by Amy Aislin
Cody squinted so hard his eyes went to slits, and then they popped wide and he beckoned with one finger. “Bring that over here.”
He looked so debauched Roman couldn’t reconcile this Cody with the energetic one who found so much joy in the little things.
Placing the lube and condom on the bed, Roman crawled up his body, leaving tiny kisses in his wake. Hipbone, stomach, chest.
“Want your mouth,” Cody said, hoarse, writhing beneath him. Palming the back of Roman’s head, he brought him up with a yank.
And Roman went. Because whatever Cody wanted, he could have.
When he was inside Cody, when Cody was around him, Roman just barely managed to keep his heart from tumbling into love as he came too.
It wasn’t until later, when they were cooling off side by side and Cody said, “Damn it. Forgot the towels in my backpack,” that Roman, stretched out on his stomach, laughed into his pillow and let his heart fall.
Cody was inevitable.
Cody awoke the next morning and stretched, enjoying the feel of the covers on his naked skin. That was a new experience, sleeping naked.
It was the second of last night’s new experiences.
With a satisfied grunt at the ache in his backside, he rolled onto his side to find Roman with his eyes open and on him.
“Oh hi.”
“Hi.” Roman’s voice was thick with sleep, his eyes heavy-lidded.
Cody scooted forward and tucked himself into him, sighing when Roman’s warm and muscled arm came around him.
“Sleep okay?”
“Mm-hmm.” He kissed Roman’s chest. “You?”
Roman simply grunted. Cody grinned and took it as a yes.
They dozed off and on for the next half hour or so, cuddled together under the covers. When he got too hot, he rolled onto his back and stretched again, smiling at nothing.
God. Last night. If he’d known sex was that good, he would’ve been doing it a long time ago.
Okay no, that wasn’t true. He didn’t have interest in sex unless it was with Roman. And Roman had been . . . selfless and giving and hot. Jesus fuck, the guy should be iced he was so fucking hot.
Chuckling at his own bad joke, he turned his head to look at Roman, lying there next to him with his eyes closed. He looked less like a badass in repose and without the eyebrow and nose rings, which Cody hadn’t realized until right now Roman hadn’t been wearing yesterday.
Hmm. There was probably some psychological meaning behind that, but Cody’s brain was too jumbled to think about it.
In the dim morning sunshine filtering in through the blinds, he looked around Roman’s bedroom. The walls were a pale yellow and a dresser in stark white sat across from the bed. It matched the night table next to Cody and the cabinets in the en suite bathroom he’d used last night before bed. Next to the window to Cody’s right was a striped yellow and orange armchair. Cody couldn’t see much without his glasses, but he still noticed the little things that spoke to a person living here: a stack of clean laundry on the dresser next to a wallet and a pile of coins, what appeared to be a small pile of dirty laundry next to the dresser, and on the night table was a well-loved paperback. Cody squinted at it, trying to make out the title. The Eye of the World by Robert Jordan.
“Roman?” Cody put his glasses on and looked around again. The only thing he noticed that he’d missed on first inspection was a binder on the armchair with the Trailblazers’ logo on the spine.
Roman grunted.
“Where’s all your stuff?”
“Storage.”
“That sucks. You should take some of it out. Might help make you feel more at home.”
“I don’t not feel at home,” Roman protested weakly.
“That’s not the same thing.”
Roman grunted again. “Hungry?”
“I could eat.”
Neither of them moved. Cody rolled into him, pulling the blanket over them, and they snuggled into their blanket fort. Roman kissed his nose and Cody’s entire body lit up.
“You know,” Cody said, “you’re the first person I’ve done that with.”
“Sleep in the same bed?”
“Have sex.”
Roman’s eyes popped open. “What.”
“Mm.” Cody scratched an itch on his chest.
“That’s slightly intimidating.”
“Hence why I didn’t mention it before.”
Roman’s frown was concern mixed with mild displeasure. “I feel like that’s something I should’ve known first.”
