Page 53 of No Pucks

“Yes. Now, can we be done with this conversation?” I ask, hoping he’ll pick up on my annoyance.

“And you slept with him again?”

“Yes.”

“Why? Are you okay?”

My eyes nearly roll back into my head. “I’m quite well, thank you.”

“But I thought new and shiny was your thing? Does the coach thing change it?”

“At first, yes, a bit.”

He gestures for me to keep going. “And?”

How do I tell my brother I’d had the best sex of my life with a stranger, thought about it for months, and then fucked him again and it got better?

“What don’t you want to tell me?”

I screw up my face. “I don’t remember what you asked. The sex is good. I’ve continued it. It’s a bit taboo, so I’d rather not discuss it or have you tell anyone. I’d prefer not to interfere with his life or lose my fuck buddy.”

“Wait, isn’t your new coach that Hawke guy? The one dad hates?”

“How do you know Dad hates him?”

“How do younotknow Dad hates him? He ranted about the guy for months after he took his position.”

“Because I don’t pay attention to Dad’s bullshit. How fucking long ago was that?” I pull out my phone to look at the years Anthony played. “Weren’t you like zero?”

“I was little, but I remember. No wonder I’m everyone’s favorite. You really don’t listen,” Evander mutters the last bit.

“Sorry I don’t keep a diary of Daddy’s little grudges. Didn’t know there would be a test.”

“You like that Dad hates him, don’t you?” Evander wrinkles his nose, sticking his neck out to look at me closer.

“It’s a bonus.” I scoot back. “Stop being weird. You’re making me uncomfortable.”

“I guess I can’t fault you. If I knew something would piss off Dad, I’d do it too.” He sticks his nose in the air but then cocks his head, like the thought just occurred to him. “You like him, don’t you?”

“Stop making up fantasies in your own mind. It’s unbecoming.” I sip my coffee, not making eye contact.

“You promised not to lie to me!”

“I’m not lying.” I sigh, not at all in the headspace to deal with allegations like this.

“I’ve known you most of your life.” He circles a finger at my face. “I know all your expressions.”

“I enjoy the sex. Obviously.”

“But you don’t let anyone close enough to fuck more than a few times because you won’t deal with your trauma.”

“What are you, my psychologist? Christ.”

“Maybe if you went to therapy, I wouldn’t have to be!” he shoots back.

“Because I don’t need to pay someone to tell me what I already know. My kinks do just fine helping me deal with it.”

“Obviously not, since you won’t tell your brother about what’s going on with you.” He huffs, and there’s real hurt there.

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