Page 12 of Misconduct Zone

“His dad actually came to visit, but thanks.” Caleb’s cheeks turn an uncharacteristic bright red.

“Dinner’s ready,” Patrik calls.

Trevor ushers us into the dining room, and I’ve never been in here. It’s off the kitchen with a table big enough for twelve.

“Damn, Liska, who are you entertaining, and why aren’t we invited?” Dylon slides into the chair to my right, and I relish the warmth of his body heat.

“Right?” Trevor exclaims. “This place is built for parties, but this one,” he jerks a finger at Patrik, “isn’t social. I’m trying to train him better.”

“Good luck.” Patrik kisses the top of his head. “It vill be lots of vork.” They share a look so intimate, I tear my eyes away.

My parents never showed physical affection to each other or me. I have become more accustomed to it in the United States, but it strikes me as forbidden. I soak in Dylon’s physical touches because they’re natural to him, but it would never occur to me to touch someone. In my house, I understood my parents loved me, but they did not say the words or embrace me. I cannot imagine the freedom to touch a lover in public. It seems to lack discretion.

Our team made history when people found out our Director of Player Development is in a polyamorous relationship with another man and a woman, and again when Patrik came out. He didn’t make a big announcement, he simply called Trevor his boyfriend.

I could not be that brave. They’ve received the full support of our GM. Fans are supportive, but we almost won The Cup last year. Many fans turn on you as soon as you stop winning. A small number sent hate mail, and there was an online campaign to boycott our team, but it fell flat.

Boston hates our team, but during the game there, I saw nothing out of the ordinary directed at Patrik, and Canadians are too polite to spew hate.

I admire him for telling the world his truth and not waiting until after he retires. Trevor was instrumental in his recovery last season. No one thought he’d be able to follow the protocol.

“The food is delicious,” Shane says.

“Patrik cooked and I helped.” Trevor clinks his glass with Patrik.

Patrik stands and holds up his glass. “To my Trevor. His fashion show vas a huge success this summer, and the pop-up shop did so much business that customers have to vait for the clothes to be made. Thank you for supporting his show and helping to start his line.” He turns his gaze to me, Dylon, and Caleb. “Our deepest thanks for your personal support of our relationship. Na zdraví, cheers!”

We raise our glasses and repeat his cheers in Czech.

“We’ll always support you and Trevor.” Caleb holds up his glass to them, then takes a sip. The kid’s so in awe of Patrik.

The conversation turns to the clothes Trevor sold in his shop besides what was at the runway show. I should’ve made an effort to get there before I left for Sweden. Dylon bought the most comfortable sweatpants I’ve ever felt.

I offer to clear the dinner plates, but Trevor waves me off.

Finn pipes up, “He’s got this. You sit there and look pretty.”

My ears get hot and Finn cackles. He’s not flirting; he’s being Finn, but I’ve never been called pretty, and I immediately wonder if Dylon thinks I’m pretty. I must get over these feelings for my roommate. He’s been distant since we watched a movie in Toronto. It never occurred to me he’d think it was weird to watch from the same bed. We have been in more intimate positions.

Trevor carries out a platter of desserts. There’s an assortment of Czech and American pastries, perfect for sampling. I take one of everything, and Dylon knocks my knee under the table.

“Make sure that doesn’t slow you down for our game.” He takes a huge bite of a koblihy, a Czech donut.

“The game is a few days away,” I grumble as I put a few things back. He knows if I eat all of it, I will get a terrible stomachache.

Cole grabs my attention across the table when he feeds Shane a bite of chocolate from his hand. Shane’s tongue peeks out to lick the remnants from his finger, and my dick plumps up. I’m not used to watching men freely physicallyexpress their love, and inhaling Dylon’s coconut-lime scent is giving my body ideas it shouldn’t have.

“Are you okay?” Dylon leans in.

“Why?” I’m afraid to glance down and see if my hard-on is visible.

“You’re not eating. You always eat dessert as if someone’s trying to steal it from you.” He puts his hand on my arm. “Should I take you home?”

Jag jävlade.“No, I’m fine. Letting my food settle to eat more,” I lie, and he’s skeptical, as if he could read my mind that I fucked up. I force myself to eat all the desserts on my plate. But it’s hard to enjoy when I’m desperately trying to get my hard-on to go down before we leave the table.

My lack of control concerns me.

All I have to do is bring up my worst memory, which is also the main reason I can never tell Dylon how I long for him, and my dick shrivels.

---