Let's Do This

by Loren Leigh

But tagging myself with Burkie’s last name makes me smile. It’s a cooler name than Keenan. At least across the back of a hockey jersey, which is what counts the most.

What a very not straight thought to have

He holds out the electronic pad, and I take the stylus and scribble Burkie owes me in the signature spot.

I’ve lubed up my finger and explored up there a time or twenty while jacking off—who hasn’t?

*bombastic side eye*

“Seriously, fuck. Is this real? Discreet packaging, my ass.” I waggle my brows. “Pretty sure your ass is what it’s all about.”

Eden. Burkie’s name is Eden. It’s odd in my thoughts, and it might be even stranger to say out loud, but he’s not always Burkie or Burk or Burkdog or The Hammer. Maybe sometimes he’s just Eden.

I can’t fully believe what I just said. Was I teasing? Maybe? Yeah. No. No, I wasn’t teasing. Not at all.

We don’t go around calling each other BFFs and wearing matching bracelets,

This feels like a dig at Bromantic Puckboy

So what happens if you ask your best friend in the entire freaking world—the guy you see every single day, grab a burrito with after practice, hit the gym with, drop in on Dying Light with, and sometimes crash next to while watching SportsCenter on his big, fluffy pillow—what happens if you ask him to hook up and he says no?

I take a lot of things lightly in life, but my friendship with Burkie isn’t one of those things.

“Kissing can make things complicated. Maybe we should . . . keep it simple.”

Burkie looks cute when he blushes. Eden. I don’t know why, but it feels better to call him that when my dick’s out.

Words that I will forever remember: 1. “I think you should trust yourself, Burkie.” 2. “I kinda don’t want it to stop.”

“What’s, uh.” My voice is rough, cracking with uncertainty. “What are we doing?” “I don’t know.” His smile evaporates, his heels coming back down on the floor. “But whatever it is, I kinda don’t want it to stop.” I swallow. And then the truth is there. Right on my tongue. “Me neither,” I say.

“Ești drăguț,” he whispers. Fuck, the way he just said that, the words coming from deep in his throat. I know he speaks a few different languages at home, but he rarely does around here. “What’s that mean?” His lips pull up. “It means you’re cute.”

Okay Nikokai Sokolov (except it actually means you're cute)

I’m too late, and the mass of Cassidy slams right into Shaw.

Uh oh. Always a bad idea to fuck with the goalie

“I saw the goalie down and reacted.”

My favorite hockey micro trope

Shaw. His name sits alone, on its own line.

I want to go home, warm my muscles in a hot-as-fuck shower, and then drop onto my bed and watch a game. Preferably with Shaw next to me, his shoulder pressed against mine.

“I don’t know why you did it. Why you would risk that.” The answer is so fuckin’ obvious to me. I risked it for him.

It wasn’t just Cassidy I wanted to go after. It’s all of them. Every single time he’s been knocked down on the ice. At practice. At games. Just fuckin’ around. It doesn’t matter. And it’s not just because he’s the goaltender.

“Would you have gone after Cassidy if he knocked down Dare or Leslie or Vain?” “No.”

“I get it,” I say, lowering my voice to a whisper. “No kissing.” He frowns slightly. I hook my duffle over my shoulder. “You’re weirdly quiet, and it’s fuckin’ odd, and I’m worried that—‍” “I’m quiet,” he says, brows pulling together under the backstrap of his ballcap, “because I wanted to.”

Words that I will forever remember: 1. “I think you should trust yourself, Burkie.” 2. “I kinda don’t want it to stop.” 3. “I’m quiet, because I wanted to.”

“Mexicali’s? What I wouldn’t give for some of that right now.” I waggle my brows. “You wouldn’t believe what I’m going to pay Burkie for it.”

He crosses one leg over the other, which makes a poofy area of fabric around his crotch. And I’m looking. Not only that, but a warm heat pools low in my abdomen. His dick’s under there. Which is obviously not new information. It’s always been there. It feels like new information though.

Nicks and scratches run along the top of the box, like he’s had it for a while. I’ve wondered what’s in it before, but it always felt too invasive to ask. Not sure why it feels okay now. I guess once you’ve seen a guy fist his cock and spurt into his chest hair, it’s cool to ask about his memento box.

