Page 11 of Top Shelf
“Something like that.” I didn’t want to get into it. I was as happy with my life as I would ever be now, but the idea of talking about my new life because I’d had my old one ripped away from me with a fresh NHL prospect made me feel like I was choking on razor blades. And I didn’t want to do that.
Not here.
Not with him.
Then I realized he was quiet and holding his breath.
“Hey, Ferris?”
He smiled at me and exhaled. “I don’t hear my name very often.”
“What do people call you?”
“Mostly dude or bruh.” He sagged his lower lip in exaggeration on the last one. “Or Reddy. Not the most clever nickname, but whatever.”
I snorted. “Yeah. Mine was Rhodie. I got a lot of sex jokes thrown at me whenever we’d go on roadies.”
“I—oh.” His cheeks pinked again. “I get it.”
Rolling my eyes, I leaned back and bent my functional leg, kicking my foot up on the table. “The one thing that might be a comfort is that your team is going to be like one massive frat house. Except you will all live in different places.”
“This one person I talked to told me I was probably going to have a roommate,” he said, twisting his fingers again. “I was hoping to have my own place. Um. You know? Because it’s been four long years of dorms and the frat house—and it’s been okay, but I like it when it’s quiet.”
Before I was even aware of it, I’d reached out and brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. Shit. Shit. His eyes widened, and he stiffened a little, but he didn’t pull back.
“Sorry. You had. Uh.” I swallowed. “Hair.”
“I have some of that, yeah.” Instead of leaning back away from me, he leaned forward again until my fingertips grazed hisskin. “Felt nice. Sometimes I want to be a cat. I could just be pet all day and purr and knead my claws in stuff and get fed.”
I trailed the touch down the edge of his jaw, and his eyes fluttered closed. This was…this was a mistake. It was going to be a mistake. It had the potential to be fucking gorgeous and lush and balls-emptyingly delicious.
And frankly, I’d probably never see him again. I’d leave the chat so I didn’t have to see his name pop up, and in all honesty, I wasn’t really interested in conversing with everyone else. They’d talked me into the photoshoot because I was a retired player, and I was trying to prove to myself that I could do this.
That I could be around pros in any sport and not feel like my guts were slowly being ripped out of a laparoscopic hole in my skin.
It had half worked.
I had no real regrets, but I didn’t want to participate again either. It was still painful.
Which was a fucking wonder I was soothed at all right now, staring at Ferris with his long, long career ahead of him. He would succeed where some asshole behind the wheel ensured I didn’t. And a small, possessive part of me wanted to stick around and make sure that happened for him.
Which was absolutely goddamn ridiculous. I didn’t even know him.
Clearing my throat softly, I pulled my hand back.
“Do you have a cat?”
I blinked, startled by the question. “Uh. No. No pets.”
He tilted his head to the side, then reached out and pressed his hand to the center of my chest. Warmth rushed through me so powerful and so intense I felt dizzy. “I think you’d like having a cat.”
“Not sure it’s for me. I’ve been busy with finishing up my degree and everything else.”
He blinked slowly. “Did you join any frats or clubs?”
I laughed. I didn’t mean to, and I hoped to god he didn’t think I was laughing at him. “No, sweetheart. No. I’m too much of an old man for that.”
His hand lifted away from my chest, then brushed along my temple, where I knew my hair was coarse and grey. I’d gone grey early there. I used to love it. It was unique. Now, I was like every man creeping toward middle age.
