Page 82 of A Stealthy Situation

He’s already hard again as he snuggles his face into my neck.

“My hat looks good on you.” I trail my fingertips down his spine.

“And my cum would look good on you. We never did make use of those cum gutters.”

I slap his ass, then slide the condom off him. “Go on, then. Show me what you can do.”

So he does. Benny jerks off until he paints my stomach with his cum and then collapses on top of me, finally soft.

The whole time he’s touching himself, all I can think is that I nearly lost this.

And I never want to do that again.

24

BENNY

I’m kicked back in the greenhouse on the foldout chair I brought with me. There’s a class on across the other side, but Harrison is working hard on whatever it is in front of him, and I tagged along because I’m a moron who has a boyfriend, and apparently, that makes me a little obsessed.

“Why don’t you play anymore?” Harrison asks without looking up from the notebook he’s scribbling in.

“Play what?”

“Hockey. I’m guessing you played for a while to get the body you have.”

“Basically my whole life.”

“So …”

I make a farting noise with my mouth because I goddamn hate talking about it. “I’m sort of a … legacy. My two older brothers played, and Asher was cocky enough to win the Stanley Cup in his rookie year. You think I’m a pain in the ass? You should meet him.”

“It sounds like you had a future there, then. What happened?”

“I hated it.”

Harrison looks up at last. “Why’d you play for so long, then?”

“It’s not the sport I hate. It’s the pressure. The media. The way they treated my brothers, especially Asher, was fucked-up, and then I went back and saw some of the things they wrote about West before he left to look after us. My brother was wild, but it went too far.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“Me too.”

“If you don’t like the media, then why are you looking at sports journalism?”

“It’s easier to change things from within than without. Those fuckers need stricter guidelines.”

“Yeah, but they don’t have those guidelines because the more sensational what they’re reporting, the more it sells.”

“I know that, but …” I bounce my foot where it’s rested on my other ankle. “There has to be a better way. I hate that they can hurt people and get away with it. When Em and I were headed for the draft, they dug up everything about our parents. It’s all we heard about. If we think they’re proud of us, how they’d feel if they were alive. How the fuck were we supposed to know that? We were eight when they died. We barely remember them. Em felt guilty about that, and every time some fucking reporter asked some variation of the same question, he died a bit inside. It’s why I got us the fuck away from there. I got tired of seeing my brother drowning.” And I got tired of drowning myself. The constant doubt about whether I’d have any skill at all without Em was eating at me.

Harrison smiles my way.

“That was supposed to be a depressing story. Why the fuck do you look so happy about it?”

The bastard is smug as fuck when he says, “You talked feelings to me again.”

I cross my arms. “I’m gonna cut my tongue out.”

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