Page 13 of Misconduct Zone

After dinner, we return to the living room for drinks, except for Dylon and me—we opt for water. Patrik sits on the floor in front of Trevor and drapes Trevor’s legs over his shoulder so he can rest his head on his thigh.

Of course, Shane sits in Cole’s lap again, and I stand by the window. There’s a physical ache when I watch them. Turning to see the night sky doesn’t help because I can see the happy couples’ reflection in the glass. It’s too much.

So I say to Dylon, “You were right. I am not feeling well. I’ll get a car home. You should stay.”

But my best friend is concerned about me and insists we leave together. Being together is what I want most and is the very thing that will ruin everything, but I fear telling him I need space will hurt him.

Chapter 8

Dylon

“We should ditch driving and get a car service like Liska. He’s got the life, sitting in the backseat chillin’ on the way to practice and back.” I move the seat of our rental car all the way back, but my legs cramp in the tiny space. Lars’s car is in the shop for maintenance, and although he reserved an SUV, he got a compact car.

He grumbles in Swedish, gives me the once over, and tells me to buckle up in English. I search for something else to say to keep the conversation going. I’m never at a loss for words, but things are off between us. Last night he hardly spoke and forced himself to eat dessert. The man loves his sweets more than anything except hockey.

Traffic moves at a glacial pace, souring his already bad mood.

Lars blares the horn. “What are people waiting for? Move,” he hollers at the stopped cars ahead. “We are going to be late.” His grip tightens on the wheel, causing the tendons in his forearms to pop, and I swallow, turning to the window.

The temperature is mild, but the wind has a chill and neither of us is wearing a jacket. I fiddle with the heat for something to do, then pull out my phone.

“I texted Ace and Coach about the traffic,” I say without adding a witty comment. Last night when we got home from Patrik and Trevor’s place, Lars went straight to his bedroom after a silent ride home. I have a sinking suspicion he’s avoiding me.

It’s not like he can read my mind. He doesn’t know that I’m suddenly noticing everything about him. Being so close, our arms periodically touch, and his movements bring wafts of his sweet smell, fanning flickers of lust. I’ve been extremely careful to act normal around him.

“You think I should get rid of my car?” Lars circles back to my original comment, and it takes me a second to catch up.

“No, yes, crap.” I laugh. “I didn’t think it through, imagining us stretched out in luxury in the back instead of eating our knees in the front seat of a deathtrap.” We’re too big to travel the hour to practice in this car.

“I like my car.”

“Me too. But this rental’s the worst.” I keep the main reason to myself—that as close as we are, I’d like to be closer. These urges have come out of the blue and confuse me.

Last night fucked up my head. The way Patrik and Trevor touched each other unearthed a yearning to have someone special in my life. Someone to share inside jokes with. I’m expressive and crave physical affection. The way Trevor rested his head on Patrik’s shoulder and how Patrik sat on the floor between Trevor’s legs with his head on his thigh…

It turned me on, and that’s unusual. Out in the city, I’ve witnessed men kissing as if the world was on fire. I’ve walked into bathrooms and heard sex noises. None of that turned me on. And I’m not interested in either Trevor or Patrik.

But my mind drifted to being with a man. Inappropriate thoughts popped into my head about how Cole’s cock had to be nestled between Shane’s ass cheeks the way they were sitting.

Something flipped a switch in me, and I’m confused if I’m lonely or, at age twenty-four, I’m suddenly attracted to men. Throughout my career, I’ve seen lots of really good-looking men naked and never once had a sexual thought. It’s like having puzzle pieces but no picture to help me put them together.

“The roads are clearing up,” Lars says, and I glance at his profile.

He’s always clean-shaven and put together. Even when he wears sweats for practice, his clothes are always wrinkle-free. Mine look like I pulled them out of a hamper.

“What?” His eyes dart to mine. “Why are you staring?”

“Can’t a guy look at his roommate and daydream about one day being an excellent driver like him?” Words randomly fall out of my mouth. As we leave the city, there are more trees, and the leaves are turning bright colors. Most of the time, I use the drive to watch film, or we discuss the team. Today, neither of us talks hockey.

“Enjoy your daydreams.” He smirks and pats my leg.

My chest heaves, and he pretends not to notice. Lars doesn’t touch people. He’s not against being touched, but he’s never the one to hold out his hand first for a handshake or a fist bump and hugs are a foreign concept to him.

My thigh catches fire where his palm rests for a fraction of a second.

My head’s a jumble, but my heart and body want more.

The mess in my brain needs answers, and I chickened out. I figure a great way to test if I’m into guys is to watch gay porn. It’s easy to google and find free sites, but last night my hand hovered over the play button forever before I finally closed the tab.

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