The next morning, I woke bright and early to the sound of my alarm. I sat up in bed and stretched, letting the little horn play a full rotation. I didn’t have to worry about waking up Steve. He’d spent the night somewhere else, as he frequently did nowadays. Presumably he was off canoodling with Shannon. I guessed he had somehow managed to get over his concerns about her brother; Steve may have been disgusting, but he did really love his girlfriend. I’d give him that. Either way, I wasn’t going to complain about having the room to myself.

I picked up my phone and silenced the alarm. In doing so, I noticed that I had a message. My heart gave an uncomfortable jolt at the name that was attached.

In town for the night. Game tomorrow. Want to come by?

I chewed on my bottom lip and stared at the screen. Technically, I could. I’d have to skip practice, which I hadn’t done in years, but I was pretty sure nobody would mind. They would gossip about why I was gone, sure, but we didn’t have another game for two weeks and everyone else had skipped at least once by now. It wasn’t that big of a deal. I put in more than enough extra hours to cover the slack.

But that didn’t make me feel any less terrible about what I was planning to do.

What hotel are you staying in? I sent back to Peter.

He got back to me within seconds.

Lakeview Plaza. 19th Floor. Room 375.

I glanced out at the campus through my dirty window. I could just see the edges of the lake this city was built around in the distance, peeking out from behind all of the buildings. I sucked in a breath between my teeth and returned to my phone.

Be there in 20.

I then proceeded to get dressed in a hurry. I had a bus to catch.

Lakeview Plaza was one of the most generic looking hotels I’d ever laid my eyes on. The lobby was huge and sported a strong cactus motif. They were everywhere, potted around the perimeter of the room, in paintings and photographs up on the wall, there was even a cactus-shaped neon sign perched on top of the front desk. There were gold accents on the walls and fixtures but they were all tarnished and dim. The furniture reeked of old cigarette smoke, the kind that was embedded and would never fully go away. The few other people I saw passing through were moving very quickly to and from their rooms. They made it seem like this place was not really a place meant for staying. An odd thing to say about a hotel, but that was just the general vibe.

I got into the elevator with a middle-aged lady and her son who was arguing with her about some candy bar or another. She was rubbing her temples and giving me longing looks that seemed to say, for the love of God, please don’t have children. I tried my best to avoid her stare until we made it to the nineteenth floor and I was finally able to get out.

I followed the long, stained carpet of the horror movie-esque hallway all the way down to Peter’s room and stood there staring at the number for a moment. I took a deep breath and straightened my shirt before reaching up and knocking. One Mississippi...Two Mississippi...Three Mississippi...Four…

The door opened with a creak. Suddenly, Peter and I were standing face to face for the first time in over a year. His pale skin was smooth and freshly shaven, his blonde hair meticulously styled. He was wearing a short sleeve T-shirt and cargo shorts which revealed dozens of visible scrapes and bruises all over his body. My gaze caught and was completely locked on his stormy gray eyes. They were darker and hungrier than I remembered. Maybe this time away from each other had put some things into perspective for him as it had for me. I swallowed hard.

“Hey,” I said softly, proud that my voice did not crack.

“Hey,” he said right back. His gaze wandered from my face to my body, lingering on my jeans. It was impossible not to know exactly what he was thinking.

“You look...nice,” I said, slightly embarrassed by the attention.

The intensity in his eyes dimmed a bit and he nodded, as if just now remembering his manners. He stepped back and invited me inside.

The room was dark and even scummier than my dorm was, but I was sure Peter was just glad to not have a roommate for once. To my knowledge, such a thing was pretty rare, especially in the minor leagues. Hockey teams are big; twenty plus players and staff, not to mention all of their equipment and belongings, all of which takes up valuable cargo space. That isn’t cheap. Knowing Peter, I wouldn’t be surprised if he had shelled out the cash for the single room himself, just for the possibility of what was probably about to go down. The thought sent a thrill down my spine.

That was how everything had gotten started between us. We’d been randomly selected as roommates on a road game in Prescott. Before that night we’d been friends, sure, but only in the way every guy on your team was your friend. You all spent so much time together that it was impossible not to be. But the lingering looks and the awkward conversations we’d had that night were more than just friendly. I honestly don’t even remember the exact details of how it happened anymore, but somehow Peter had ended up in the same bed as me. One second we were talking and then, before I knew it, we were kissing. Peter had turned redder than a tomato and tried to apologize, but I wouldn’t let him, instead pulling him in for more...and the story goes on from there.

