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“Let us not worry about three games. Let us only worry about one, yes? We must only focus on the game we are playing, because that is the most important.” Coach Mackenzie skates slowly up behind Vas, pausing when he hears him talking. “When I am missing goals, I do not think about them again. I think about the next time I will have the puck, yes?”
I feel so right about him, it doesn’t feel strange at all to be considering what it might be like to live together. In my mind, Marcos and I are already endgame.
I close the door and walk over to pound a fist on the wall I share with Atlas. It’s our version of Morse code, and even though he knows I’ve got company, he knocks gently back.
“Well, you’ve seen me naked,” he comments dryly. “And I’ve told you things I haven’t told anyone else, so.” A shrug. “Showing you my feet seems like a logical step.”
Affectionate Marcos is so rare, but apparently he’s making an appearance tonight.
don’t think Marcos lets many people touch him—the fact that I’ve been allowed is precious, and I want him to feel that in the way I do it.
“Want me to move?” I ask, barely above a whisper. He shakes his head. “No.”
The snuggling is new, and I’d rather starve to death in this bed than break the moment by getting up for the sushi.
He kneads gently at my scalp, fingers sliding through my hair. Carefully, so as not to dislodge his hand, I move my face closer to his neck and close my eyes once more. Fuck dinner.
I need open spaces and grass; blue sky that isn’t broken up by high-rise buildings. I need to be able to walk outside and breathe in fresh air, not exhaust fumes. I need a fucking horse.
“My abuela used to call me and Max her chicos de otoño. I don’t think I ever heard her use Max’s name. He was always zorro, because of his hair.” “Zorro?” I repeat. “Fox,” he clarifies, and steals another of my rangoons.
He laughs again. Today might very well be the best day of my life—Marcos happy and comfortable and agreeing to come back home with me. I wonder what else I might be able to get away with.
I don’t have to wonder long. Reaching a hand behind him, he finds mine and tugs me over. Grinning, I spoon him—sliding a leg between his and tucking my face back into that lovely little spot on his neck.
Luke silently files into the row and sits down, gesturing for me to take the end seat.
I don’t even need to watch the game to know when Max has the puck, Luke’s reactions telling me everything I need to know.
“That was not offside,” he tells me. I raise an eyebrow at him. “Do you even know what that means?” “Yeah.” A pause. “Okay, no.”
“He will. He’s going down in hockey history, mark my words.” “Consider them marked.” He laughs.
“You are. Is he going to miss you? Yes. But he wants you to be happy, and in his mind you won’t be happy going with him to Detroit—you’ll be happy with Nate.” “That’s not true—” “Of course not,” Luke agrees, bumping me with his elbow. “But you know how Maxy is. He’s worried about you. He doesn’t want you making big decisions only based on him.”
“I’m scared for him,” I admit.
“Mm, sure. Oh shut up, there’s Max.” He sits forward in his seat once more, eyes on the ice. I don’t bother telling him that he was the one talking and therefore the one that needs to shut up and pay attention. Shaking my head, I search for Nate.
He’s beautiful and happy and a little bit wild. And right now he’s mine.
Affection for him practically chokes me, making it hard to speak. I can’t remember a time anyone has put in quite so much effort for me.
I think I might love him.
“That is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” Marcos says, sounding almost angry about it.
“Marcos, meet Tuna.”
Tuna, apparently feeling the need to show off for Marcos, attempts a round of the zoomies, but stumbles and falls.
I rest my cheek against the top rail of the pen, grinning at him helplessly. Oh yeah, I definitely love him.
He nods, clapping a hand down on the railing and startling Tuna, who moves back over to Marcos, apparently deeming him the safer option.
“Nope. Well, yeah, but not by us. Our only job is to fuck like rabbits and feed Tuna.” “Oh maldita sea, Max was right. You really are like Luke,” Marcos says on a groan.
Falling in love with Nate was a little like stumbling while walking down a hill. I tried to catch myself, but eventually gravity won.
“I was sort of hoping you might want to fuck me,” I offer. “Your idea,” he says swiftly. “Definitely your idea.” “Nah, let’s play cards,” I tease, and earn myself Nate’s approximation of a glare.