“I want you to fuck my mouth.” He licks his lips, his chest pitching with a shaky breath. “Until I fuckin’ gag on you, and I don’t want you to stop until I’ve sucked every drop of your cum deep down my throat.”

Words that I will forever remember: 1. “I think you should trust yourself, Burkie.” 2. “I kinda don’t want it to stop.” 3. “I’m quiet, because I wanted to.” 4. “We would have been there for you in a heartbeat.”

He’s rolled against me, sharing the big-ass pillow I bought when he started crashing over some nights. I agonized over that pillow. Standing there in Bed Bath & Beyond, in front of a wall of pillows, for like twenty fuckin’ minutes debating what the protocol was for when your roommate crashes in your single-pillow bed. Do you buy him his own pillow? Would that weird him out? Or get the double-long one, hoping he doesn’t question it too much?

This. This is what I fuckin’ want. Yes, the other stuff too. For sure. But his kiss. His closeness.

If I’m being fully honest, it’s hard for me to look around Shaw sometimes. He takes up so damn much of my view.

And for a guy who doesn’t smile much at all, I can’t seem to stop lately.

I could want that if I let myself. If I’m being honest, if I’m listening to those thoughts in the deepest recesses of my brain, I could want five years, ten years, twenty years. I could want . . . more.

“I just want to go somewhere where shit’s okay. Where I don’t have to pretend to be anything. And that’s kinda turning out to be your bed. But if that’s not where you’re headed, then I’ll go where you are.” His green eyes come up to meet mine. “Because I don’t think it’s actually about the bed.”

“Want you,” he says, leaning in to nip at my jaw. “Bury your cock in me. Don’t care where.”

“Take me home, put me in your bed. Maybe let me suck a nut out of you. That’s all. Or not. Shit, I don’t know. We can stream a game and do whatever. I just . . .” He tips forward, trying to get closer. “I want to be around you. Wanna be in your bed. With you. Like a whole lot. Just you.”

Words that I will forever remember: 1. “I think you should trust yourself, Burkie.” 2. “I kinda don’t want it to stop.” 3. “I’m quiet, because I wanted to.” 4. “We would have been there for you in a heartbeat.” 5. “I don’t think it’s actually about the bed.”

“Yeah? How do you seduce a Burkie?” His voice is quiet. “You be Shaw.”

“What if I step out there?” “Then I’m going with you.” No freaking question. Right there on his left. Just like he always is for me.

There haven’t been that many places in my life that feel like home. But Burkie’s room? I’m not sure I have another word to describe it.

Leslie kicks back on his chair. I like being around him too. And with those silvery eyes and all that well-placed ink, he’s a decent-looking guy. But Les doesn’t give me that same rise of goosebumps up the back of my neck like Burkie does. I don’t get that same lightness in my chest, that urge to bounce on my toes. The all-body, gut-deep, smile-inducing reaction I get when Burkie steps into the room.

“I like being around him, Les. I honestly don’t know anything more than that.”

The biggest smile zooms across my face when I see Burkie hunting through the chip bags. I want to get up, run over there, and crash into him. Bear hug him as he glowers down at the chips like they’ve pissed him off somehow.

My smile gets even bigger as Burkie pays and then heads toward us, weaving around the tables, food basket in one hand, backpack on his shoulder, beanie on his head, still talking seriously with Vain and Dare, but he perks up when he sees me. That glower vanishes in an instant.

He tosses a bag of chips down in front of me as he pulls out a seat. “No clue how you eat that shit.” I grin at the bag. “You didn’t have to.” “But figured I would.”

He’s been doing little things for me. Charging my phone. Replacing the frayed laces on my skates. Buying those bubbly watermelon waters I like and stocking them in his mini fridge. Maybe even things I haven’t noticed? Shit. I hope I’m noticing them all. They mean a lot.

“Burk told us about you needing to get home to Chicago.”

Burkie sets the envelope flat on the table. “We took up a collection. From us and the team. Kels organized it over at the women’s team, too. Everyone pitched in a couple of bucks. And I’m pretty sure it’s enough to get you to Chicago and back.”

I stare at him, my heart beating hard. “What?” He pushes the envelope toward me. “There’s a flight out late tonight. You can go and be back before we play against SCU next week.”

He looks across at me, dark brown eyes telling me it’s the truth. They did this for me. “Take it, Shaw. It’s for you. From all of us. Go see your brother.”