“To be honest,” Cody said, “I didn’t think about it. Last night, I was just thinking about you and me. Nothing else existed.”
Roman’s frown still hadn’t disappeared, but he ran a gentle thumb over Cody’s cheekbone. “Weren’t you nervous?”
“You don’t make me nervous. I mean, you do,” Cody amended. “In a good way. The best way. But I wasn’t nervous about being with you.”
Concern and mild displeasure turned to . . . concern only. “Was it okay?”
“Are you kidding?” Cody said with a smile, his stomach clenching as he remembered last night. “You do remember me coming all over you?”
“Mildly.”
Cody mock gasped. “Mildly?”
Making a sound low in his throat, Roman pushed him onto his back and settled on top of him. “Maybe I need a repeat to jog my memory?”
Cody smiled against Roman’s lips. “That can be arranged.”
An hour later, showered, dressed, and fed—Roman had made him bacon and pancakes—Cody was elbow-deep in sudsy water washing a pan when he almost did it. Almost brought up the boyfriend/exclusivity conversation. But his throat closed off. Roman was slowly learning to trust after being so hurt as a teenager. What if that conversation made him panic or think they were moving too fast?
Cody had meant what he’d said to Mitch—he didn’t think Roman would bail. That, however, was the problem. He didn’t think Roman would bail; he didn’t know for sure.
Did he?
Last night might’ve been evidence of a deepening relationship to some people, and to Cody for sure; to others, sex was just sex.
Where did Roman fit? Given he hadn’t been close to anyone in a long time, Cody was inclined to believe the latter. But with him?
Cody eyed him from his peripheral. There was no way Roman thought last night was just sex. Cody would bet his meager savings on it, which was ultimately what unstuck his throat. He blurted, “Are we exclusive?”
Roman put a plate in the cupboard. “You think I’ve been seeing someone else?”
“No. No, that’s not what I mean. I was just curious.”
“As if I have time for two boyfriends,” Roman muttered while he dried the pan Cody handed him.
Cody’s shoulders loosened. In Roman-speak, that meant yes, we’re exclusive. “I’m gonna take that as a yes,” he happily declared.
Roman kissed his temple from behind, his scruffy jaw scritching against Cody’s cheek. “As you should. What are your plans for today?”
“Just Mitch’s game later tonight. Nothing until then. You?”
“As per your suggestion, I’m hosting a potluck.”
“Ha! You love my suggestions.”
“They do have merit.”
With a wet hand, Cody pretended to flick his hair. “Why, thank you.”
“I’ve got to go to the store and pick up some chips because, god forbid, I don’t have chips.”
Roman sounded so put out that Cody snorted a laugh as he drained the water in the sink and dried his hands.
“Everything else I already have,” Roman continued. “Just need to prep it, put the prime rib on the barbecue.”
Prime rib? This was a fancy potluck. Wait. Barbecue? Cody looked over his shoulders at the sliding glass doors that led onto Roman’s tiny balcony where, sure enough, sat a small barbecue. “Roman, it’s the middle of winter.”
“Yeah, I know. But I barbecued everything when I was living in
Florida. Got used to the taste of it.”
“Can I come to the store with you? Help you prep later?”
“You want to?” Roman put the final pan away and turned to him. “It won’t be too boring for you?”
“I don’t think time spent with you could ever be boring.” Cody kissed Roman’s reddening cheek, then headed to the front and pulled his boots on. “Come on. Let’s go shopping.”
I don’t think time spent with you could ever be boring.
Roman kept Cody’s words close as he finished getting things ready for the potluck. His teammates were due any minute, the prime rib was off the barbecue and sliced on a serving platter, he had bowls of chips strategically placed around the living room for the neophyte potluckers, and he’d tossed a simple salad with chopped veggies because he wasn’t convinced his guys would bring a single vegetable among them.
Speaking of his living room . . . The hell had he been thinking hosting a potluck? He barely had enough room for six people to hang out comfortably, never mind the dozen he was expecting.
There was nothing to be done for it. Shoving the furniture to the edges of the room left more floor space for people to sit. It wasn’t perfect, but it’d have to do.