It probably sounds more romantic than it actually is. The two of us have always known that no matter how serious we let our feelings grow, that they would always have to be kept a secret. The MLH could talk the big talk about hockey being for everyone and forcing players to practice with rainbow tape twice a year, but that didn’t make the league as a whole any less conservative, and as a byproduct, blatantly homophobic. Peter and I cared about our careers more than anything. Playing professional hockey at the highest possible level is all either of us has ever wanted. Being out, much less out and dating each other would nix both of our MLH aspirations before they even got started.

Peter sat down on the edge of the bed and I followed him. I leaned down to take off my shoes and socks. When I looked back up, Peter was staring at the side of my neck. I cleared my throat loudly.

“How’s your new team?” I asked.

Peter rolled his eyes.

“They’re fine. Talented enough. It feels weird playing with people I didn’t grow up playing with though. How’s yours?”

I slumped my shoulders and sighed.

“They’re pretty amateur hour to be honest, but they’re not bad guys. The captain has potential. And maybe a few of the D-men.”

Peter nodded sympathetically.

“I’m sure you won’t be here for more than a season.”

I nodded. Naturally, I had been thinking the exact same thing, but the words coming out of Peter’s mouth sounded more patronizing than I would have liked. The undisguised pity in his voice made me want to push him into the mattress and hover over him, forcing him to swallow his pride and hold himself up to kiss me.

As if sensing the shift in my thoughts, Peter leaned over and placed a hand on top of my thigh. His eyes were hooded and his eyebrows were raised, asking me a silent question. I responded by lifting my hand and lightly pressing it into the side of Peter’s neck. I could feel his pulse spike beneath my fingertips as I went in for a kiss. He kissed me back like he was a raging forest fire and I was the oxygen keeping him alive. It wasn’t long before I had to pull away and catch my breath.

“It’s almost like you missed me or something,” I said.

“Almost,” he shot back.

His voice was aggravatingly even, but his eyes and flushed skin betrayed him. I slipped my hand under his shirt and slid my palms up his rigid abs and paused momentarily to tweak his left nipple. The gesture caused him to jerk and take his bottom lip between his teeth just as I had intended. I smiled, satisfied. It didn’t take much to turn Peter on. I knew all of his secret buttons.

Peter reached up with shaking hands and started undoing the buttons on my shirt. He kissed his way down my stomach, lingering over the waistband of my jeans. I tugged at the fabric of his shirt until he pulled away from me to lift it over his head. Then we were kissing again, chests pressed together, hearts racing as one. It felt warm and familiar, like no time at all had passed. Like we were still two sad, messed up, lonely kids on the same team.

Peter effortlessly undid the button on my jeans and his hand dipped down under my waistband. He pressed his palm against my growing erection under my boxers, making me gasp against his mouth. Without breaking the kiss, I pushed him back until he lay flat on the mattress with me straddling him, his hand still between my legs. I started rocking back and forth slowly to generate friction. Peter was growing redder by the second. I wanted to see how long I could make him hold out. I wanted him to beg me to fuck him.

Or at least I thought I did. In actuality, all it took was him pulling away and looking up at me with those perfect storm-cloud eyes.

“Carter,” he whispered, extracting his hand from my pants and running it over my shaved head.

I closed my eyes and leaned into the touch. I really was that much of a touch-starved loser.

I kissed the column of Peter’s neck, biting down as hard as I could without leaving a mark, not that it would have mattered. A hickey on a hockey player’s neck was just as likely to be a bruise from a flying puck or a high stick. Nevertheless, I was prone to erring on the side of caution. I made my way down Peter’s body, mouth settling into all the little divots and crevasses. The ones that I knew were going to make him breathe heavily and gasp.

Finally, I made it to his shorts. He lifted his hips so that I could peel both them and his underwear off in one go. I didn’t even allow myself a good look before I was standing and removing the rest of my own clothes—my jeans had become unbearably tight. When I turned back around Peter had one hand rested behind his head and the other lightly stroking his cock. He was biting his bottom lip again, which I was a sucker for, and staring at me with a challenge in his eyes. A challenge that I fully intended to complete.

