by Eden Finley
“I’ll take that bet,” Ma calls back.
“Did he miss both of them get knocked out last round?” Lennon asks.
“He only ever follows my games,” I say. “He’d rather be watching football.”
“I understand that,” Lennon says.
I flip him the bird but glance at my mother as I do. “Can, ah, I get some privacy to find my clothes, Ma?”
“Nothing I haven’t seen before, but fine. Hurry up before breakfast gets cold.”
Ma closes the door behind her, and Lennon stares over at me.
“When are you going to tell them the truth about me?” he whispers.
I shrug. “At our engagement party?”
Lennon shakes his head. “Don’t even.”
“Fine. The announcement of the birth of our first child.”
He’s still unimpressed.
“I’ll tell them when they need to know. Right now, they think I’m happy, and I’m fine with letting them think that.”
“The longer you leave it, the harder it’ll be. I’m okay with doing this for you, but I still think you should tell them.”
As I finish getting dressed, Lennon’s phone rings. I leave him to it and go out into my dining room and take a seat opposite my dad at the table. Ma’s already piled up the plates, and the empty seat next to me has a stack of food in front of it. No way in hell will Lennon eat all of that. Ma’s used to feeding athletes with insane metabolisms. Even Max, who’s the least sporty of us, is still ripped thanks to the twins giving him free personal training.
Lennon’s low murmurs drift through the apartment.
“Now that your season’s over, you’ll be able to make it home for Grandma’s eightieth,” Ma says.
I shovel food in my mouth. “I’ll probably come home for the off-season anyway.”
When I look up, Lennon’s standing in the doorway to my room, staring at his phone in his hand.
“What’s up?”
His gaze flits between me and his phone again, and he bites his bottom lip. “Looks like I’ll be joining you in Boston.” He lifts his phone. “That was work.”
He’s still following the playoffs? I try to hide my excitement, but I’m sure the wide smile on my face gives it away.
“Great. You two can stay with us,” Ma says, “and Clark can meet the rest of the fam at Grandma’s birthday party.”
Lennon’s eyes widen, and so do mine. He lifts his head and mouths “Tell them.”
All I can do is shake my head. “Thanks, Ma, but I think Clark’s work will put him up in a hotel.”
His shoulders slump. I can only assume from relief of dodging having to stay with my family.
“Thanks for the offer, Mrs. Strömberg, but I’m all set.”
“Well, you at least have to come meet everyone. The entire family will be excited to meet Ollie’s boyfriend. Trying to get any information out of him about you is like pulling teeth.”
I silently beg Lennon to do this one thing for me. It’s a big ask, and I know this is unfair to him. If he says no, I won’t push, but it’ll be one day. Just one. With my entire family.
Shit, I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.
He can either read my mind or sense my desperation because he smiles at my mother. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
Chapter Fourteen
LENNON
While I pack my stuff, Jet bounces on my bed like an excited child. “I knew there was more to you and Ollie than y’all were letting on.”
He’s been in a fit of laughter ever since I told him my predicament. From meeting Ollie in a bathroom months ago to agreeing to keep up this ridiculous charade for Ollie’s family.
“Are you guys fucking now?”
I glare at him. “Your mouth’s seriously gonna get you in trouble one day.”
He finally stops bouncing and his face drops. “Why does everyone keep telling me that?”
“Because one day, when you’re big and famous, you’re gonna say the wrong thing to the wrong reporter, or celebrity, or random person, and then you’re gonna be in the tabloids for all the wrong reasons.”
“No such thing as bad publicity.”
I raise my eyebrow. “Do you think your brother would agree with that?”
Matt’s story going public got him kicked out of the NFL.
“Good point,” Jet says. “But probably won’t matter anyway. The whole fame thing probably isn’t gonna happen for me.”
My hands freeze, holding a balled-up shirt that I was about to throw into my suitcase. “Do you really believe that or are you fishing for a compliment?”
Jet looks away, a wave of shaggy brown hair falling across his forehead. “We have a meeting with a record label next week, but—”
“What?” I exclaim. “Jet, that’s awesome. Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because I don’t know if it’s a good fit for us. The guy who came to the club to meet with us said they’d need to change a lot for us to be marketable. They want to change my name, change the band’s name, change our image, pick one genre for the first album instead of the eclectic shit we play.”
“Who’s the record label?”
“Joystar Records. You heard of them?”
I shake my head. “Nah, but that doesn’t mean anything. And it sounds like they’re already invested if they’ve already made plans for you. This could be your big break.”
I wish I could take a photo of his face right now, because it’s the only time in the past month or so of knowing him that he appears serious. “Maybe. We’ll see. Benji and Freya are excited this label wants them too. Their last lead singer ditched them for a solo contract.”
“You’re going to rock it, and then when you get super famous, I can tell the world I once shared a bed with a rock star and lived with him for a little bit too.”
“Until then, I guess all you can say is you’ve shared a bed with a hockey god …”
“Nothing happened.” Not really, anyway.
“Nothing happened with us either,” Jet points out, “but that wasn’t going to stop you from saying it. Which leads me to believe something did happen between you and Ollie, and now you’re trying to cover it up.”
