Us (Him, #2)

by Sarina Bowen

All I got from my folks was a brief phone call wishing me a happy holiday and reminding me that if I want to come home for a visit, I need to show up alone. Yup, Jamie isn’t welcome. Scratch that. Jamie doesn’t exist. My parents don’t acknowledge that I am living with a man. To them, I’m a heterosexual athlete bachelor who’s crushing pussy all over the place.

Real unfortunately

“You didn’t want to come to this party tonight.” His examination continues, eyes going serious. “I shouldn’t have assumed you wanted in. Ass, you, me, right?” He waves a sheepish hand. “I ruined your night, huh.”

Blake’s gaze shoots toward me in surprise. Or rather, confusion. I can’t make heads or tails of his expression.

“Uh, blond hair and brown eyes,” I say quickly, happy to be rid of her. She nods slowly, as if I’ve just said something fascinating. “Interesting choice. There can’t be many women with that coloring.” “Well, Becky, maybe that’s why I’m a bachelor.”

When we got into this beast of a car, the Nav screen said our destination was twenty-five minutes away. We get there in sixteen.

Blake, I realize. He’s literally holding me up by the back of my jacket.

“Hey.” Blake gives my shoulder a shake. “Of course it is. Did Canning’s mom make that coffee mug?”

Oh. Fuck me. That mug says Jamie loves you and so do we. Welcome to the Canning clan. And when I look up into Blake’s eyes, I see exactly what I’d been worrying about for months. He knows.

“Probably shouldna opened all those drawers,” Blake carries on, rubbing his chin. “Ya can’t unsee some of those toys. But everybody has to have his own kinda fun.

“Wesley, you asshole,” Eriksson says. “Aren’t you going to tell us?” “Tell you what?” I growl. My sex life is none of their goddamn business. “How is he? Jesus Christ. The TV news makes it sound like your boyfriend might be getting last rites.”

“It was the shirt, huh?” I blink in confusion, and he gestures to the green button-down I have on. “I knew it. Made you gay,” he says gleefully.

“If being queer means skating like Ryan Wesley, I’m going to have to encourage the rest of my players to give it a whirl.”

I was prepared to utter the words “no comment” today until they lost all meaning, but after just hearing my coach voice his support for me (albeit in a colorful way), I can’t stop from addressing the last question. “Hal Harvey is the best coach I’ve ever skated for,” I say gruffly. “I hope to continue making him proud for seasons to come.”

Seeing Jamie upset and being unable to help him? It’s not rough. It’s torture.

“Come to think of it, you look especially fuckable today.”

Blake taps his fingers on the counter, while his other hand toys with the label of his beer bottle. This man is the poster child for ADD.

“You’re a dog, Riley.” “Woof!” Blake calls back.

Because if you don’t make me come in the next five seconds, I’m going to—” “Going to what?” he mocks, and I moan in dismay when his fingers slip out. Chuckling, Wes climbs up my body, grabs both my wrists and shoves them up over my head. “Tell me what you’ll do, Canning.”

I’ve spent too many weeks worrying about accepting help from Wes, because I didn’t want to appear weak. And the whole time he’s only been desperate to show how much he loves me.

“To the…? OH MY GOD!” I’ve obviously made an enormous tactical error, because now Blake Riley—all two-hundred-odd, suit-wearing pounds of him—gets to his feet and begins jumping on the bed. I open my mouth to yell at him, but it’s difficult to pronounce words when he’s yelling, “Fuck yeah!” and I’m being shaken like a pair of shoes in a dryer.

“I thought if we were winning, maybe you’d get better faster.”

But it’s me up there for sure. It’s us. And it’s perfect.