“Can I help you?” I ask.

  The smile deepens. He tugs on his Ray-Bans. “You look like a fucking Funfetti cake.”

  I glance down at my outfit. My favorite yellow sneaks. Watermelon-pink joggers. A pale-blue T-shirt that brings out my eyes. Lifting my chin, I stroll toward the front door and throw it open. “I’ll have you know I like Funfetti cake.”

  I feel Gavin’s eyes on me from behind. “So do I.”

  After yanking the door shut behind us, I lock it, then pocket the key. He’s still watching me behind the Ray-Bans, his stare intense. I clear my throat and point ahead. “This way’s a nice, even walk. No hills. A one-mile loop. That work?”

  He glances in the direction I’ve pointed, then nods. “Yeah.”

  “Fine! I mean, good. Excellent. Great. Here we go.” God, I’m a nervous wreck.

  Starting ahead of Gavin, I look for a tree to bang my head into and knock myself out before I can open my mouth again and make a bigger fool of myself.

  But something about his silent, steady presence as we start to walk begins to settle me. He’s quiet as we make our way, remaining half a step behind me. I keep my stride slow and leisurely, hoping I’ve set a comfortable pace for him, drinking in the view. It’s my favorite time of year here—warm, golden sunshine, glossy green grass, a cool blue sky dappled with cotton-ball clouds.

  A canopy of blossoms clusters the trees overhead, and the wind makes them rain a gale of petals. Snow white, lemon yellow, palest pink, they float from the sky, swirling around us.

  As I gaze up, drinking in the sight, I feel Gavin’s hand wrap around mine. “Oliver.”

  I turn and face him, heart jackhammering in my chest. “You okay? Need to go back? Gotta pee?”

  He steps closer, his eyes searching mine. “No. But I do need to ask you something.”

  I nod. Too fast. Too many times. My heart’s pounding right out of my chest. Gently, Gavin sets his hand over my heart, soothing it. “Take a breath,” he says quietly.

  I nod again, forcing myself to take a deep, slow breath in, then out.

  “Good.” He steps closer still, drifting his hand up my chest, to my neck, until he cups my face. “Now. Stop running off.”

  My eyes widen. “I…I’m not. Not that you have any place to lecture me on that.”

  His eyes search mine. His throat works with a swallow. “That’s fair. But I’m here to change that.”

  “You are?”

  “Oliver…” He frowns. Suspicion seems to tighten his expression. “Wait…you don’t…you don’t know why I’m here.”

  I shake my head. “I’m so confused—”

  “Jesus.” He drops his head and sighs heavily. “You didn’t watch all of it, did you?”

  “All of what?” I ask, beyond confused.

  “The press conference.” He lifts his head and meets my eyes, his thumb gentling my cheek. “All of the press conference. You said you watched it.”

  I blink, wracking my brain. “You’d just opened it up to questions, that’s when I stopped. Because…you were here. You were banging on my door. That mattered more.”

  “Fuck,” he groans. Now he looks both relieved and also deeply nervous. “Okay. Yeah. Well, that helps. I feel a little better.”

  “Gavin.” I grab him by the shirt. “Please just tell me what the hell is going on.”

  He smiles softly, his expression tinged with nerves as he runs his hands through my hair, along my temple, ghosts his thumb over the shell of my ear. “I pictured you being more off-the-grid here, unable to watch the press conference, so I thought I’d beat you to the punch. I’d planned to say it myself, but then I got here and you said that you’d seen it, and then I was relieved. Because I’m a fucking coward. And now you’re saying you haven’t seen it—”

  “For the love of God, Gavin Hayes, tell me what the hell you’re talking about!”

  He yanks me close, until our mouths are inches away from each other, our chests heaving. Like that day in the locker room, heat billowing between us, intensity flashing in his eyes. His gaze drifts down to my mouth, then drifts back up, holding mine. “I love you.”

  I grip his shirt tighter, leaning into him. “What?”

  He walks us back, slowly, like a dance, until I’m pressed against the trunk of a massive old tree, until Gavin’s pinning me against it. “I said, I love you. And I know I haven’t done much to inspire your confidence in those words coming from me. I don’t have experience with this. I don’t know what I’m doing. And I’m fucking scared as shit, because I don’t know how it will end or if we’ll come out winners, and I fucking hate even the thought of losing, let alone losing something so precious, losing you.

