Save the Game (SCU Hockey #2)

by J.J. Mulder

There is a pressure mounting in my chest, and I think that if he doesn’t kiss me soon, I’m probably going to die. Or you could kiss him, idiot, I remind myself, and then do just that.

I press my lips to his and immediately slide my tongue inside. Mirroring him, I slide my fingers into his hair and around the back of his head. I’m so full of the smell and feel and taste of him, I don’t even remember to be nervous. I deepen the kiss, gulping great breaths of him like I’m a man starved of oxygen.

“Has anybody ever told you that you can kiss...

The moment my fingers touch his stomach, the heat in my abdomen turns to a full-blown wildfire. It shouldn’t be possible to want somebody this badly— it’s not survivable.

“Want to make out like teenagers for a couple hours?” he asks. “Sure, as long as you don’t mind if I come in my pants like one,” I retort and he tips his head back and laughs. I can’t resist leaning forward and kissing his exposed throat.

“I should go,” he says, sounding apologetic. “Stay,” I request, and flinch the moment the word is spoken.

I decided that I like him and I want to see where this thing goes. He deserves somebody who will be good to him and keep him safe, and that somebody is me. I’m going to make sure he doesn’t have any reason to be scared or stressed about being with someone. And if your brother ever finds out who hurt him, I call first dibs. I want to kill the fucker.”

“He doesn’t need you to try to save him, he just needs you to be there for him.”

I wish I could go see him right now. Hell, I wish I could see him all the time.

But every time I’ve thought about not being with Max these past few days, I’m filled with a sick, sticky sense of dread.

“Surprised I didn’t spontaneously combust, with you looking at me like that.”

“Well, I wasn’t complaining,” I tell him, and squeeze the backs of his legs in a way that I hope conveys please bend down and kiss me. He smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkled in mischievous amusement as he bends down and kisses my nose.

My entire body hums with delight at the contact, and it hits me how fucking wild I am for this man.

I’m a pretty happy guy generally, but there is nothing quite like spending time with Max. His reserved exterior hides a quick wit and a sharp sense of humor, and his laugh is to die for.

I try to grab his hand again as we walk to the car, but he slides his arm around my waist instead, causing my heart to skip a couple romantic beats. He’s holding me tighter to him than is strictly necessary, and I am so fucking here for it.

He blushes, which is so cute I think I might die.

“Mine, then. I’ll make you a sandwich that will make you fall in love with me, and then I’ll kiss your fucking brains out,” I tell him,

“Careful what you wish for, Luke Kelly,” he warns, holding his hand out to me palm up across the center console. “You’d be an easy person to fall in love with.”

I take in his copper-brown hair and light eyes; his tall, muscular frame and lean hips. He’s gorgeous, and has the personality to match. You’d be easy to fall in love with too, Maxy.

“So, hey, are you my boyfriend?” I ask, and he chokes a little bit because of my unfortunate timing. “What?” he asks, after successfully clearing his throat of peanut butter. “What’s our thing? Boyfriends, lovers, partners? Sex cowboys?” “Sex cowboys?”

You tell me what our thing is. I’ll be here for as long as you’ll have me, so call us whatever you want.”

“Boyfriend, then. Whichever label means that we’re exclusive, and that nobody can touch you but me, that’s the one I want.” “All right,” he says, smiling softly. “Boyfriends. You sure you know what that word means?” “Property of Luke Kelly—anybody who checks out your fine ass that isn’t me, dies a slow and painful death.”

“You’re such an idiot,” I tell him fondly, completely unable to disguise the fact that I’m obsessed with him. Jesus Christ, I might actually fall in love with him and then we’ll really be in trouble.

He stops me with hands cupped around my ribs, skin an inferno against my own. It’s a gentle, loving touch, and makes my face flush with pleasure.

It’s ridiculous, and a little bit humiliating how starved for affection I’ve become. I can’t think beyond how badly I want him.

A jolt of longing hits me as violently as a lightning strike.

“Hello, you,” he says, fingers in my hair and a smile on his face as he looks up at me. I kiss him, because my throat feels too tight to force words through and I want so much I can’t think around it.

“Is this okay?” I whisper, and hate myself for the tendrils of fear that twine their way around the words. “Yes,” he replies, palm sliding up my spine and neck until he’s cupping the back of my head.

I feel boneless and spent; I feel happy, and, inappropriately, like I want to cry. In case this is a bodily function I can’t control, I tuck my face into Luke’s neck where he wouldn’t be able to see. The added bonus of this being that now I can smell him without even trying.

I’m really goddamn grateful for him, and I don’t know how else I’m supposed to express that.

I can’t believe I was lucky enough to stumble across Luke Kelly in a fucking all-night diner, and I really can’t believe I might be lucky enough to hold onto him.

I grab a water for each of us and set them on the nightstand before reaching over and running my fingers through his messy hair. He looks up at me, gold eyes wide with unease. Oh, baby, I think, and run my hand across his scalp again.

I’m extremely aware of the way I’m holding him, cognizant that I need to make it feel comforting and not aggressive.

My heart, which had been flying high on happiness all evening with him, falls to the floor and shatters.

I could never grasp how perfectly normal people might be driven to murder, but I understand it now. I understand it perfectly.

“You always apologize to me for things that don’t need apologizing for. Don’t worry about it—I can promise you that I’m not.”

He’s laughing, and I’m laughing, and I’m wishing time could stop because this moment is perfect.

“I already told him I’d probably be staying at my boyfriend’s place, so he knows,” Max fires back, and the words have me grinning up into the dark. He was planning on staying over. “How very forward of you, Maxy.”

He curls toward me, as though blindly seeking contact or warmth, and I wrap my arm more firmly around him in a way I hope his subconscious mind recognizes as safety.

Not only did he make it through the night without waking up, but he clearly slept deep enough to be snoring and drooling. Smiling, I close my eyes and rest my cheek back against his head, waiting for him to wake up on his own.

“Good morning,” he mumbles, words barely audible. “Good morning, baby,” I reply, because I’m a fucking sap, and he drooled all over me, and I want to keep him here forever.

He sounds incredulous—unable to believe his good fortune. If I thought he would go for it, I’d ask him to stay here every night so that he never missed another hour of sleep in his life.

He lifts his head to look at me, and that sappy heart of mine expands like a balloon against my ribs. His hair is insane, fluffed up like he got electrocuted, and his eyes are squinted half-shut, as though he’s not awake enough to open them fully.

He feels safe with me.

To say things have been easier between us lately is an understatement; he so obviously loves Max that I can’t hold his overprotectiveness against him. Particularly not when I feel the same.

“We have work to do and I don’t need you distracting me with sex eyes.”

He freezes, and my hand falls to his shoulder like a dead weight. My words catch up to me a second too late, and I don’t even have time to hope that he didn’t register what I said—it’s obvious that he heard it, loud and clear.

“Max, hold on⁠—" “You know, don’t you?” he says, voice rising. “You know about…you…” He can’t bring himself to say it, and I can’t bring myself to hear it. I cut across him with a single word, fired into the space between us like a gunshot: “Yes.”

He breathes in so hard it sounds like it hurts. The look on his face is so transparently pained, I take an unconscious step toward him, automatically wanting to comfort him.

His face is tight with anger, but not even that can mask the hurt in his eyes. He doesn’t even let me respond before he continues, voice breaking on every word.