One-Touch Pass (SCU Hockey #4)

by J.J. Mulder

“Micky, what are you going to be doing at a party if you aren’t going to dance? Stand on the side and hold up the wall?” “I’ll hold your beer while you dance.” “You’re such a good boyfriend,” I tease, making him blush.

I toss my arm over his shoulders again, kissing his temple. He turns a deeper shade of red, but leans into me.

“You’re really pretty,” I hear myself say, completely unbidden. “Like my horse.”

We stand there on the lawn, awkwardly silent. Marcos scuffs his feet, and turns in a slow circle. I watch him greedily. I can’t seem to do anything else.

I’m not drunk,” I repeat. “You’re just…really pretty.”

“I’m sorry about the horse thing, really. I’m just tipsy enough to say stupid things, I guess. But,” I rush to add, before he gets any ideas to the contrary, “not drunk enough that I would regret propositioning someone.”

My skin buzzes with an un-scratchable itch that seems to get worse the longer I stare at him. I want to brush my fingers into his hair, and put my hands on his hips; squeeze a little tighter than I would with a girl. I want to put my mouth places I’ve never considered putting my mouth before. I just want.

“Not when you look like—well, someone might take you up on it, that’s all I’m saying.” “That was the point.” “The wrong person might take you up on it,” he corrects. “Someone could take advantage of you.” “I wish you would,”

“I’ve never been with a guy, either, so there’s that.” “Wait, what?” “Never. Couldn’t tell you what it is, but you’ve definitely got me feeling some type of way.”

“Thought I was probably straight until fifteen fucking minutes ago.”

“So, how do you feel about receiving a very sloppy, and probably not very skilled blowjob against that shed?”

“We can’t,” he says, which seems to be plenty far from “no” to me. “Sure we can. I’m offering, aren’t I? Unless I’m not your type, which would be devastating, but understandable.”

Max’s location is still pinging at our apartment. My chest loosens at the sight, and I breathe a little easier.

Maybe tonight I can have seventeen minutes with Nate.

When I feel his forehead resting on my thigh, I nearly come from the intimacy of the gesture.

check my own phone, pulling up Max’s tracker and watching it move steadily down a street several blocks away from our apartment. I thump my head back against the wall of the shed.

Maybe seventeen minutes is all that was in the cards for us.

“Good afternoon, Micky and Bas!” I smile at Vas’ cheerful greeting. I fucking love this guy.

Vas reminds me a bit of a mini-Coach Mackenzie. Always looking out for everyone, but doing it with a smile whereas Coach usually utilizes scare tactics. They make a hell of a team.

He smiles, recognizing this for the joke it is. I’m pretty sure it’s the first time a smile from him has ever been aimed in my direction. “You can just call me Max, if you want,” he says, voice a little stronger. “Most of the team calls me Kuemper, but my friends all use Max.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to embarrass Coach Mackenzie. Or the team. Or you.” “Listen, I don’t need anyone’s help to embarrass myself. I do just fine on my own.”

Cute, my brain supplies helpfully, because naturally this is the moment when my newly realized attraction to men decides to perk up and sniff the air.

Micky moves a little closer to me, shoulders curled inward like he wishes he were smaller than his 6’5” frame.

“Goodness,” Vas says. “Coach Lawson is very nice, Micky does not have to shit his pants.”

“Don’t you have sports to do? It’s Friday.” “I did my sports for the day, and now I’m off to watch other people sport. I got asked out on a date.”

I love this fake dating thing—I get to hang out with someone I like, but don’t have to worry about finding an attractive way to eat a hot dog.

“Well, I’m here to watch my…friend. Luke.” He points him out. “And my best friend, Marcos, plays too. He’s the catcher.”

Forgetting that there are people around, I smile, unwilling to take my eyes off of him so as not to miss it when he lifts his helmet off. I want to see his face. I want to see him under the brightness of the sun, and not a badly lit party.

“And Luke?” “Oh.” Max clears his throat, eyes skittering away from mine. “He’s my…well, I just met him.” “Cool,” I say with a smile, thinking that maybe Luke is Max’s Marcos. It seems that crushes on baseball players are a dime a dozen around here.

Max opens his mouth to say something, but snaps it closed as the door opens and a man walks out with a bag slung over his shoulder. It’s not Marcos, but something about the look on Max’s face makes me think this is Luke.

He drops his bag on the ground with a thump, and leans forward to kiss Max’s cheek.

“Hey, Luke. Hi.” “Hello, you,”

Fucking Luke Kelly, who bounces around partners like a goddamn squirrel collecting nuts, just had to work somewhere with hours late enough for Max to walk in the door on one of his bad nights.

“Ay dios mío,”

“Nope, not God. Just me, Nate.”

He was handsome the other night, but he’s breathtaking in the daylight. It’s terrifying.

My fingers clench around the steering wheel as I resist the urge to look over at him. Jesus, but I want to smile back.

I feel a slight burn of shame in my chest. I’ve turned into someone who can’t have fun. Someone who is constantly assessing risk and possible dangers, and trying to protect the people around me. It’s stifling—I know it is—but I can’t make myself stop. It’s a compulsion, now, the same way checking Max’s location on my phone is one. I’ve tried to cease doing it, but I can’t.

He is, which makes me wonder if the trick to getting him to do so is to bring him out with others. I have a feeling it’s only Nate’s presence that is spurring him to make the effort. Even so, his expression as he does gives the impression that the food is rotten.

“How do you know Nate?” “Same way you know Luke. We just met.”

Nate told me he’d never been with a guy before—told me he was straight—and if I tell Max what happened, I’ll be outing his teammate. I can’t be that guy, no matter that I don’t see Nate being someone who would mind if Max knew.

I didn’t know how to find you, he’d said, as though he’d been looking all week.

At midnight, I hear a soft cry and jolt awake. Sitting up, I throw off the covers and leave my room.

When I hear soft gasping noises, I tap my fingers gently on the door. “Max? You okay?”

“Did you need something?” I ask, because I’m not even sure why he wanted to have this call in the first place. “I wanted to talk to you,” he says immediately, as though the answer was obvious.

“Creo que tu interés en mí es demasiado bueno para ser verdad y estoy esperando que te des cuenta de que no soy lo suficientemente bueno,” I whisper, and Nate groans.

have the very distinct feeling that I’m about to have phone sex for the first time, and have to fight the urge to clear my throat. How the hell does someone go about this without sounding like a dumbass?

Good boy.”

“I’ve thought about you this week. About the way you sound when you’re trying to make no noise at all; the way you felt in my mouth. I’ve thought about doing that again, but in the light.”

I’m pleasantly tired all of a sudden, and feeling more than a little fond of Nate.