Stopping us from going there again is a smart idea. My cock disagrees, but with the way Ollie reacts to my past, even he can’t admit that he won’t hurt me. The best thing to do in this situation is walk away before becoming invested.

With my track record, I can’t risk it.

Maybe third time’s a charm.

Wishful thinking.

Not to mention if we were to start something real, I’d be putting more than my heart on the line. Female reporters who’ve gotten involved with athletes tend to not stick around in the industry for long. Whether they’re honest about it from the beginning—something Ollie and I could never do because he’s closeted—or if they’re found out, they become targets, labeled as jersey chasers, and then their articles are ridiculed for being biased.

My jock issues aren’t the only thing holding me back.

So, yes, even if I’m kicking my own ass for turning Ollie down, I did the right thing.

In the coming days, the Dragons are plagued by illness, injury, and stupid penalties. They lose the same way they started the series—with a fucking shutout.

They leave the arena with their heads hanging low but their hopes high. This is the furthest the Dragons have been in five years, and they show potential for next year.

During the press conference, Ollie’s not even present. The team captain and the head coach are the only people giving interviews. They do the usual thank-yous, praise their team for getting as far as they did, and spout bullshit about an optimistic future for the team. By the time I’ve written up the gist of my article and made my way out of the arena, I can’t find Jet or Ollie anywhere.

Not that I want to see Ollie. Last time I sought him out to give my condolences, we ended up lip-locked and grinding against one another.

I wait by the players’ entrance and get out my phone. There’s no message from Jet, so I text him asking if he’s already left.

Leaning against the wall, I tap out some more notes on my phone to add to the article before I send it off to my editor. Every time the door clicks open, I perk up, only to be disappointed when it’s never Ollie who steps through.

No, I’m waiting for Jet. Not him.

Keep telling yourself that.

Some of the players look at me weird, like I’m some sort of puck bunny, but most of them keep walking.

Jet texts back saying he left for a date as soon as the game was over, and apparently, it’s going so well I shouldn’t go home until later. Like, a lot later.

Great.

I’m about to give up and think Ollie’s gone too, but as I push off the wall, I run into two people who have familiar faces.

Oh, sweet Neil Patrick Harris, this is not good.

“Clark,” Ollie’s mom singsongs. Ollie’s parents’ matching smiles are a little unnerving.

My heart pounds. “Uh … hi, Mr. and Mrs. Strömberg. Didn’t expect to see you here.” Or ever, for that matter.

“Ollie didn’t tell you we were coming?” she asks. “We wouldn’t have missed it. We had faith it’d turn out better, obviously, but we were here just in case.”

I nod, not knowing what else to do. “W-why … I mean …” Why are they being nice to me? Last time I’d checked, Ollie had said he told them I cheated on him.

“Why what, dear?” Ollie’s mom says.

“Umm …”

The door clicks open again, and a towering presence appears behind me.

“Ma. Dad,” Ollie says. I swear I hear him curse under his breath. “Hey, can you give me and Le—Clark a minute?”

They give us a peculiar look, but then his dad points toward the parking garage. “We’ll be in the car.”

Ollie smiles, but it looks fake. “Thanks.”

He pulls away from where his teammates are still pouring out of the stadium.

“I have a confession to make” is the first thing out of his mouth. “I lied” is the second.

“Lied? About what?”

“About telling them you cheated on me. I … I, uh … oh, God, this is bad.” He takes a deep breath. “I didn’t tell them we broke up. They still think we’re together.”

I step back. “Why? I mean, how? What?”

“Our stupid plan worked. Ma hasn’t bugged me about coming out in six months. She’s told me if I want to keep you, I’ll have to face it eventually, but she’s stopped with all the pro-LGBTQ crap and hasn’t mentioned that video of Adam Rippon interviewing his own mom in ages.”

“Oh, the one where they talk about him deciding to come out before the Olympics?”

“Yeah, that one. Ma can recite that interview word for word, but it’s been months. It’s the longest break I’ve gotten from all her idealist talk.”

“That’s great.” It’s a little sad he had to lie about having a boyfriend to get them to back off, but the important thing is they are. “It’s your life. You can tell them whatever, but what has this got to do with me? Other than they still think I’m Clark?”

“I told them you were out of town on business, which is why you couldn’t be here tonight. I didn’t think … I never thought you’d run into each other.”

“I was waiting for Jet, but he’s already gone home. Well, technically, he’s gone on a date and told me not to come home if I can help it.”

Ollie stares off into the parking lot. “I want to ask you something.”

My gaze flicks up to his. “What is it?”

