The edge had gone from his voice, so I watched him get dressed and pull on his shoes. I couldn’t think of anything to say, just like when we’d walked to his hotel in New York. Finally, I came up with, “I had a fantastic time. Do you think we’ll… do it again?”
What the fuck? Am I riding an emotional seesaw?
“If you want to.” He smiled. “I’ll be up for it anytime.”
I couldn’t help snickering. “I’m sure I’ll be up too.”
He snorted and pulled out his phone. When he opened the Uber app, I said, “It’s three o’clock, so you may not get one. I’ll drive you home.”
After tapping the screen a few times, he smiled. “They’ll be here in five. I’d better go wait outside.”
“I guess.”
We went back into the house, and I walked him to the door. As it closed behind him, I leaned back and banged my head against the wall. He had just left, and I was already craving him again.
Chapter 6
Sven
I slumped at the table,waging a quiet battle against depression while I shoveled cereal into my mouth. Last night with Pip had been incredible, until it wasn’t. I had a great time with him at the bar, finding no trace of the arrogant prick some people claimed he was. Instead, I’d found myself captivated by his warmth, humor, and unexpected depth. He’d been hurt—by his ex-wife, and maybe by life as well—but he seemed determined to carry on and find a way to be happy.
He was also sexy as hell and hung like a horse. After we went to his house, the night took on a dream-like quality, and the sex had been nothing less than spectacular. Our chemistry was off the charts, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had such a phenomenal time with anyone. There was no doubt he enjoyed himself too. The load he pumped down my throat told me two things: it had been a while since he’d been that excited, and being that excited meant he probably wasn’t as straight as he wanted everyone to think, including himself.
And the things he did to me?Herregud!I hadn’t come that hard in ages. His hands worked magic on my cock, and when hestarted playing with my ass, I was done. My orgasm shattered me. The hurt and loneliness of the past months had been washed away in the flood of cum and satisfaction that became my world for a brief moment. But things went sideways when his face changed. The doubt—guilt, I’d heard some men call it—swept in and carried Pip away.
Why, then, hadn’t I controlled myself? Instead of giving him space, I ruined everything by trying to kiss him. I’d wanted to say thank you and let him know how much I’d enjoyed the intimacy. Instead, I launched a full-blown gay freakout.
It had stung when he denied me a kiss only minutes after we’d been about as intimate as two people can get. “Not with guys,” he’d said, as if that made any sense.
“Jävla helvete!”Completely unsatisfied, I tried again in English. “Fucking hell!”
Feeling no better, I stared into my empty cereal bowl and felt sorry for myself. Even anonymous hookups usually appreciated a goodnight kiss. Wouldn’t most people like knowing they were more than just someone I’d gotten off with? Hookups didn’t need to be romantic, but when they happened between friends, there should be a certain level of affection. Right?
Maybe he didn’t consider me a friend. Worry wound its way around my heart, combining with the ache of his rejection to create a perfect shitstorm of confusion. I guess if a supposedly straight guy shoots his load into your mouth, then jacks you off and sticks his finger up your ass, it could make it hard for him to hang out and see the city.
Will his panic make him ignore me? Once the guilt wears off, what then? Maybe he’ll want to get together for sex, then pretend we don’t know each other the rest of the time.
But the kiss, damn it. I kept coming back to that. When he’d said, “Not with guys,” I heard, “Not with you.” Now, I couldn’t get it out of my head.
Why is it such a big deal? You’ve been with other presumably straight guys who didn’t want to kiss.
Yes, but I didn’t know them. And I didn’t already like them too much.
I buried my face in my hands because his rejection stung. It reminded me of all the dates and boyfriends who wanted anything I could give them except caring. My lifelong dream had been to find the right man, someone who thought relationships went both ways and involved mutual affection and support—and maybe someday, even love.
My stomach clenched. Was the night with Pip simply another stop on my extensive tour of disappointments? Maybe, but this time, there was a major difference. Pip didn’t care about the material things I could offer him because he could buy them all on his own. Had he merely wanted to experiment with someone, to see what it was like having sex with another hockey player?
Fuck it. Needing to get my thoughts off him, I put my bowl in the dishwasher, then headed downstairs to the gym. After an upper-body workout followed by an hour on the treadmill, I was so tired I practically crawled back to my apartment for a lukewarm shower and a nap.
It was about 4:30 p.m. when I came around, and there was still nothing from Pip on my phone. I was tired of waiting for him to get in touch, so I typed out a message.
SVEN: Have you had a good day? Want to meet for dinner?
My finger hovered over the Send button while I hesitated. Not wanting to spook him by suggesting an immediate get-together, I erased that message and tried others.
SVEN: What’s up today? You been tending the royal garden?
I could do better. He might think that was lame.
