Him (Him, #1)

by Sarina Bowen

He might not even have those particular weaknesses anymore. I, on the other hand, do. I have the same damn weakness I’ve always had. It’s still there as I stare up at the big screen. As I watch Jamie Canning stop another dizzying slap shot. As I admire the grace and deadly precision with which he moves. My weakness is him.

Stuck now, Cassel twists around to give me the finger. When I don’t let go, he turns away and reaches for his belt buckle, setting up to moon me and whatever slice of Boston happens to be walking past the hotel on a windy April Friday. I let up on the door and give it a shove, smacking him in the not-yet-bare ass. Ah, hockey players. You really can’t take us anywhere.

I can look into those brown eyes that always killed me and apologize for being such a dick. And then I can buy him a drink and try to go back to sports and smack-talk. Safe topics. The fact that he’d been the first guy I ever loved and the one who made me face some terrifying things about myself…well, all that will go unsaid.

Fuck, he’d looked good. Really good. All golden-boy California hotness, big and blond and sexy as fuck. With those soulful brown eyes—surprising on a blond guy. It’s an understated sexiness, though. Jamie Canning never flaunted his looks in all the time I’d known him. Sometimes I think he’s not even aware of how goddamn attractive he is.

They’re teenagers. And after ten minutes of play I’m basically beating my head against the plexi, praying for my own death. “Pat,” I beg. “Please tell me I wasn’t like this.” “You weren’t,” he says with a shake of his head. “You were three times worse.”

We are never speaking of this night again. Never. Even if we’re wasted the night before Jamie’s wedding. Even if we’re trapped in a mineshaft with thirty minutes of oxygen. Not even then. Earlier, I told him he’d acted like a douchecanoe. But that’s crap. I’m the one who’s in love with my best friend and pretending I’m not.

He said, ‘Sure, but I gotta come out to Jamie, too. If he has an issue, you might have to trade things around.’” An issue. I have one all right. My issue is the giant boner he gave me tonight. God, it’s a struggle not to bury my head in my hands and scream from confusion.

The fucker had jerked off. I would have been happy to help him out with that, but clearly he’d rather go solo than let me touch him again. Except…then he’d checked me out. Again, not born yesterday. I saw the way he was looking at me before we headed out. Jesus. Good thing he’s not a traffic cop, because he’s sending enough mixed signals to cause a ten-car pileup.

I love you. The words are always right there on the tip of my naughty tongue. I swallow them back like I need to and say something much more practical instead.

Jamie Canning has no idea the kind of power he has over me.

“Want you,” I whisper. Lately, those two words define me. “Have me,” he says.

hold him as close as I dare. Even if my entire life goes to shit before breakfast tomorrow, I’ll always have this night.