“A favor, of sorts. But we both win.”

“Listening.”

“Come home with me tonight. Spend some time with my parents as Clark, and then crash in my room. I’d offer you my spare room, but Ma and Dad are in there.”

“In your room?”

That’s the worst idea I’ve ever really, really, really wanted to do.

“I’ll take the floor,” Ollie says. “I just … if you don’t come back with us, Ma and Dad will probably ask questions, and you said yourself you need to not be home right now. Win-win?”

I bite the inside of my cheek. Going home with him would be stupid. Really stupid. But with his parents in the room right next to us, I doubt we’d be in the mood to maul each other. Maybe. Nothing says boner killer like the chance of parentals overhearing. And it will get me out of listening to Matt and Noah’s little brother getting plowed.

Even though I know it’s a bad idea to dangle temptation in front of both of us, I find myself saying, “Okay. I’m in.”

As soon as I agree to it and Ollie’s face lights up, I know it’s a mistake and I’m one hundred percent screwed.

No way am I going to stay off him tonight.

The sweet torture of being pretend boyfriends starts as soon as we arrive at Ollie’s surprisingly modest apartment. The open plan shows a small living room and kitchen with two bedrooms side by side opposite the front door and a bathroom-slash-laundry off the kitchen.

Taking in the hardwood floors and crown molding though, I’m certain the quaintness still costs more than my entire monthly income.

Once in the confines of his apartment and out of the public eye, Ollie turns on Mr. Boyfriend, and fuck, I love it. From the way he wraps his arm around my back to the way he offers me a bottle of water from his fridge without asking and hands it off like I’ve been here before and done this a thousand times … it paints a nice picture that we can’t have.

As we take seats on the couch and Ollie puts on SportsCenter, the rest of us grumble.

“Don’t do this to yourself,” I say and turn to his parents. “Is masochism an Ollie trait or a Strömberg trait?”

“Definitely an Ollie trait,” his mom says. “Nic and Vic too. It seemed to skip over Leo and Max.”

“But Leo and Max are stubborn as all hell,” his dad says.

“Now that’s a Strömberg trait,” Ollie says. “All of you guys are the worst.” He looks at me. “That trait skipped me. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” I mock.

“What about your family?” his mom asks.

“Uh, well, I have a younger sister who’s still in college. She’s known to be stubborn. Mom and Dad are kind of set in their way of thinking. I’m delightful.”

“So delightful,” Ollie says dryly.

“Where did you grow up?” she asks.

Ah, the ultimate meeting the parents pastime: grilling the boyfriend.

“Upstate New York.”

“What was that like?” Ollie asks. He’s pressed against me, his arm lying across the back of the couch behind me, and I swear he moves closer as he asks. Is he using this as an excuse to touch me when we agreed we weren’t going to do that? Because I want to hate him for taking advantage but can’t, because I like it too much.

My hand lands on his thigh, and I cock my head. “Shouldn’t you know? I talk to you about it all the time.”

His eyes widen, either in surprise at my hand on his leg and that I’m milking this situation for all it’s worth like he is or he’s pissed as hell that I just threw him in the deep end. “Right. But you know I always tune you out.”

I pinch his leg, which only makes him laugh.

“Ollie said you had to work tonight?” his dad asks.

“I did.” And shit, I still do. I’m surprised my phone isn’t blowing up from my editor waiting for the article so he can fix it and go to bed.

Harry’s up most of the night anyway—God knows we hear about his insomnia constantly—but he gets grumpy when we turn our shit in late.

Ollie’s arm drops to my shoulder, and a gentle hand runs down my arm. My breath hitches, and fuck, this charade could be the death of me. It’s barely gotten started, but it doesn’t take much for me to get going when I think of Ollie.

His touch is sensory overload. The scent of his cologne gets stuck in my nose, the warmth of his chest right near my head makes my face heat, and when I swallow, I swear I can still taste him from last week.

Then I realize he’s talking to me. “Huh?”

He tries to hide his amusement, but it doesn’t work. “Did you need to finish off a report or something? For work? You can use the bedroom.”

“Thanks. I shouldn’t take long.”

The excuse is what I need to peel myself away from Ollie, but when I get up, his eyes go to my crotch, and if the small grin he tries to hide has anything to say, he’s proud of his work. Except now I get to try to balance my laptop on my hard-on. That’s gonna be fun.

What’s going to be even more fun is trying to pick the correct bedroom. A boyfriend who’s been here before would know which one Ollie uses. There are two doors, side by side, both equally possible to be Ollie’s bedroom. Do I play eeny, meeny, miny, moe?