I climbed back onto the bed and batted his hand away, taking his dick into my mouth instead. Peter made a soft, close-lipped moan as I worked on him. I kept my mouth focused on the tip and cupped his balls with my hand, just as he always liked. Before I knew it, he was exhaling loudly, trying to get out a word.

“Nightstand,” he managed finally. I caught onto his meaning immediately.

I made sure his eyes were locked onto mine before giving one final suck and pulling off of his dick. It gave a lewd popping noise as it left my mouth. The already quick rate at which Peter’s stomach was rising and falling intensified.

I stood up and made my way over to the nightstand as Peter had suggested and pulled out his half empty bottle of lube. I squirted some into my hands and warmed it up a bit before turning around so Peter could watch me spread it over my dick. He responded by propping himself up on all fours and glancing at me over his shoulders. I made an inhuman sound low in my throat.

I took the bottle of lube with me in my now-slick hands and spread a little over Peter’s hole, not bothering to warm it up for him. The sensation made him gasp and his hips jerked back. I reached out and steadied them, using my superior strength to hold him in place. Once I felt like the anticipation had built up long enough, I let go, took a deep breath and lined myself up. Very carefully, I edged myself in.

Peter gasped loudly this time, fingers digging into the hotel sheets. I closed my eyes and let my head fall back, savoring the feeling and giving Peter a moment to adjust. Then, I angled my hips, pulled back, and thrust back in at just the right angle. Peter’s head dropped beneath his shoulders and profanities spilled from his open mouth. The large muscles on his arms were bulging with the effort of holding himself up. I set a steady rhythm that was equally pleasing for both of us. Sex with Peter was like riding a bike, no matter how long it had been, my body never forgot how to do it.

Then, suddenly Peter was making these soft little whining sounds that meant he was ready to cum. I steadied one hand around his waist and reached around to pump his cock with the other, trying to perfectly offset it with the timing of my thrusts. Before long, his arms were shaking and his whole body had tensed around me.

“Gonna cum,” he mumbled.

I gave one final thrust and Peter jerked, spilling all over my hand and onto his bare stomach. I pulled out and started stroking myself until I came too, making his back just as striped with white as his front. Peter collapsed onto the bed and I rubbed my sensitive cock against his ass a few times until my breathing slowed down and steadied. Then I rolled over and laid down on my side next to him. Neither of us spoke for several minutes.

Finally, after he grew uncomfortable enough, Peter got up and disappeared into the bathroom to clean himself off. I heard the shower click on. I stripped the bed of its top sheet and started putting my clothes back on as I waited. Peter returned about ten minutes later, all traces of lustfulness gone from his gaze.

I tried not to let my disappointment show as I slipped my shoes back on and did up the laces. Peter dug out his suitcase and slipped on a clean pair of underwear and some sweatpants. He didn’t bother with putting on a shirt.

Once we were both as dressed as we were going to get, we stood there for a moment, staring at each other.

“We could get dinner?” Peter said hesitantly after a while.

I sighed and shook my head. I knew he’d only offered out of some sense of lingering obligation and that any conversation we’d end up having would be strained and awkward at best. I’d learned a long time ago that it was better to enjoy this tenuous thing we had for what it was instead of trying to make it into something that it wasn’t.

“Nah.” I shook my head. “I should be going. I’m missing practice.”

Peter nodded understandingly.

“It was good to see you,” he said. I could tell that he meant it.

I reached over and let my fingers trail across the soft unmarked skin of Peter’s inner wrist. The contact lasted less than a second, but it felt more like a lifetime.

“Goodbye, Peter,” I said softly. Then I turned away from him and walked out the door without looking back.

In the elevator, I leaned my head against the moving wall and stared up at myself in the mirrored ceiling. All this time I’d thought that seeing Peter would make this transition easier on me. That somehow he was what I needed in order to reconcile my old life with the new one I was trying to build. Instead my heart just felt heavier than it already had.

My eyes stung as if they wanted to cry, but I knew nothing would come out. I’d been repressing my tears for as long as I could remember and I certainly wasn’t going to waste any of them today.

I waited as patiently as I could for the elevator to reach the ground floor and walked briskly out into the afternoon sunshine, desperate to leave Peter, Lakeview Plaza, and my dangerously swirling emotions behind me.