Page 86 of Gross Misconduct

“That’s why I pushed you away on the rooftop the night we met. I wanted to keep going. I was so into you, but…I was scared. Things were moving so fast. I panicked.”

“It’s on me, too. I was going really fast,” I admit. “I was feeling things for you, which freaked me out because that never happens with guys. Even though we barely knew each other, the vibe between us wasreal, and real shit scares me. So I wanted to cut to sex ASAP so we could come and never see each other again. Obviously, that plan backfired.”

“We both suck at this.” Griffin cups my cheek, massages it with his thumb, helping to settle the nerves in my stomach.

“You never wanted to have sex when you were closeted? Not even on the down low?” I ask. I sit next to him, thread my fingers through his. No matter his sexual history or non-history, I’m not going anywhere.

“Of course I thought about it. On some level, I’ve always known I was gay. But I didn’t think you could be gay and a hockey player. I told myself that I’d come out once I became a hockey superstar. I’d make history.”

I had that same thought when I got drafted, and I still kick myself for not trying to be more vocal. A part of me wanted to be really successful before I came out, so that nobody could criticize my performance based on my sexuality. That obviously didn’t pan out.

“And then I lost an eye.” He laughs to himself. “I let down my mom by ruining my hockey career. I let down my teammates and coaches. I didn’t want to disappoint them any further. I pushed it down and tried to live as respectable of a life I could. I got married, had a family.”

“What made you finally come out then?”

“I thought of Annabelle and June. I didn’t want to spend my life lying to them. I didn’t want them to believe that that was okay.”

“All through your twenties and thirties, you didn’t think of experimenting with a guy? Getting your gay ya-yas out?”

He shakes his head no. “I think I felt more comfortable being closeted and married to a woman because I was giving a performance. It wasn’t the real me. It was Griffin the straight family man.”

I nod along. It was easy to play Jack the flirty athlete who hits it and quits it. I could play that part forever.

Griffin continues, “But being with a guy meant showing my true self. And what if a guy didn’t like what he saw? What if he saw the same thing I did: a failure. A guy who was washed up at eighteen. No college education. No left eye. Who wants to sleep with a failure, let alone fall in love with one?”

“Griffin.” My heart breaks hearing him talk like that. How dare anyone say those things about this great man. There is no worthier person than Griffin Harper. I hold his head in my hands, force him to look at me. “You are none of those things. You know what I see? I see a man who’s had a rough hand dealt to him but powers through. A man who wants to be a loner but has such a big heart that he’s beloved by his friends and kids. You may not have won the Stanley Cup and gotten endorsement deals, but you do what every professional athlete should: you inspire people.”

It happens so fast, I don’t even realize it, like the overnight temperature drop initiating a new season. I am in love with Griffin Harper. I wish it weren’t so. I wish I could say it was just for the good juju. But no can do. I am a goner for him.

I kiss him because I have no fucking idea what to say next, because the fear and exhilaration of this realization is choking the air out of my lungs. I love Griffin. It’s something I want to keep to myself while also shouting from the rooftops.

“Would olive oil work?” he asks.

“Hell yeah. It worked for the Greeks.”

He hops out of the truck and walks over to a pantry shelf, grabs a bottle of unopened olive oil.

“It’s extra virgin,” he says.

Back on the truck, we get back into it, hot and heavy. He massages oil into my hole, and I’m so fired up.

I get on my knees, my ass sticking out for him. It’s a position that always makes me feel vulnerable, but I am comfortable with Griffin. I want him to pound into me.

Yet he doesn’t move.

“Is there a problem?” I ask.

“I don’t want you like that. I want you to ride me.”

My mouth goes dry at the hunger that instantly builds inside me, the sheer delight of getting to bounce on his lap.

I love that as inexperienced as Griffin might be, he knows what he wants and he’s direct. He balances me on his lap. Our eyes meet, a million things said between them. I’ve never had sex this way, but for me, sex was always a means to an end, a way to feel pleasure and nothing else.

I sink onto his cock. It pushes past my tightness, and I exhale tight breath. I put my arms around his belly to balance myself. Griffin rests his hands on my hips, steering me up and down. His biceps swell as he lifts me and puts me down. I feel weightless in his arms.

My fingers dance over his eye patch. I want to remove all layers between us. I can tell Griffin anything, be anything with him. I want the same for him.

He puts his hand over mine and together, we slide the eye patch off his face and toss it onto the truck bed. I graze over the scarred, puffy eye. It’s beautiful. He’s beautiful.

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