, Corwin, talk to me.

He looks at me for a long moment, my fingers still dancing over his wrist. “I guess I was thinking about how Troy was the first guy he’d ever been with so it was a similar situation. So, I sort of asked him about it.”

“I didn’t know that, about them.”

“Yeah, Sam had just gotten out of a long relationship with his college girlfriend when he moved here.” He smiles, eyes dancing with firelight. “And then there was Troy.”

“I can see how that would happen.” Corwin nods. “Are you worried he’s going to tell him? About you?”

“No. But,” he sighs expansively, a very slight worry line appearing between his brows, “I need to talk to Troy and Lawson soon. I can’t keep hiding from them anymore. It’s not fair to them, especially now that you’re…”

“Dating their best friend?” I supply.

“Yeah, that.” Another squeeze of his hand. “But don’t worry, I won’t tell them about us. I can just explain about me and leave you out of it.”

“No, you should. I’m not going anywhere, and they’re bound to figure it out eventually. If you don’t want to do the whole coming out to the team and the league thing, then we can do what Troy and Sam do. Just tell who we want to tell, and let the rest happen naturally.”

“You make it sound easy.” And there it is, the worry I knew was hiding just below the surface.

“It will be easy. They’re your friends, Corwin, and they love you. Who you sleep with isn’t going to change anything.” I say, firmly.

He looks back at the fire, nodding. I keep his hand between both of mine, drawing patterns on his arm and feeling goosebumps trail in my wake. It’s a calm night and his house is far enough back from main roads to feel secluded. Closing my eyes, I listen to the crackle of the fire and focus on the feel of his skin against my own; when my fingertips trail over the hollow of his elbow I hear him breathe in.

“Do you want to?” He asks softly.

I open my eyes and look over at him, wondering if I missed a sentence. “Do I want to do what?”

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