Page 49 of Puck Me Thrice
"Can't sleep," Logan and I said simultaneously.
"Me neither," Nolan admitted.
A third door opened. Blake appeared, his hair messy from lying down but his eyes fully alert.
"Blake too?" I asked.
"I heard voices," he said, which explained nothing and everything.
The four of us stood in the hotel hallway at nearly 1 AM, all suffering from insomnia, all clearly wanting the same thing but unsure how to ask for it given the complicated nature.
"My room," Nolan said finally, taking charge in that captain way. "We'll review game footage. Totally professional."
"Right," Logan said, not even trying to hide his smile. "Professional game footage review at 1 AM."
"Completely normal," Blake added.
We filed into Nolan's room—which was identical to mine except for the scattered hockey gear and the laptop already open to game footage. The four of us settled onto the bed and surrounding chairs, ostensibly to watch video but really just to be near each other.
The proximity in the small hotel room created unbearable tension. We were trying to maintain professional distance while our bodies naturally gravitated together—shoulders touching, legs pressed against each other, the space between us shrinking with each passing minute.
The pretense of reviewing footage lasted approximately twenty minutes before a particularly violent hit on Logan during the replayed game made me unconsciously grab both Nolan and Blake's hands for comfort.
The physical contact broke our restraint.
Nolan turned to me, his eyes dark with want and something deeper. "Mira."
"Yes?"
"Can I kiss you?"
I was still holding Blake's hand on one side and Nolan was inches from my face and Logan was sitting at my feet watching us with an expression of fascination and desire.
"Yes," I whispered.
Nolan kissed me while I still held the others' hands, creating a moment of shared intimacy that felt natural rather than awkward. Blake's grip tightened on my fingers. Logan's hand found my ankle, his thumb stroking my skin through my socks.
When Nolan pulled back, Logan was already moving, settling beside me on the bed, his hands finding my face with familiar confidence.
"My turn," he said, and kissed me with the kind of intensity that made my toes curl.
Blake waited patiently, but when he finally kissed me, it was with a reverence that made my chest tight. His large hands cradled my face like I was something precious.
The four of us created a unit on that hotel bed—touching, kissing, exploring with hands and mouths and whispered confessions.
"I love how strong you are," Nolan murmured against my neck. "How you disguise steel as delicacy."
"I love your brain," Logan said, his fingers tracing patterns on my arm. "How you analyze everything but also care so deeply about people."
"I love how you protect everyone," Blake added quietly. "How fierce you are when someone threatens your people."
I was overwhelmed by their words, their touch, their presence surrounding me like a living shield.
"I feel complete with all three of you," I admitted. "Each of you fulfills different needs I never knew existed. Nolan challenges me intellectually and pushes me to be stronger. Logan understands my anxiety and makes me laugh when I'm spiraling. Blake makes me feel safe and seen in ways I've never experienced."
The exploration remained relatively innocent by some standards—kissing, touching over clothes, whispered confessions that felt more intimate than physical acts. But the emotional honesty exceeded anything I'd experienced before.
Eventually, though, innocent touching wasn't enough.