  “I know I might be too late. I might not even have you to lose in the first place, but if I let one more day go by without taking a chance, telling you what you mean to me—that I love you more than a ball beneath my feet or the heart in my chest—that would be the greatest loss of all.”

  Once again he brings his hand to my heart and says, quiet, reverent, as he searches my eyes, “This past month, all I’ve wanted is to wrap you in my arms, drag you to bed, and never let you go. To cook with you and watch you sing along to musicals and give you hell for your eyeball-singeing wardrobe, but I had to do this first, Oliver. I had to face what will be: the end for me and the beginning for you. I had to watch you have everything that I’d lost and know I could do it, to prove to us both that while I loved soccer, I love you better, best, beyond.

  “This past month has been agony, wanting you, feeling nothing but love and pride, but it’s shown me what I can do—that I can share this world with you, be happy for you, cheer you on, that it will never come between us like I once let it.”

  Oh God. The pieces fall into place, that night when we were so close and yet he once again pushed me away, the weeks following, full of only professionalism and politeness. They were all for this moment. For us.

  I cup his face, my voice is unsteady. “You’re sure? I don’t want to hurt you. I never want my life, my world, to hurt you. I couldn’t take it.”

  He leans into my touch. “You won’t. I told you how I spent the past month, and I’ve spent the past two years confronting it then, too. Two years facing what you are and will be, what I have been and never will be again.”

  “But you didn’t love me all that time,” I point out.

  His mouth tips in a wry smile as he drifts his knuckles along my cheek. “Didn’t I?”

  Thank God I’m leaning against a tree. I’d fall on my ass otherwise. “What?”

  “Oliver. It was distance myself or drop to my knees and fall at your feet,” he says roughly as he leans into me, as our bodies touch and ache. “I saw you and felt like you’d blasted a hole in my chest. I couldn’t let myself feel how much I wanted you, admired you, longed for you. Not when you had everything in your clutches that was slipping through my fingers.”

  Tears blur my vision. I stare at him, stunned, thrilled, disbelieving. “I didn’t know,” I whisper.

  “I didn’t either,” he admits. “Not at first. Not for a good while. I knew you made me feel like my blood was on fire and my heart was incinerating my chest, like I was battling this consuming feverish something that I felt only for you. It was so easy to call it hatred for your gain while I lost, to fixate on my resentment and envy of you, to never look too close or too long. When I finally had to, when Coach shoved us together and forced me to face you head-on, and I realized, God help me, what I was up against, I buried those feelings like I’ve always buried uncomfortable, unclear shit.”

  I remember what he said that night in my house, when both of us admitted how badly we wanted each other, when I was almost as stunned and surprised by his admission as I am now:

  I am very, very good at hiding what I want and feel and need.

  “I wanted you, too,” I tell him quietly, twirling a soft, dark lock of his hair around my finger, spinning it, savoring how close he is, not just his body, but his heart, all of him. “I have. For so long.”

  His eyes search mine, cautious, hopeful. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” I say through the knot in my throat.

  “I know I’ve given you reason to doubt me, Oliver, but I promise that’s behind us. I’m here. I’m yours.” He brings my hand to his chest. “I promise it all—my body, my soul, my life, for you, everything for you, to care for you and love you, if you’ll let me. You’re the fucking sunrise of my heart, love. All I need is to wake up beside you, to hold your hand and keep you steady when you need me, to watch you with pride and admiration, to give you hell for not being more selfish on the field and too generous off of it. I love you. Do you believe me?”

  Nodding, frantic, I tell him, “Yes.”

  I pull him close, kiss him soft and slow, and he kisses me, too, his mouth firm, smooth, so gentle, remembering mine. “I love you,” I tell him. “I love you so much.”

  Air rushes from his lungs as he wraps me in his arms. “God, Oliver, I want you. I want to make you happy. And I want to be happy, too, or at least, not completely miserable.”

  I smile against our kiss, running my hands through his hair. A groan tears out of his throat as he presses me against the tree. “I’ve missed you,” I whisper.

