Page 92 of Pucked Up

I leaned in toward Boden’s ear. “He means it. One year from now, you’re going to get a very invasive phone call.”

Boden looked up at me for a long moment, then smiled. “I don’t think I’d mind.”

“We love him,” my mom said.

I held Boden’s gaze and nodded. “Me too, Mama. He’s perfect.”

The call went on another twenty minutes where my parents managed to get details about Boden’s former job as a college advisor, his new job as a player for Boston, and I made a note that he and I were going to discuss that later. My parents talked wheelchair tech with him, then invited him over for the summer, which I quickly shut down and said we could discuss that later.

We’d only just decided to stop hate-fucking in my office. A phone call with my parents was not on the agenda, and neither was a goddamn summer vacation in Dijon. Though I didn’t hate the idea of bringing him back home.

I hadn’t been in so many years.

“I liked them,” Boden said in the silence that followed me hanging up. He was shimmying into hisformal trousers since he hadn’t been down to his room yet.

I sighed as I pulled my shirt over my head and tried to order my hair. “I’m glad. I love them a lot. I haven’t seen them much in the last few years, and I feel terrible about it.”

“Can’t relate.” When I glanced at him, he shrugged. “You’ve met my dad, and just imagine my mom is another version of him, except she’s more open with her spite.”

I winced. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I mean, if one of us can have amazing parents, that’s a win, right?”

I supposed so, but it made me angry that Boden grew up resented by the two people genetically meant to love him the most. I walked over once he was on his feet and slid my arms around his waist. He grinned and tipped his head up as I leaned over to kiss him.

“I love that I can do that now,” I told him, “but I do need to know if you mind people figuring it out.”

“Figuring out what? About us? Because I’mverybisexual and have been open about that for years. I know you and Reid were in the closet?—”

“No. No, we weren’t. He always said he was allergic to press, so we kept things quiet to avoid paparazzi following us around.” I shrugged as I slipped into my shoes, then grabbed his crutches from where he’d dropped them. “I just want you to be comfortable.”

“Well, I’d like to tell the guys before the world finds out, but I don’t think most people are going to give two shits about who I am until my contract goes public.”

I swayed further into his space. “About that?—”

“I’m going to take it. I don’t care what Orlando or Portland have on offer. I know you’ll move with me, but I’m not ready to sacrifice time with my family. Boston is a good offer. It’s an amazing offer for a fucking geriatric rookie who?—”

“Was good enough to qualify for the Paralympics twice?” I interrupted, cradling his jaw. “A player who won gold? And the fact that you call yourself geriatric when you’re what, twenty-seven?”

“Twenty-eight in June,” he said with a sniff. “But I’m not eighteen and fresh-faced. I have scars.”

“You won’t be alone,” I reminded him. The PPHL didn’t recruit the same way the NHL did. Maybe they’d get the chance to snag the young and up-and-coming athletes in another decade once they were done finding all the hidden talent that had been passed over before the league existed, but for now, Boden was one of many. So he wouldn’t be alone.

“Kiss me.”

I grinned down at him and obeyed, our lips pressed together, chaste but still so fucking needy.

“Mm. Let’s go to my room so I don’t look like a complete douche canoe at breakfast, then we can try to find Micah and Ford. I want them to know so I can kiss you in public.”

“You’d better let Tucker know too.”

His eyes were bright. “I actually have the perfect idea.”

The guys weren’t in the room when Boden went to change, but it was clear they’d been having a good time. The remnants of a blanket fort were still up between both beds, and there were room service trays lying just outside the door waiting for pickup.

Boden sent a couple of texts, then changed quickly, and we headed down for the buffet, where we found Ford and Micah waiting on a table.

“Dickhead,” Ford said, punching me in the arm. “You scared the piss out of me last night. Tell me you’re okay.”

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