“You can borrow some of mine.”
The panic leaves his gaze, and I smile at him. “There are some benefits of being with a guy, huh?”
He gives an awkward laugh, and I swallow back a sigh. I know Noah is attracted to me, but I also know it’s out of convenience. When we’re no longer married, will he eagerly go back to a woman? He doesn’t like the attention of the press, and we have a lot of attention.
Paparazzi realize we are a dependable fixture. Our pictures appear on sports blogs and LGBT blogs and finally all sorts of blogs. We have a scrapbook of our relationship, spread over blogs and articles, though it mostly consists of imperfectly lit and framed snaps. I won’t say unflattering, because Noah always looks amazing, because he is Noah.
We are the biggest sports couple in the country, thanks to Tanaka’s elevation of us. I am famous, and so is he.
Our game is also good. Everything in life is perfect, except the awareness that this is limited. The rest of this year will be the highpoint of my life, and I focus on everything good, the sweetness of Noah’s lips, the feel of his muscular body against mine, knowing we are throttling toward the end.
I travel often, and I have no doubt that Boston is the most perfect city in the world. It has an ocean and a river, and historic townhouses, contemporary skyrises, and groomed parks in between.
I love it.
Noah and I explore the city together when we are not playing hockey, not training for playing hockey, and not in each other’s arms.
Sometimes I think I should talk to Noah about having more time together. About stretching this marriage as far as we can imagine into the future, to a time when hockey won’t want anything from us, when our bodies will have filled out and our muscles will have slackened, when we can count the creases in our faces, when we won’t be able to count the gray in our hair, because we will have so much.
But most of all I want Noah to be happy. He is agreeable, and I don’t want him to make me promises he does not want to keep.
And so I am silent. Fortunately, I have Noah’s lips to drown myself in and the hot seed from his cock which I am ever more skilled at drawing out.
I am happy.
But I want him to be free.
That’s why I decide I need to pay a visit to good old dad. More specifically, I need some lawyerly advice.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Noah
I AM NOT NERVOUS ABOUTattending a wedding with Finn. No, absolutely not.
I am not nervous when I put on my tuxedo, and I am not nervous when Finn puts on his tuxedo, and my stomach turns to butterflies.
Because he so might notice that I’m so far gone for him. Finn looks hot in his tux. The black fabric makes his golden-brown hair look even more vibrant.
“You know what would be more worthwhile than going to this wedding?” I ask.
“What?”
“Testing the mattress. See if the springs are evenly distributed.”
Finn’s eyes round, and I swear to God, he licks his lips.
“Ugh.” Finn swivels around, and his hand drops to his crotch. “Maybe when we get back.”
“Fine.” I try not to pout. From the tender look that flashes through his eyes, I doubt I succeed.
He cups my cheek, and oh yes, this is wonderful. “We’re going to have a great time.”
“It’s a wedding.”
“Lots of people get married when they’re our age. It won’t be the only one we attend.”
“Really? This year?”
