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Chapter 1
NOAH
The first time I met Luke Alexander he was getting his dick sucked under the mistletoe in my dining room. By a guy. Luke was my older brother’s college roommate. Justin had brought him home freshman year for the holidays because Luke was from Oregon and his family couldn’t afford his plane ticket home.
I was seventeen. He was nineteen. It was the twenty-third of December. My dad was on a business trip, coming home the next morning. My brother had invited some old high school friends over. Everyone got drunk, including me. No one was able to drive home so there were people sleeping all over the living room. Justin and a girl had locked themselves in my dad’s room, which left his bed, in the room he shared with me, empty. Luke had taken it, and Steve, my brother’s high school friend, had taken the floor between our beds. I woke up at four in the morning alone in the room with a pounding headache. I’m a bit (to say the least) overzealous when it comes to not letting people drink and drive, so I got up to make sure all the keys Justin and I had confiscated were still in the fruit bowl in the kitchen.
They were. No one had left. But I didn’t find out by looking. I found out by walking into the dining room and finding Steve on his knees, with his mouth wrapped around Luke’s dick and a hand cupping Luke’s round, muscled, bare ass.
I stood there, speechless, mouth hanging open, eyes bugging right out of my head. It was Steve who noticed me first. He stopped bobbing up and down on Luke’s very long, very thick dick. What did it taste like? How did it feel? Judging by the bulge of the front of Steve’s boxer briefs I’m guessing the answer to those questions was, ‘Pretty damn good’.
When Steve stopped bobbing, Luke looked over his shoulder to where I stood in the entryway from the front hall. “Hey.”
That’s all he said. Hey. Like he was greeting one of his teammates as they entered the locker room to get ready for a college hockey game. Hey. No one had bothered to turn off the Christmas lights outside, that lined the porch in excess, across the front and down every single column, so the light reflected into the house. Luke’s high cheekbones and naturally tanned skin glowed red then green in a chaotic rhythm. My heart was beating in that same chaotic rhythm as my eyes darted from Luke’s face, to Steve’s, to Luke’s dick, which now stood at attention, getting no attention from Steve’s mouth anymore.
“We left the bedroom to not traumatize you,” Luke says finally, breaking the oddly thick silence. “So do you mind going back to bed and acting like this never happened, please?”
I blinked. Inhaled sharply and scurried, like a scared mouse, back to my room. Then I spent the next seven days avoiding the living hell out of Luke Alexander while simultaneously letting him occupy my every waking thought. And wondering why I got hard, and had to jerk off, every time I replayed the scene in my head.
I’m twenty-four now and that moment, that image, is still frequently pulled out of the spank bank when I’m rubbing one out. I’m ashamed to admit I’ve even thought about it while I’ve been having sex to push me over the edge. Sex with women, because I haven’t had sex with men. Yet. I haven’t even kissed one. Yet. But I think about it way more than a straight guy would, which is how I know I’m bisexual.
I haven’t told anyone yet because I haven’t had the balls to confirm my assumptions. But then, I got traded. And I found myself spending every day and night in the presence of the person who made me question my sexuality in the first place. My brother’s old friend was my new Captain.
I was drafted into the NHL when I was twenty by the Portland Riptide. I’ve been playing hockey since I was three, and my whole life hinged on that one goal. I mean, not to anyone else, but to me. My dad constantly told me I’d be fine if I didn’t get drafted. But I wanted it so badly and the idea of failing at the one dream I’ve ever had was devastating. I got drafted one-hundredth overall. Not great, but not bad. I had accomplished my dream.
I played on the fucking farm team for two years before being moved up to play for the Riptide. I was holding my own on the second line. Middle of the pack, I guess, but better than the bottom. But two weeks ago, on the first day of December, my agent called and told me the news. I had been traded to the Las Vegas Vipers. I was on a plane that night and at practice in my new arena the next morning.
Being ignored by Luke.
It was so obvious that Luke was ignoring me that my new teammates started to ask questions. Stuff like ‘what’s up with you and Alexander?’ Or ‘did you guys fight during a game when you played in Van or something? He clearly doesn’t like you’. It was awkward and I began to worry the coaches would bring it up. But I wasn’t sure how to fix it. I mean, how do you broach the subject? Walk up to him post-game, in the shower, or while we’re taking the team bus back to the hotel or airport, and be like ‘Hey, so I’m sorry I interrupted your blow job back in the day, but…’ But… what? That was the question. Was that moment really the reason Luke Alexander was ignoring me now?
Finally, on a road trip just before our holiday break, I decided to find out. We were playing in Maine against the Portland Riptide. The team had arrived a day early, which we did a lot with cross-country trips. My brother and father were coming into town tonight to take me and Luke, who had remained friends with Justin, to dinner. And I really didn’t want that to be as awkward as everything else had been since I joined his team, so that’s why I’m currently knocking on his hotel room door.
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