Page 25 of Script
“Oh, wow, is he gay?” I asked, then amended my question. “Or bi, or pan, I mean I wouldn’t label.”
Cameron rolled his eyes. “No.”
“Oh.” Then, what was the point of him bringing this man up?
“I don’t know if King is queer. He could be. But that’s not the point. The point is that even with your movie muscles,youcouldn’t make me doanything.”
Understanding hit me.
“Oh.”
He placed his cell down, then stood and caged me against the counter, leaning in until his lips were close to my ear. “I wanted to hold your hand,” he murmured, then before I could do anything but let out a sound that was a mix betweenfuckandmeep, he stepped back and out of my reach. “Let me show you something.”
He walked away, and after I adjusted my pants, I followed him.
Chapter8
Cameron
This right here was trouble witha capital F, and that stood for Finn.
Finn Kerrigan was trouble. He was a closeted gay man who was in no way, shape, or fucking form ready to come out. I avoided that type of situation as if it were an unexploded land mine. People hiding their sexuality were one wrong step away from being blown apart, and not in the good oral sex way. Just look at the uproar over Elias Lake not that long ago. Not that I would expose Finn like Lake had been outed. That had been vicious. But if we continued this, and I had no doubt that we would because here we were continuing it, eventually someone would step off the secret path and KABOOM!
My career would be fine. I’d never hidden my sexuality. I’d not made a banner or waved it around, but I dated who I wished when I wished, always keeping things within the rather narrow and slow-to-adjust rules of the league. The Storm brass, and the league itself, had no concerns over my life off the ice. There were straight players who got into a wholehellof a lot more trouble than this queer man ever could.
So yeah, if things went boom, I’d be fine for the most part. Probably, people would think I was something special to snare a catch like Finn Kerrigan. Finn, on the other hand…
I paused outside the door to my gym, debating if I should send Finn home or show him my exercise room. I’d started this trip through my place to make a point about how he wasn’t guilty of anything because I was more than strong enough to fend any unwanted advance off. But, as always happened with us, as soon as we were in the same zip code, the drive to pin him down and lick every nook and cranny on his big, strong body took over.
I closed my eyes, attempted to curb the rampaging lust, then blew out a breath before I turned to face him. He was right there. Like, within touching range, wearing an expression that made me weak in the knees. Hunger, uncertainty, and trust all registered in those baby-blues. It was the faith that spun me in circles.
“Do you trust me?” I asked, the question tumbling out unbidden.
He nodded. A simple gesture, a quick bob of the head, but it hit me like a sledgehammer.
“I trust you,” he verified, his sight dancing from me to the door. “Is that your bedroom?”
“No, it’s my gym.” I reached back to fling the door open. He peeked around me. “I work out every day, Finn. I play a contact sport. I have a kickboxing trainer who comes in weekly. There is no way you could force me to touch you. Do you believe me now?”
He drank in the gym, the bench press and the weight bag, the glide board, and the hand weights on a rack, the elliptical, the treadmill, and the stationary bike. After he saw it all, he glanced at me. The uncertainty had disappeared. That was good.
“I believe you.”
I reached out to touch him. “Is this okay?”
He didn’t move as my fingers found his cheek. I gave his scruffy jaw a caress. Something inside me shifted in a monumental way. This man trusted me with his livelihood by letting me touch him. Yes, I had signed a general NDA, but that was nothing in this equation. Finn had gravitated into my orbit, pulled in like a wandering asteroid. A collision course of heavenly bodies was about to take place. I could feel it in the air—a shimmer of attraction that had us both breathing hard at the mere touch of fingertips to face.
“Do youwantto hold my hand again?” I asked, my voice raspy with desire.
“Yes,” he answered on a whisper, and we laced fingers.
Oh yes, we do have us some trouble in the City of Angels. River City had nothing on what was about to go down here. I tugged him to me, or he came toward me, I wasn’t sure, then we came together with no further words spoken, his mouth meeting mine, no telling who initiated the kiss. Both of us had—it was just that simple and possibly catastrophic.
“Can I…” he asked in a soft voice.
“What?”
“Touch you? Can I… can I do that?”
