“Amazingly good.”
Jason grins so wide, I don’t know how I ever thought him grumpy.
And after I’ve eaten only some of the desserts, because Jason has a refrigerator and I’m planning on coming to his place again, I flip him over, fueled by sugar and spices, and have my way with him.
JASON
I wake up snuggled against Cal’s chest, his arms clasped around me. The world is warm and wonderful, and I play my fingers against the scattering of hair on his broad chest.
His eyes flick open, and he gives me a sleepy smile; I give him a sheepish one.
“Were you watching me sleep, Larvik?” Cal asks.
“What?” I feign innocence, then duck beneath the covers where dark, knowing, smirking eyes can’t see me.
It’s extra warm here, and I head for Cal’s bulge. I feel my way around the covers, until I find his briefs and fumble my way around.
“Jason,” Cal says, voice soft and strained. I slide his briefs down, then swallow his head. “Fuck.”
I grin as Cal curses, then focus again on Cal’s cock. I suck and lick. I fondle his balls. I hum and suck harder.
And when Cal bucks and comes, hot seed spurting in my mouth, I swallow everything. Cal pulls me from the covers, his eyes fond, and wipes the cum from my lips with wonder, then kisses me.
“Good morning, significant other,” I say.
Cal chuckles and pulls me to the shower, and then there’s much making out, then Cal shows me his prowess with his tongue and throat.
CHAPTER FORTY
Jason
THE LOCKER ROOM HUMSwith post-practice chatter and thuds of lockers slamming shut. I’m toweling off when Coach walks in with someone behind him.
At first, I don’t register the guy’s face. Just the fact he’s got slick dark hair, and looks like he stepped off a magazine shoot.
Wait.
I squint. “What the hell is a Los Angeles player doing in our locker room?”
The room quiets fast. Troy straightens next to me, eyes narrowing. Axel turns around and freezes.
“This is Enzo Bellanti,” Coach announces. “He’s joining us for the remainder of the season. He received special clearance from the league to transfer early, given Dmitri Volkov’s... situation.”
The moment the name “Enzo” leaves Coach’s mouth, Axel drops his water bottle. It hits the floor with a loud clack.
He doesn’t pick it up.
Axel stares at Bellanti like he half expects Bellanti to pull out a machete and slice up our uniforms.
Bellanti’s face pales. His lips thin. “Good to be here.”
No one breathes.
“This is ridiculous.” Axel glowers at Coach. “You’re making a huge mistake. This man is untrustworthy. He’s here to sabotage us.”
Coach and Bellanti exchange a glance, and I dress quickly.
“You two need to talk,” Coach says. “No one is in the arena now...”