  “I’ve missed you, too,” he growls. “After that awful press conference nonsense, I couldn’t get here fast enough.”

  A contented sigh falls out of me as he kisses me again, the corner of my mouth, my cheek. “You’re really here.”

  “I’m really here.” Dragging his hands down my waist, he clutches my hips.

  I bury my hands in his hair, kiss him, feverish, hungry. “I love you,” I tell him. “And I’m terrified.”

  He pulls back only enough to meet my eyes and search them. “Of what, love?”

  I swallow roughly. “Of how much.”

  His eyes soften. He nods. “Me, too. I’m rubbish at this. But I’m learning. I’ll be better. You’ll be able to count on me, Oliver. I’m not going anywhere. Do you trust me?”

  “I trust you.” And I do. I trust him. I believe in him. Because when Gavin Hayes sets his mind and heart to something, he does it without reservation, pouring out everything he has. Somehow, I became what he set his mind and heart to. Somehow, I’m the one he loves.

  Gavin smiles, tender, adoring, a rare spark of light in those dark eyes, only for me. “Now, what do you say we go back,” he says. “And this time, you show me your bed?”

  29

  OLIVER

  Playlist: “Young and Beautiful,” Glass Animals

  Standing at the threshold of my room, Gavin frowns at the twin bed. “Hmm.”

  I laugh, biting my lip. “Yeah.”

  “Never mind.” Taking my hand, he drags me out of the room, down the hall. He’s slow down the stairs, careful. It makes my heart pinch, worry collapsing my chest.

  “Stop fretting,” he says. “I’m fine. Well, I will be.”

  “You’re hurting.”

  He glances over his shoulder, still holding my hand as he walks us down the hall to the first-floor bedroom. “I’m always hurting. I probably always will be.” Slowing to a stop, he turns and looks at me, guarded, concerned. “If that’s—”

  “Don’t finish that sentence,” I tell him, bringing his hand to my mouth, kissing it, holding it to my cheek. “That’s not coming between us, not going to scare me off. It hasn’t before, and it’s not going to, now or ever.”

  Gavin swallows roughly. “Okay.”

  I search his eyes. “Do you believe me?”

  His mouth tips faintly with a new, tender smile. “Strangely…yes. Seems I do.”

  “Good.” Clasping his hand tight, I take the lead and guide him through the bedroom to the bathroom.

  I tear off my shirt, lean into the shower, and yank on the water. Before I can turn, I feel him behind me, the firm, warm skin of his chest, pressed to my back. His mouth drifts along my neck, my shoulder as his hands trail down my sides, twine up my torso, until they rest over my heart. “You’re perfect.”

  I lean back and steal a kiss. “So are you.”

  He smiles against my mouth, turning me toward him. My hands cradle his face, as our mouths meet, slow and decadent. A quiet groan rolls from his throat. “Get naked, damn you.”

  I laugh, stepping out of my shoes and clothes. Gavin stares at me, eyes dark, pupils blown wide as he drinks me in. “Fuck.”

  I stand, proud and still, letting him look, soaking up the desire and appreciation heating his gaze. This is his first time fully seeing me. I had a full glorious view of him that morning at his house, in his bed, but I stripped underneath the blankets, depriving him of the same pleasure.

  Staring at me still, Gavin yanks off his clothes, then walks us right into the shower. His mouth parts mine, his tongue glides slick and hot. Our breaths are rough, loud enough to be heard over the rush of water as I run my hands over his broad chest, the fine dark hairs dusting hard muscles. I kiss the scar on his collarbone, the birthmark on his neck, the freckle at his temple.

  He wrenches me close, hand on my jaw, crushing our mouths together, wet, warm, hungry. I wrap my arms around his neck, press our chests together, our bodies where we’re hard, throbbing, pinned together. Our mouths fall open as he moves against me, the water smoothing our way.

  “Come here,” he gruffs.

  “I’m here,” I laugh.

  He walks us further back until we hit the shower wall, his hand tight around my waist.

  “I want you,” I whisper as he runs his hand over my ass, rubbing it appreciatively.

  He groans against my neck, kissing the hollow of my throat. “I’m yours.”