Get this kid a detective badge.
“Whatever,” I mutter intelligibly, which only makes him laugh. I throw the last bit of my clothes into my suitcase and zip it up. “I think I’m all set.”
Jet climbs off my bed. “Wait, I need to know. Are you into each other now?”
I hang my head. “This is like freaking high school.”
“You know, Matt and Noah started in a fake relationship.”
“I do know. The reason they’re so nice to me is because I didn’t splash that information all over the internet.”
“Just sayin’. They started the same way, and now they’re married.”
I grimace. “Ollie and I didn’t start that way. It totally started with an accidental proposition in a bathroom in a gay bar.”
Jet’s entire face lights up. “So, there is something between you two. I knew it.”
I groan, but then a knock sounds from the front door. “Thank God.”
Jet and I head downstairs together, but he’s all excitable. Seriously, if there were human equivalents of dogs, Jet would be a chocolate lab puppy with his rich brown hair and crazy energy.
When I greet Ollie, Jet’s still bouncing behind me.
“You two are so gonna get married.”
Ollie looks confused for only a second before he dismisses it as if he’s already used to Jet’s randomness.
“Goodbye, Jet,” I say. “Tell Noah and Matt when they get back tomorrow that I’ll be back in a few days.”
Jet mockingly salutes us and sends us off with a “Have fun. Shotgun best man at your wedding. I don’t care which one of you.”
“What was that all about?” Ollie asks as we descend the steps leading to the street.
An awaiting cab rests at the curb.
“Nothing,” I sa
y as I open the back door and ask the driver to pop the trunk for my suitcase.
“Didn’t sound like nothing.”
“He thinks because Matt and Noah started in a fake relationship that you and I will get married.”
“But we started in a bathroom.”
“That’s what I said. Then he teased me about there being something real between us, but whatever.”
Ollie steps close. Like so close I can count your teeth type close. “Would that be the worst thing in the world?”
“Probably,” I rasp.
He seems to enjoy my awkwardness. “Fair enough.”
My eyes narrow. “You’re going to make Boston hell for me, aren’t you?”
Ollie fakes offense. “Pretending to be my boyfriend wouldn’t be as bad as the fiery pits of hell. Now you’re being dramatic.”
I cock my head.
“But in all seriousness, I totally am. It’s gonna be fun.”
“I’m starting to think I should’ve asked for some sort of compensation for this favor.”
He waggles his eyebrows. “We can discuss that later.”
“Laying it on pretty thick there.”
“Sure am. I’m allowed to now because you’re my boyfriend.”
“Fake boyfriend.”
“Semantics. Ready?” He gestures for me to get in the car first.
I slide over, and as he settles a few inches away from me, it feels as though he’s touching me when he isn’t. I get a sense this is what it’d be like to be with him for real. He has a way of getting so close I can feel him everywhere, but he doesn’t touch. That’s too risky.
It works at driving me crazy. Phantom touching, is that a thing? I know amputees sometimes have phantom limbs, where a missing leg makes them feel an itch they’ll never be able to scratch.
Sitting next to Ollie this close without touching makes my dick think it’ll never be touched again.
It’s like the worst foreplay ever. All buildup with no release coming … pun intended.
I make myself laugh, and Ollie stares at me out the corner of his eye. I wave him off.
“You’re going to stay with your parents while you’re there?”
He hesitates. “Uh, yeah, about that …”
I purse my lips. “What?”
Ollie glances at the cabbie, and then back at me and speaks low. “Well, my parents live in Milton, about half an hour out of the city. It’s not exactly too far that they wouldn’t expect us to not see one another while you’re in town. I was kinda thinking, maybe, I’d crash in the city after game two.”
I’m going to be seeing Ollie and his family more than at his grandmother’s birthday.
“Yup. Definitely should’ve asked for compensation,” I mumble, but it’s forced. The idea of seeing Ollie more and having excuses to touch him? Yeah, I’m not complaining too hard.
Chapter Fifteen
OLLIE
The anticipation might be killing me. Lennon should be here any minute, and I haven’t seen him since we parted ways at the airport yesterday. He took a cab into the city and checked into his hotel and then attended the game last night.
I was fully prepared to go to the game with him and show my support for Tommy and my old team while I was at it, but as Ma said, “It’s only game one, and I know that boy of yours has a cute butt and Tommy is practically family, but it’s been months since you’ve been with actual family. You’re with us tonight.”
No matter how many times I complained that if I were still in the playoffs I wouldn’t have been here at all this weekend, she still wouldn’t let me go.
“Shoulda played better then,” she said simply.
“Brutal, Ma. Real fuckin’ brutal,” I’d replied.
As soon as the doorbell rings, I’m on my feet and rushing for the door.
“Someone’s eager,” Dad says from his armchair. Seeing as we had family time last night, Dad and I are watching the replay of last night’s game in the living room while Ma runs around trying to get ready for today’s party.
We offered to help, much to Ma’s dismay. By the time I’d messed up the third thing she asked of me, she told me to get out of her kitchen or lose some fingers. Dad too.
