“We’re going for New Jersey, right? Because of that Soren guy?” I ask.
“Yeah, but if you ask me, Vegas has it in the bag.”
I gasp. “You follow hockey? Do I know you at all?”
Miller shrugs. “I was reading up on Soren and kinda fell into a hockey hole.”
“Hockey hole … I swear I saw a porno titled that once.”
Miller snorts.
Jackson and Noah are the first to arrive, and they sit next to us.
“You ready for what’s coming?” Noah asks, and we both give Jackson an inquisitive look. Did he out us to his husband?
“Six weeks until we report for training camp,” Jackson says and then mouths “Assholes” at our insinuation.
Oops.
“I think we’re ready,” I say.
“Sure,” Miller says, but I don’t even think he believes it himself. Training is still going relatively slow, and there’s no way we can definitively say one way or the other Miller’s ready to go back to work.
The other guys begin to arrive, and the last is Ollie Strömberg with his boyfriend, Lennon—the dude who’ll write our coming out article when we’re ready for it. He just doesn’t know it yet. Lennon’s adorably nerdy with his neat blond hair and glasses. Doesn’t help he’s next to his boyfriend who’s almost the size of Miller and covered in tattoos.
Damon said we should hang out with them, get to know Lennon, and if we’re not comfortable, we can use someone else, but as Lennon tells us he’s got a freelance gig writing editorial pieces about gay men in sports for Sports Illustrated, and Soren, Strömberg, and Jackson have all signed on, I already feel confident in his ability to write our story too.
Watching Damon and his friends is a weird experience. One I hope to be a bigger part of soon. Once the seed was planted, all I’ve thought about is being out with Miller and letting the rest of the world know how in love with him I am.
Should probably tell Miller first.
Oh, right. That. I’m waiting for the perfect moment. I dunno when that’ll be, but I’m pretty sure while he’s balls deep inside me isn’t the right time. Or when I’m inside him.
These guys are so free with each other. The little touches, the obvious glances …
Having sex with Miller earlier today didn’t do the trick this time. I want to touch him.
Being put in a box and told to stay in there has never sat well with me, so I know, on some level, we won’t be able to keep it a secret for long.
I thought it was the right thing to do, but it’s become clear that this comradery between this group is what we need in our lives. This type of support. And we should give it to Jackson as well as ourselves. But we need to do it right.
Doesn’t stop me from paying more attention to them than the game.
I find it almost ironic that any relationships I’ve had in the past have been exploited publicly. Not that any of them have been serious. Hell, I’ve never even said “I love you” to anyone. The one time I want to be in public with someone, and I have to pretend we’re not together.
The group is planning to head to a gay bar afterward, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to handle that. Miller and I have been outside our bubble too long already. But as the game winds down, and the arena empties, Miller tells the others we’ll meet them at the club.
“We’re really gonna go to that?” I ask on the way to the car.
“You don’t want to?”
“No, I want to. Probably too much.”
Miller smiles. “Need a little road head on the way to tide you over until we get home?”
In the parking garage for the hockey arena, I glance around to make sure no one’s within hearing distance. There’s a crowd of people making their own way to their cars, and none of them are paying us attention, but I still can’t do what I want to, which is take Miller’s hand.
Miller knows me too well. He grabs my forearm. “You okay?”
“I’m just realizing shit.”
“Man, you should write a philosophical self-help book and call it Realizing Shit.”
When we stop by my rental, I resist the urge to pull him into me for a hug. Instead, I force myself to click the unlock button on my key fob and climb in the car.
As soon as Miller’s in the passenger seat, he reaches over and rubs his hand over my cock. “Totally wasn’t kidding, by the way.” He leans in as if going to lower his head, but I stop him. He sits up straight again and frowns at me. “Okay, what’s wrong?”
“This is going to sound weird.”
“Oh, honey, everything out of your mouth is weird.”
The term of endearment shouldn’t make me all warm and fuzzy, damn it.