  I take his hand that’s still massaging my butt affectionately and guide it lower until he feels me, a grunt punching out of him. “You want me here?” he says.

  “So bad. I don’t always, but that night in the kitchen, when your hand went wandering, I almost died, almost came so close to begging you for it. I’ve gotten myself off so many times since then, imagining that.”

  “Shit,” he mutters, pressing himself into me, kissing me deep and slow. “I haven’t in so long. I’ll come the moment I’m inside you.”

  “That’s okay,” I tell him gently.

  He shakes his head. “No it’s not. I’m going to take my time and make it good and you’re going to be patient.”

  I stare after him as he steps out of the shower and quickly dries his feet on the mat before prowling into the bedroom. I’m too distracted by the sight of him, warm, suntanned skin rippling with the flex of his muscles as he moves, to process what he has until he’s stepping back into the shower, tossing a bottle of lube on the bench, then kissing me.

  When he tears his mouth away from mine, he reaches past me, pumps bodywash from the dispenser mounted to the tiles, and works it between his hands. A grin lifts the corner of his mouth. “My turn to wash you.”

  I smile as he runs his hands over my neck, massaging gently over the curves of my shoulders, down my arms, chest, back, hips. He strokes my cock next, from base to tip, cleaning me, teasing me, before gliding his touch between the cleft of my ass, cleaning me there, too. His kisses are tender, exploring, reverent. I steal soap from my body, bring it to his, and wash him, too, until the air smells like herbs and steam and our warm bodies.

  Backing up toward the built-in shower bench, Gavin pulls me with him. Once he’s lowered himself down, he leans in, kisses my hip, my stomach. He wraps his hand around the base of my cock and pumps me, firm and leisurely.

  “Shit,” I mutter.

  He smiles, sucks the tip, takes me deep, then deeper still. I sink my hands into his hair, throwing my head back as he sucks me off expertly, his mouth tight and hot and wet, his hand teasing me lower, sliding back, further back, until I feel him rubbing me where a thousand nerve endings spark to life.

  I gasp as time becomes as hazy as the air around us, as he swirls and strokes with his fingers, as his mouth’s grip grows hotter, tighter. I feel my knees about to buckle, orgasm tingling low at the base of my spine, tightening my balls, swelling my cock. “Gonna come,” I whisper.

  He pops off his mouth, making me moan helplessly. Grinning, he spins me around so I face away from him. “Hands on the wall,” he commands, pressing my lower back until I bend forward, showing me what he wants.

  “Yeah,” I beg, realizing what’s coming, splaying my hands on the tile walls, looking at him over my shoulder. “Please. Now.”

  “Easy.” He kisses my hip, one ass cheek, then the other, before he splays me wide, blows a soft warm breath over where I’m so sensitive, exposed fully for him. It makes a shiver run up my spine, threatens to make my legs buckle again. “Fuck,” he groans. “Look at you. What a lucky man I am.”

  Sitting on the bench, he can easily set his mouth exactly where I need him. And he does.

  A shout bursts out of me as I feel his tongue, a thousand times better than his finger, stroking, flicking, making my hips roll, need tighten my body. I hear the snap of a cap being opened before his finger breaches my body’s resistance, his tongue coaxing me still. Then another finger. It burns but only faintly in the wake of all this pleasure. I reach for my cock, needing to give myself relief, but his hand lands softly on my ass, a teasing, gloriously pleasurable swat that warms my skin. “Not yet,” he says.

  “I need it,” I groan.

  “I know what you need. Be patient.”

  I nod, leaning into it, sighing as he adds a third finger, as his other hand slides up my back, comforting me, then wraps around my chest and teases the small sensitive peaks of my nipples, before it lowers to my stomach which dances under his touch, lower still, until he’s working me in his hand again, water making it glide, frictionless and blissful.

  “There you are,” he says quietly, kissing my ass, biting it softly. “The bed,” he growls. “Now.”

  I wrench open the shower door and stumble forward, then reach for the towels. I throw one at him, hastily drag one down my body, too. Gavin pushes off the bench, like on the stairs, stiff and careful, and stalks toward me, a slow, hungry smile as he bites his lip and grips me by the arm, pulling me close.

 

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