Avon Gale

“Come to my house,” he said as he idly smoothed his tie. “Tonight. I will make you dinner.”

Max reached out and poked him lightly on the shoulder. “I think it’s going to be a problem if this is what happens when Belsey makes you mad. ’Cause I’m gonna want him to do it all the time.”

Misha smiled at him. With teeth. “Seven o’clock. Ask your Google Maps how to get there so you’re not late.”

Max put his fork down. “This is a relationship. Right? This thing we’ve got. Because I’m here a lot, and we have a lot of sex, and you make me chicken even though you don’t eat it. And you let me use your laundry machine.”

“I’m not going to be nice to you on the ice tomorrow or anything. I expect your defensemen to step up and…. Are you okay?”

Lane was not okay. He kept blinking and looking at Jared’s eyes, sucking idly on his lower lip—which was still sore—and thinking about all the things he wanted that he couldn’t have. “Sure. I’m fine. I’m not used to being drunk twice in one day.”

When the elevator doors closed, Lane looked at Jared and waited for him to tell Lane what floor he was on. Instead, Jared swore under his breath, reached out, grabbed Lane by the shirt, and shoved him up against the elevator doors.

Jared didn’t hit him. Instead, he leaned in, trapping Lane against the closed doors and pressing up against him. Lane had been hard since they left the bar, and Jared had to be able to feel it. It took Lane a few seconds to understand what it was pressing back against him, and before he could moan or do anything else, Jared’s mouth was on his and they were kissing.

“You’re not going to say, ‘Remember it, because you’ll be screaming it later,’ are you?”

“No. Why would I want you to scream at me?” Lane asked, bewildered—and then flushed hotly as the meaning became clear.

She laughed and patted him on the shoulder. “You’re a nice guy, Lane Courtnall. You do need better friends. My name’s Zoe.”

Lane tried the same move he had last time, but the Renegades defense knocked him over and called him a stupid motherfucker.

“Your mom’s not hot enough. Sorry,” Lane snapped back, and the defenseman actually snorted before he went back to trash talking.

Lane wondered if that guy’s mom was there, and then he felt bad.

“I really like you.”

Nothing happened for a minute. Lane didn’t know what Jared was thinking, because Lane’s eyes were closed so tightly light couldn’t get through.

“Lane?”

“Yeah?”

“Could you open your eyes and look at me, please?”

Lane opened his eyes on an exhale and waited. Jared’s eyes were dark, but he smiled and said, “I like you too,” and kissed him gently on the mouth. Then he let him up, sat back on the bed, and watched him.

“Oh.” Lane nodded. He was embarrassed as hell, but apparently that was okay. He took Jared’s hand and put it back on his chest, and they quietly stayed like that until the doorbell rang.

“No. I don’t want to be your best friend, Lane. I want us to be friends, but I want a lot more than that. Okay?”

“Okay. Good. Me too. Could you fuck me now?”