Waiting for Christmas by RJ Scott

Author:RJ Scott
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: sports romance, hockey romance, free gay romance, gay sports romance, ice hockey romance, gay ice hockey romance, harrisburg railers rj scott
Publisher: RJ Scott

Regen

Impulsive behavior.

It was one of the biggest problems I had on ice, according to my head coach. Obviously it was an issue off the ice as well. Cody’s lips were firm under mine, his eyes round as hubcaps. As soon as our mouths had met, I knew I’d committed a serious breach of conduct. One did not yell at one’s best friend and then kiss him for no reason.

I savored the feel of his lips on mine, flat and unyielding as they were, for a second or ten, and then I released him. He stared at me, way down deep into my soul as he did when I’d fucked up. Christ. I’d be benched for sure now. Maybe ejected from the friend game for life.

“I’m really sorry for that,” I mumbled, imagining a giant axe about to fall. “It’s totally out of bounds, and like horribly nonconsensual to just grab a dude and plant one on him. I know better, I do, it was just…your eyebrows were so soft.”

He blinked, long lashes fanning down then back up, stealing my breath. Then he wet his lips. Just a flick of pink tongue streaking out to coat those sweet lips I’d just kissed. Sweet, sweet lips…

Maybe some time in the minors will curb your impulsive behavior. That’s where you’re headed if you don’t return to training camp form, Reva.

There we stood, two grown men, outside, on the sidewalk, in the neighborhood we’d grown up in, staring at each other. The longer the moment dragged on the louder my coach’s voice grew inside my head.

“Let’s go to the lake,” Cody finally said, grabbing my wrist and jerking me nearly off my feet. Okay, so the teacher still had some strength in those arms and legs. Knowing I was in the wrong and shamed beyond arguing, I trudged along behind him like a naughty puppy. His fingers were tight on my wrist, the skin warm and prickly. We stalked along for four blocks until we hit the path that led through the Brinkleys’ back yard to Witherspoon Lake. I didn’t need his guidance. I could have made the trip with my eyes closed, the path forever burned into my memory. The Brinkleys had long ago stopped trying to stop kids from cutting across the corner of their property.

A calming sort of air moved over us as we pushed through a short copse of snow-laden pines and stood on the bank overlooking Witherspoon Lake. The azure water was frozen solid now. It was a small lake, as they go, just over nineteen thousand meters in circumference, she ran pretty deep in the middle. The surface was glass, etched and scratched from the hundred shinny games that had already taken place. Cody still held onto my wrist. I closed my eyes and breathed in home. And, as always, home smelled like Scotch pine, cold wind, and Cody’s spicy cologne.

“I’d really like it if you looked at me,” Cody said, his voice soft and calm. A jay

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