One-Touch Pass (SCU Hockey #4)

by J.J. Mulder

No sense pretending I’m not excited to see him when clearly I am.

“Me and Max came together,” Nate tells me, bringing my attention back to him. “Me and him are going to hit up all the games together from now on since our guys are on the team.” I raise my eyebrows at “our guys,” but let it pass for now. I want that. I want him. I might not deserve him, and it might not work out, but fuck do I want to try.

“Sorry. We sort of teamed up on you, didn’t we?” “Max is apparently trying his hand at being a matchmaker,” I muse. Nate grins. “Listen, I’ll take all the help I can get.” He pulls our linked hands up and kisses the back of mine. I jolt, surprised. I can feel the phantom imprint of his lips even after he lets our hands fall back to our sides. Apparently, I’m having a very good day, because nothing about this situation is bothering me.

I want to talk to him, and then I want to strip him down—lay him out on my bed and keep him there for as long as I’m able.

Every time we’re together, I become more and more certain that I want this. I want to see where things go with him, and I want him to be just as invested as I am.

“No, not right now. Like…more broad. What are we doing? Are we…together?”

He doesn’t respond right away, clearly thinking through what he wants to say. It doesn’t make me feel great about my chances of getting an answer I want. “I wouldn’t mind hearing what you have to say about it,” he says quietly. I can’t help but laugh. “I want you!” Have I not been fucking obvious about that?

“Really, though? Like…you want to date a guy?” Marcos takes a hand off the wheel to wave it around, a frown tugging the side of his mouth I can see downward. “In public?” “Why does everyone assume I’m going to be pissed off about people thinking I’m gay?” I ask, annoyed. “Micky, too. Of course I want to date you in public, Jesus.” “I wasn’t…” A pause. “Sorry. You’re right.” “I like what we’ve been doing—hooking up and texting; occasionally hanging out. Usually, that’s all I want. But, Marcos, I really fucking like you. I don’t know how it happened or why, but it did and I don’t want to play this off as just a fling.”

I frown, because while I’ve had plenty of thoughts about wanting to lock Marcos down, none of those thoughts have included others. I shouldn’t have to explain why I’m with someone, no matter what gender they are. Nobody should have to do that. “I’ll tell my family,” I promise, because I will. My personality isn’t one that thrives in hiding.

“And there’s also the problem with…me.” “There aren’t any problems with you,” I retort, offended. He breathes a soft laugh, but his face remains stony and closed off. “There is though, Nate. I wasn’t kidding when I told you last year that I don’t like being touched a lot. That hasn’t changed.” “Okay. You might have to explain that to me a little bit more,” I admit. I don’t understand it at all. I’m a tactile guy—I touch, hug, and generally just run my hands all over my friends.

I just have a really hard time with skin-on-skin contact. I can’t even think about it sometimes without getting fucking dizzy. It’s…it’s ridiculous. And it’s not exactly a comfortable thing to deal with when trying to start a relationship. It’s a lot for me, and it would be a lot for you.”

“Marcos.” He looks at me, mouth firm and expression stony. “Touching people is something I do without thinking, which means I’m going to mess up. I’m probably going to make you uncomfortable sometimes, which is the last thing I want to do. But I’m going to do my best to follow your lead, and only touch you when you ask for it, okay?” He shakes his head mutely, jaw tight. “It’s not fair to you,” he mumbles. “You let me worry about what is or isn’t fair for me,” I counter. He turns to face me more fully, determination blazing in his eyes.

Having the sort of relationship with someone who might need to be fully clothed before he’ll fucking spoon you? I don’t know that I’ll ever get better, Nate. What if I’m like this forever?”

“I hope you are like this forever. I like you this way,” I reply with quiet conviction. “Nate,” he says, exasperated. “I feel like I’ve been pretty clear about what I want. You’ve done your due diligence, so now I have all the information, and guess what? I still want you. I still like you.”

“Okay,” he says. “Okay?” I repeat. He nods. “Good, because I was starting to feel like a stalker. This is my first experience with fixation, and I wasn’t expecting it to feel quite so creepy.”

Nate The secret to getting a man to go out with you is low level stalking. Micky Incidentally, that is also the secret to getting a felony. Nate Ha! I’m at his place right now. I’m pretty happy. Micky I’m glad. You’re the best so you deserve only the best in return.

“I told my friend Micky you’re my boyfriend, so we’re official now,” I tell Marcos. He chuckles, and walks over to stand in front of me. When he steps in between my legs, my hands automatically reach for his hips. “God, sorry.” I go to pull away, embarrassed to have already fucked up. Marcos catches my wrists before I can get too far, though, and brings me back in.

The moment my skin touches his, I feel a swooping in my belly, like the floor disappeared out from under my feet.

Gently, he cups his palms around my ears and drags his thumbs over my profile like he’s a blind man trying to get a feel for my bone structure. His eyes are serious and intent, giving me all of his attention.

Slowly, I tug him in by the hips until he’s close enough for me to kiss them—one to each side. His hands slide into my hair as I do, and he doesn’t pull away. I do it again. I kiss my way down the jut of his hip bones and across his stomach, paying careful attention to the hair leading down to his waistband.

I hold him as close as I can when I stand up, chests brushing together as I wrap an arm around his lower back and kiss him on the lips.

Cupping his face, I kiss him again. Hard. Hard enough to give him some idea of how much I like him, and how into this I am despite his worries when we were chatting in the car.

I twist my fingers together in the sheet to keep from reaching for him. I don’t want to touch him until I’m invited.

He glances up at me and smiles. Marcos doesn’t really smile the same way other people do, with their full mouth and teeth participating. He smiles like he’s not really sure he wants to commit. Like smiles are precious and he can’t give them away to just anyone. The trick is to look at his eyes. His mouth might lie, but the smile will be in the warm, deep brown of his eyes.

It physically pains me to let him go when he leans to sit back again. All I want in this moment is to grab hold of him and not let go. To kiss him until my lungs burn, and all I can taste is Marcos. I want to spend the night here, and see his face first thing when I wake up.

I chuckle a little bit, but still feel sort of strange. My stomach is fluttery with nerves, and I have the oddest desire to pull a blanket over myself. Maybe Marcos can read that on my face, or he’s just a hell of a guesser, because he leans down and distracts me.

“Thanks,” I whisper against his mouth. He hums a reply from where he’s tucked his face into the crook of my neck.

I want to hold him close, and maybe feed him some soup.

I’m nearly sick with how much I want him.

He tucks his face back into the curve of my neck, kissing gently. The movement of his hips is sedate, but paired with the tickle of his nose against my skin and the high of being allowed to touch him, I don’t need anything more. I don’t need anything but Marcos.

He kisses me gentler now—little butterfly grazes across my jaw. I cup his ribs and tip my head back, enjoying the post-orgasmic pleasure of Marcos kissing my neck and murmuring softly in Spanish. It’s probably too early to tell him I might love him.