A throat clears behind me, and when I turn, Ollie stretches his arms over his head and subtly points to the door on the right. Smooth.

And as soon as I make my way over to it and close the door behind me, Ollie’s mom’s muffled voice says, “He’s a keeper. Cute as a button.”

“Walls are pretty thin, Ma.”

Probably doesn’t help Ollie’s apartment is bare. The room is simple. Bed, bedside drawers, and a dresser in the corner. Noise must bounce around the emptiness.

I finish off my bittersweet article and upload it to the work cloud. Normally, I’d ask Harry what the plan is now. The Dragons’ season is over, and while technically I’ve been following the whole conference, my focus has definitely been on this team to pull off the win. Now they haven’t, I could be sent back to Chicago or assigned to follow a different team. Maybe Kevin will take back the playoffs seeing as it’s getting near the end.

Which would mean leaving New York.

I’m still staring at the empty space in my email when Ollie enters the bedroom.

“’Rents are going to bed.”

“Oh, okay.” I call out, “Goodnight.”

In reply, there is a low “Such a sweet boy.”

Ollie laughs. “She loves you.”

“So I heard, but—”

I can’t finish my train of thought because Ollie starts stripping out of his suit. He eyes me the entire time, never looking down at his buttons as he undoes them expertly. His fingers work his clothes, and I remember what it was like to have those fingers on me. His large hands gripping my ass as I ground on top of his dick.

“You’re so not playing fair.” My voice is whisper-quiet so his parents can’t hear.

Once he’s down to his boxer briefs, he pulls back the covers and climbs into bed next to me. “We’re boyfriends. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.” Then the bastard winks.

“Don’t think for one second you can use our situation to your advantage.” I’m only half-serious.

His smile drops a little but not completely. “Not at all. No touching.” Ollie lies back, pulling the blanket over his waist but not up to cover this chest. His beautiful, hard, tattooed chest.

“Didn’t you say you’d sleep on the floor?”

He runs a hand down his delectable pecs to his abs. “Are you really gonna make me sleep on the cold ground? I totally will if you ask me to.”

I sigh. “No.”

I close my laptop and put it back in my laptop bag. Then I even the score a little. I don’t have as much finesse or tact as Ollie and drop my clothes to the floor without the scorching eye-fucking he gave me while he stripped. Still, payback seems to be working with how much his eyes roam over me. I want to taunt him about seeing something he likes, but we’re already playing with matches. I don’t want to start an inferno.

I climb back into bed next to him, and turn on my side to face him, pretending like I’m not hardening in my briefs with every second I stare at his bare chest.

I need a distraction. “What’re your plans now?” I ask. Nothing like reminding him he just lost the Cup to bring the mood down.

Ollie’s eyes turn from heated to sad. “Dunno. There’s not really anything in New York for me. I’ll probably go back to Boston and do the family thing. You? You still gonna follow the playoffs?”

“If my boss wants me on it, yeah, but I might be heading back to Chicago. My assignment when Harry sent me here was kind of vague. It was to cover the entire conference, but he wanted me to follow you guys specifically. Probably because of all the articles I wrote about you.”

Ollie’s lips tug downward.

“I’m hoping to go back to football again when it comes around, but I don’t know what my editor has planned for me. He was convinced you guys were going to take it out this year, so I could really be sent anywhere now you’re out.”

“Just another disappointed person.” Ollie sighs. “Chicago, huh?” His tone is hard to dissect. “So, really, this could be one of the last times we see each other?”

“Until next season, probably. I don’t know what upcoming projects Harry wants me on, but he’s been impressed with my coverage of hockey even if some people think I don’t know what I’m talking about.”

Ollie turns his head to face me. “I was wrong.”

I gasp. “Sorry, what was that? Can I, like, dictate that to my phone somehow?”

“Shut up. I. Was. Wrong. You’re a great reporter, Lennon.”

I point to my chest. “Clark. Shit, you’re so bad with names, dude.”

Ollie shoves me so I roll onto my back. “Go to sleep already.”

Go to sleep next to Ollie while sporting a major boner? Not going to happen. Still, we lie there in the darkness, both of us not sleeping. I can tell because Ollie’s breaths are uneven, and even that somehow turns me on.

God, I want to reach down and take my aching dick into my hand. Or maybe push Ollie’s head down there. That’d work too.

“So, this is what it’s like to die from blue balls,” Ollie grumbles. “I’m gonna start calling you Blue, because it’s always your fault.”

I burst into laughter so loud I’m sure his parents can hear me. Ollie’s hand clamps over my mouth.