“I have to give him plenty of warning on how to deal with you lot. Hence why I asked him to come early.”
“Preparation is always important in all areas of life, son.” Did my dad just make a gay sex joke? There is such a thing as overcompensating, and my parents like to reiterate they’re one hundred percent okay with my sexuality. As if pushing me to come out isn’t enough of a hint.
I shudder. “I am not touching that one with a ten-foot pole.”
Dad laughs.
Lennon stands at the door with his messenger bag over his shoulder and wearing those glasses.
Oh, holy Gretzky, those glasses.
“Hey,” he says and then looks at me weird. Probably because I’m blocking the doorway like a moron.
“Come in,” I croak and step aside.
As soon as he’s inside, I can’t resist touching him. My hand reaches for his, and he flinches and stares at our intertwined fingers. When his narrowed gaze travels up to my face, I shrug and lead him into the living room. We have to make this look real after all.
“Clark,” Ma says, rushing into the room. She hugs him, but I still refuse to let go of his hand.
“Good to see you again, Mrs. Strömberg.” He looks at Dad. “Mr. Strömberg.”
“You too.” Dad stands from his seat to shake his hand.
“Okay, we’re going up to my room.” I start leading Lennon away.
“You know the rules in this house,” Ma says. “No boys allowed in your room.”
When my mouth drops open, Ma giggles. “You should see your face.” She’s laughing so hard she slaps her knee.
“Don’t mind this one,” Dad says to Lennon. “Small things amuse small minds.”
“That’s why I married you,” Ma says.
Lennon laughs. I remain horrified. My parents are on point today.
“Okay, we’re going now.” I take Lennon up the stairs and then to the second, smaller set leading to the attic.
I think I deserve some sort of prize for not pouncing on him the minute we cross over the threshold.
“What are we doing up here?” he asks. “Want to show me your childhood bedroom or something?”
“You think I got to live in this mansion being the baby?”
“Youngest children are always the most spoiled. My sister’s a brat.”
I smile. “In this family, the oldest gets the best room.”
“Fair enough.” Lennon dumps his bag and glances around the space, and I can no longer take it.
When he spins on his heel, he stumbles back, because I move closer, and I’m guessing he isn’t expecting it. I reach out to steady him, and my arms go around his back.
Lennon’s breath catches as I close the distance and move us backward until his back hits the door.
“What are we doing?” he whispers.
I like that he says we instead of you. He’s in this as much as I am.
“I was thinking we might need to practice.”
Lennon runs his tongue over his bottom lip. “Practice what?”
“Touching.” I swallow the imaginary gravel in my throat. “Kissing.” My hand reaches for his cheek. “Other stuff to make us look like real boyfriends.”
“Other stuff? Are you telling me your family is expecting us to put on a porn show for them or something to prove our relationship? Because that’s all kinds of fucked up.”
I chuckle. “Can I lie and say they’re expecting it? I don’t care if you think they’re fucked up if I get to do this.”
I lean in and press my lips to his, but he’s too busy laughing to be invested in the kiss. I fix that by pushing my tongue into his mouth. His laughter turns into a moan as his tongue meets mine.
The kiss goes from zero to sixty within seconds, and he steps forward, trying to
get closer, but with no distance between us already, all he does is grind his hardening cock against mine.
“Oh, God,” he murmurs. “You really don’t play fair.”
“Playing fair isn’t fun.”
We kiss again, losing ourselves in a void between real and fake, but if I’m honest with myself, nothing has ever been fake with Lennon—not even that dinner at the Honey Bee. I might not have realized it at the time, but that dinner was a turning point. It gave me hope about moving on. From Ash, from the closet walls that are getting smaller and smaller every day to the point I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to endure the claustrophobia.
I wish we had time to take this further, but I know any minute Ma will be calling us down, and my extended family will begin attacking … I mean, arriving.
“We should probably stop,” I say, breathless.
“Shouldn’t start what you can’t finish, Mr. Hockey Star.” He pushes against me, forcing me backward toward the bed. “I thought we were practicing.”
I fall onto the mattress on my back, and he climbs on top of me, his legs going on either side of my hips.
“Practice makes perfect.” I cup his head to bring his lips back to mine again.
I can’t remember kissing ever being as good as it is with Lennon. He sparks something deep inside me: a need, a primal urge. I remain optimistic and believe we can be whole without tearing each other down.
I internally scoff at that, considering what he does for a living and how we started. I thought he was tearing me down when he was trying to lift me up.
Lennon’s hand trails down my chest, lifting my shirt. His fingertips press against my abs, and he groans into my mouth.
“You have a thing with my abs, don’t you?”
He sits up, the impressive and disproportionate bulge front and center, tenting his jeans. My mouth waters.
“I have a thing about your muscles,” he says. “And your tats.” He lifts my shirt farther, and I partially sit up for him to take it over my head.
His lips land on my shoulder and move toward my pierced nipple. He tongues the barbell and bites down gently, making my hips buck off the bed. I bite my lip to stop from screaming out.