Page 55 of Bad Pucking Roommate

There’s a note of laughter in his voice, but after not being here for grandpa I’m feeling sensitive about my absence. “It’s not my fault the hockey season runs through three different holidays.”

“I know son, I just can’t pass up an opportunity to remind you of your roots. You’ll understand when you have kids of your own one day.” He winks at me.

“Lets don’t get ahead of ourselves here. I’m twenty-three.” I shovel a spoonful of corn in my mouth and chew vigorously.

“That’s how old I was when I had you.” Mom smiles proudly.

Swallowing the corn with an audible gulp, I clear my throat. “Well, nowadays that’s too young so we can table that talk for another decade or so.” I take another angry bite, feeling somewhat guilty for snapping, but talk of kids implies a wife, and that’s the last thing I want to think about when I’m sitting next to a man I basically invited inside my body earlier. In a hypothetical way, but still.

I know I’m not supposed to give the impression what’s happening between us is anything other than sex, but I don’t want to give the impression it doesn’t mean anything to me either. Thathedoesn’t mean anything. So, while my mom might think I’m the right age for the kids conversation, I can’t indulge her.

“Huh?” I snap my head up when I hear my name, realizing a hair too late that I went down the rabbit hole in my head.

“I asked if you’re still having any headaches after your concussion,” Dad says.

“No. I still get tired faster than I’d like, but no more headaches.”

“Is that where you were just now? You’re feeling tired?”

I open my mouth a few times, ready to speak the truth out of habit and respect since my family and I have never had secrets. But I can’t get the words out. Not when the secret isn’t mine alone. So, while it kills me to lie, instead of admitting where my mind really went, I nod. “Yeah, the long day is starting to catch up with me.”

A curious glance from Luca tells me he’s concerned, but thankfully he doesn’t speak up.

“Don’t stay up on our account. Tomorrow will be just as long, so if you need to get some rest you can call it a night,” Dad says.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay tomorrow night as well?” Mom asks. “If a lot of activity wears you out maybe one more night would do you good?”

“Thanks, Mom, but I think a few days of quiet in my own place would benefit me more than an extra day of travel. Plus, I need to get on the ice to loosen up before I’m expected back at practice.”

Mom’s smile is both sad and understanding as she says, “Of course.”

Luca gets up when I do, shaking my dad’s hand and accepting a hug from my mom as he thanks her for the meal. After I’ve hugged both my parents he follows me upstairs, taking his turn in the bathroom with a soft nod when I suggest he should go first.

I’m not sure why he doesn’t ask about the long day story I gave my parents, which I’m sure he knows isn’t the reason I zoned out at dinner, but I’m grateful that he doesn’t. I don’t want to tell anymore lies or half-truths tonight, yet I don’t want to admit my mind wandered to forever—with him—when my mom mentioned kids.

When the floorboards outside the guest bedroom creak I know he’s finished, so I slip in, brush my teeth and wash my face, intending to go straight back to my room when I’m done. Only I can’t make my feet walk through the door. I’m paralyzed by dozens of pictures of the man sleeping across the hall.

The posters and magazine clips used to give me something to aspire to. Something to dream about. Now, they’re simply decoration, mocking me with the truth I’m still afraid to admit, even to myself. I’m falling for Luca. And his pictures are a poor substitute when the real thing is within reach.

Although it’s a ludicrous idea, I find myself pushing open his door instead of closing my own. A half-dozen excuses for my presence run through my mind as my feet carry me to his bed, so I can explain my actions when he questions them.

Only he doesn’t.

He lifts the covers, an invitation to crawl in, lowering them around me when I tuck myself into his side and lay my head on his chest.

“Your family is incredible,” he rumbles softly.

“You think so?”

“Yes.” Luca’s strong fingers sift tenderly through my hair. “This can’t be an easy time for them, but they’ve made me feel welcome here.”

“Even though they gave you the third degree?”

“It didn’t feel like the third degree. I enjoyed talking to them. Except for the part where your mom told us how old she was when she had you,” he says with an incredulous chuckle.

“Of all the things we talked about, that’s the one that stuck with you? Why?”

“I did the math.” Luca shrugs. “There’s almost the same age difference between us as there is between me and your mom.”

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