“I really don’t want the folks to think I’m getting laid in here.”

“If someone laughs that hard during sex, you’re doing it wrong,” I say against his hand before he removes it. “This was such a bad idea.”

“Horrible idea,” he agrees. “But I have a proposition for you.”

I cock an eyebrow in the dark and then realize he probably can’t make that out. “Another one?”

“We agreed we can’t hook up, right?”

“Right.”

“But jerking off is totally a solo act, right?”

“Right.”

“So, if we jerk off together without touching one another ...”

Terrible. Horrible. Stupid, stupid, stupid idea, but that’s not gonna stop me. No way. “I love technicalities.”

In one swift move, I reach under the blanket and pull my underwear off. Ollie does the same, and then he reaches over to turn the bedside light on and throws lube and tissues on the bed.

“I’d say something about you preparing for this, but you didn’t know I was coming over.”

“I haven’t had sex in over a year. Where else do you think I’d keep supplies for getting myself off?”

“I’d feel sorry for you if it wasn’t about the same amount of time for me.”

“Why the fuck have you not had sex for a year?”

“Really want to get into that right now?” I ask, holding up the lube.

“We’re so coming back to this later.”

I’ll have to come up with another way to distract him from asking that again, because no way in hell am I admitting that since meeting him no one else has even interested me. And before that, I was already in a slump.

As I squirt lube into my hand, I feel his stare on me, and I become a little self-conscious. “If we’re supposed to pretend like the other one of us isn’t here, you’re gonna have to stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” he asks, innocently.

“Like you want to tear me apart.”

“I’d much prefer you tear me apart.”

I snort. Ollie’s a bottom. Still can’t get over it. It’s not like I haven’t topped before, but when I have, I’ve been too self-conscious about making it good for them, and I can never last long. Bottoming, I can let myself go.

Ollie kicks off the blankets, and miles of mouthwatering muscles lay two feet from me, and I can’t tear my eyes away. If I thought he felt big while we rubbed against each other last week, it’s nothing to seeing how awesomely huge and pretty his dick is. I don’t even know if it’s possible to have a pretty dick, but Ollie does. Thick, veiny, and uncut.

“If we’re supposed to pretend like the other one of us isn’t here, you’re gonna have to stop looking at my cock,” he mimics but in a much higher voice. I want to dispute that’s not at all how I sound, but that doesn’t come out of my mouth.

“I can’t help it,” I blurt instead.

“Shame we can’t hook up then.”

We can’t. We really can’t.

“I mean, really, if we’re looking at each other, it’s the equivalent of watching porn,” I say, trying to rationalize my blatant worshiping of his cock.

“Yay, more technicalities,” Ollie says, as I watch him lazily stroke his long, hard, gorgeous length.

“So long as I don’t have to break out the clown makeup for you, it’ll be fine.”

He laughs, but it doesn’t last long as he watches me grip the base of my shaft and squeeze a little too hard. It’s not going to take long to send me over the edge, and this is supposed to be about getting off, but I want to make it last.

Ollie breathes heavy beside me, his teeth gritted, and if I had to guess, he’s trying to hold back from moaning too loudly. His strokes slowly increase in pace, and a pearly drop of precum drips down the side.

I want to lick it. God, I want to lick him. All over.

I shudder and start a punishing pace on my cock. Tightening my ass muscles, I thrust up into my hand over and over again, never once taking my eyes off Ollie.

“I wanna touch you so bad,” Ollie whispers. “I won’t, but fuck, I want to.” Ollie lifts his legs and moves his lube-slicked hand down to his balls and farther down while the other one takes over pumping his cock.

“Wait, are you—” I make the mistake of giving him eye contact.

His eyelids are hooded, his mouth parted slightly. The look of lust is almost enough to have me coming.

“Am I what?” he taunts. “Playing with my ass? Is that what you wanted to ask?”

I nod.

“Flip around and see for yourself.”

I hesitate.

“Just like watching porn, remember?” he reminds me.

As soon as I maneuver myself on the bed and get full sight of Ollie two fingers deep inside his own ass, I can’t hold back anymore.

The grunt that escapes me as I shoot all over myself has me biting my knuckles on my free hand to prevent it from turning into a shout.

Ollie’s large fingers disappear all the way inside him and stay lodged in there, no doubt pressing against his prostate. He strokes his cock faster until ropes of cum land on his impressive abs. Some reaches his tats, and I had no idea how hot cum-covered tattoos could be. We both sink against the mattress.

“Best live porn ever,” Ollie says.

“Fuck yes.”