Spending the day with Cody had put him, oddly, in the mood for more socialization. Once they’d returned from the store, where Cody had also bought a few groceries for himself and Mitch, they’d come back and had a lazy couple of hours watching one of the Fast & Furious movies on TV. Midway through, Roman had made a rub for the prime rib, and to Cody’s eternal amusement, placed his hunk of meat on the barbecue. He’d so badly wanted to ask Cody to stay. For dinner. To meet the guys. But not only did Cody already have plans, what would Roman introduce him as? His friend?
Not good enough. And although the thought of coming out to his teammates made him want to shit bricks, something about Cody made him want to be brave.
He didn’t have much time to think about it, though, because once Cody left, he went into party mode, setting out plates and cutlery and filling a couple of coolers with beer. Then everyone started arriving, bringing with them meatballs and some kind of pastry filled with cheese and pasta salad and biscuits and a homemade seven-layer dip, among others. It was an impressive spread.
“Hey, Kinsey!” Zanetti said from his spot on the floor next to the balcony doors. “What’d you put on this meat, man? It’s amazing.”
“It’s just a rub I made before barbecuing it.”
“Barbecue?” Kabaikina said from the floor in front of the TV. “In this weather? Dude, that’s hardcore.” He held his hand out for a fist bump.
Conversation continued and beers were opened as the game started, and it was a good thing there was a lot of food because these guys ate as if it was their last meal.
During the first intermission, Roman had to open his balcony doors a few inches to let some air in. So many bodies packed in such a small space equaled too much body heat.
While Washington was winning 2-0 during the second period, Vause, sitting on the couch with his long legs out in front of him, shoved his phone in Cotton’s face. “Look at that. She just friended me on Facebook.”
“Okay?” Cotton took a quick look, then grabbed the last cheese ball from the plate on the coffee table.
“Just look. That rack, man.”
Roman tried not to roll his eyes.
“Yeah,” Cotton said, pushing the phone away. “Boobs aren’t really my thing.”
“Right. Forgot you’re a dick man. We’re dropping like flies, you know.”
“Lay off him, Vause,” Roman growled from the armchair. Then he went still, Vause’s words sinking in. Wait. Wait, wait. A dick man?
“Don’t tell me you’re gay too, Kinsey?” With a playful grumble, Vause picked his plate up off the floor and stood, heading for the counter that divided the kitchen from the living room, where most of the food was laid out. He pointed a finger at Roman. “We’re gonna have words if I see you checking me out in the locker room.”
Roman did roll his eyes then because Vause was obviously joking around. “Please. If I was gonna look at anyone, it’d be Cotton. He’s cute as a button.”
Cotton blushed scarlet, but no one was more surprised by Roman’s words than himself. Why hadn’t his first instinct been to deny it?
“Hey.” Kas pointed at him with his fork. “Hands off.”
“Wha—”
“Yo, Ritz Cracker,” Vause interrupted from the counter. “What’s this?”
“Olive tapenade.” Ritz stood from one of the barstools Kas had brought over from next door. He brushed a hand over the back of Honeybun’s neck as he passed him on the way to the counter.
Okay. Hold up. What was happening right now?
Since Ritz was busy, Roman caught Honeybun’s eye and waved a hand between him and Ritz.
Honeybun raised an eyebrow. “We came out as a couple to the team a while ago.”
“What? When?”
“When you were being mopey,” Honeybun said bluntly.
“How did I miss that?”
“It’s not like we stood in the locker room and announced it,” Ritz said, retaking his seat. “We quietly told a few people and word eventually got around.”
Roman slouched further in his chair. “Not to me.”
“Mopey,” Honeybun repeated. “Nobody wanted to brave your wrath by talking to you.”
“I wasn’t that bad.”
Honeybun shrugged, unconcerned. “We figured you were dealing with something and would pull your head out of your ass at some point. Obviously, we were right.”
Roman’s thoughts were going in too many directions. “How long . . . ?”