I’ve never had sex bare before, and perhaps it’s only my imagination, but I feel as though I can feel every part of him inside me. Like the connection we’ve always had is just a little bit stronger.
Because he’s watching, I bear down again until I feel his release trickle down my skin. Nate looks up at my face, green eyes meeting mine and snapping with heat. Crawling back over me, he holds my chin still and kisses me. “You’re mine now,” he whispers.
Every day since we’ve been here, and several weeks prior to my arrival, he’s been talking about how excited he was to go riding together. This is his life—something he loves—and he desperately wants to share it with me.
She flicks her tail and Nate chuckles when it hits him.
“It’s beautiful here,” I tell him, which earns me another blinding smile. His eyes are the precise color of the grass in this field.
“Having fun?” The question is innocent, but the tone is shy. He wants me to enjoy this so badly, it’s practically oozing from his pores. I don’t even have to lie when I respond, “I am.”
She rubs her black nose against my chest affectionately, flicking her ears and blowing out a content breath. I whisper endearments to her in Spanish, letting her know she’s a good girl.
“What, like come visit? Seriously? We’d—I’d love to,” Max agrees. “Plenty of room for both of you,” Nate tells him, and I smile into his shoulder. It didn’t take him long to figure out Max and Luke come packaged as a single entity.
“Oh, that reminds me though. Nate, Luke wants your number. He keeps telling me you guys are best friends now after we went bowling.” “We are,” Nate agrees stoutly.
I haven’t once stopped smiling since we started the ride this morning. Doing things I love with Marcos only makes me love them more.
I want him so fucking bad, it’s almost too much. This much love feels like pain, and I hardly know what to do with it. How the fuck do you know when the right time to tell someone you love them is?
“Can I?” he asks, pointing toward my legs. “Of course.” I wait to see if he wants me to scoot over to make room for him, and huff a soft laugh when he nudges my legs apart so he can sit between them. When his back hits my chest, I grunt at the weight of him. He shimmies his hips as though settling in. “Perfect,” he tells me. I put my arm around him, sliding a hand onto his stomach and leaning my cheek against the side of his head. He’s correct. This is perfect.
I brush a hand across his stomach idly, eyes on the fire. After a couple passes, I slip that hand underneath his shirt and splay my fingers across warm skin. He sighs in contentment.
Nate hasn’t ever made it a secret that he wants me and is invested in this relationship. Right from the beginning, I’ve been the one dragging their heels. It’s clear he’s not sure what it means for me to offer something like that.
“I was sort of freaking out about the possibility of you going to Detroit,” he admits. “Truly, Marcos, I don’t think I can imagine a worse place to live.” I smile into his hair. For someone like Nate, who thrives on being outdoors, he’s probably right. It would be a concrete prison.
“Can I stay over at your place sometimes?” he asks. “I won’t crowd you or anything, or eat your food. But maybe a couple nights a week—” “You can stay any night. I’ll give you the spare key, and you can come over whenever you want. You don’t crowd me, Nate. I want you around.”
“I think so. If you still want me to, by then.” He sits up, dislodging my hand from where I’d tucked it in his shirt. He half turns around, just enough that he can look at me. Backlit by the fire, I can hardly see his face. Not that it particularly matters. I’d know him blind. “I’ll want you to. I love you, and that’s not going to change.” “Even when I don’t want you to touch me? Or cuddle?” I trail my fingertips up his side, drawing attention to how close we’re sitting. “Even then.” “Even when I take long trips to visit Max?” “Especially then,” he agrees firmly. “Because I’ll miss you so bad,
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“Is that an SCU game?” “Nathan showed me how to watch the old games,” he says, lifting the beer to his mouth and taking a sip. “I can figure out the live ones just fine, but I didn’t know I could see old ones too.” I watch the TV as Vince winds up to take a pitch, and the balls cracks against my glove. Strike. “This is…two season ago?” I ask. “That’s right. I enjoy watching Nathan’s hockey, but I’m a baseball man at heart. He got these all queued up for me so I could see you play.”
The horses are starting to get really worked up now, and Tuna’s shrill little voice carries over to us as he whinnies. It doesn’t help my panic—hearing him yell like that. I want to clap my hands over my ears, and block out the sound.