“Since I shit on his couch in high school,” Honeybun said, shamelessly thrilled about it.
Kabaikina, who Roman had thought was too invested in the game to follow their conversation, turned and made a face at Honeybun. “Dude. Are you being serious or is that a metaphor for something?”
“I thought it was a fart.”
“What did you do?”
“I think I swore? Definitely ran to the bathroom.”
“You did swear,” Ritz contributed helpfully. “You said ‘oh shit.’”
“And what did you do?” Kabaikina asked Ritz.
Ritz shrugged and lifted his fork to his mouth. “I cleaned it up.”
Kabaikina’s face scrunched. “Why?”
“What, I was supposed to leave it there?”
“Most people would have. Made Honeybun clean it up when he got back.”
Ritz’s turn to make a face. “It smelled.”
Kas leaned toward Cotton, who sat in a recliner perpendicular to the couch. “This is the weirdest conversation ever,” he whisper-shouted.
Cotton kicked him in the leg. “Clearly, you didn’t grow up with four brothers.”
“Nope.” Kas sank back into his seat. “Sisters. I know way too much about bras, hair in weird places, and periods.”
Kabaikina was still squinting at Ritz. “And you dated the guy after that?”
Honeybun smirked. “I kissed him that night,” he said, chest puffing out. “True love is someone who will clean up your poop.”
“I mean, I was already in love with him,” Ritz said. “What’s a little poop?”
Roman poked Kas in the shoulder. “I’m with you. Weirdest conversation ever.”
“My brothers and I once had an hour-long debate about whether or not anime girls are hot,” Cotton said, eyes on the TV.
“I don’t know.” Vause spread homemade hummus on a slice of bread. “The other day Kowalski and Zanetti were debating if a black bra under a white shirt is sexy.”
“It’s not!” Kas sat up on the couch, gesturing with his hands. “Who told women to wear black under white? How does that make sense?”
“It’s sexy,” Zanetti argued.
“It makes them look like they got dressed in the dark,” Kas rebutted.
Roman settled deeper into the couch cu
shions, letting the conversation flow around him, his friends’ voices rising and falling, at times frenetic, other times mocking, all of it in fun and friendship. Being surrounded by friends reminded him of the photo in his wallet, and his gaze swung to Kas, who had his hand on Cotton’s arm, his thumb rubbing back and forth. When had that become a thing?
Roman nudged him with his elbow, nodding at Cotton when Kas turned to look at him.
“We didn’t really come out,” Kas said with a smile in Cotton’s direction. “We just didn’t hide that we were dating.”
How had Roman missed that too? “You’ve barely been here five minutes. How do you have a boyfriend already?”
Kas’s grin was huge. “I’m charming.”
“He is,” Cotton agreed with a sigh. “It’s unfair.”
Vause pointed at Roman, plate piled high with a second helping of everything. “See what I mean? Dropping like flies.”
Jesus. Roman had once told Ritz and Cotton that people were self-absorbed assholes only out for themselves, and it was beyond clear that he wasn’t the exception to the rule if he’d missed this. Not that he’d thought he was, but . . .
Holy fuck. Now would certainly be a good time to come out to his teammates, but his mind was going in eighteen different directions and he couldn’t think straight.
“You look like your mind’s been blown,” Zanetti piped in.
Blown. Yes. Brains everywhere.
“Things have been changing in the League since Ashton Yager came out,” Kas said with a pointed look in Roman’s direction.
Yes. Yes, they were. Roman’s opening was here, right here, empty space waiting for him to fill it with words—I’m gay too. Yet . . .
Yet.
There was too much fear alive under his skin, taking up too much space in his head. Eight years of hiding who he was, of staying on the fringe of every team he’d been on, of anticipating the worst. Knowing that outing himself meant losing everything. It clogged his throat, made ants crawl over the base of his neck.
And then the moment passed, the topic shifting to tonight’s game, and Roman let the weight of decision-making seep off his shoulders. An opportunity wasted, no doubt. But was it really an opportunity if he wasn’t ready?