The Understatement of the Year (Ivy Years #3)
The Understatement of the Year: Chapter 11

January

LAMP LIGHTER: a goal. In pro hockey, a goal is signified by a red light on the goal itself or on the boards behind the goal.

Rikker

After the Vermont game, we kept right on winning. In the middle of January, the college newspaper put our stats on the front page in enormous type: 14 WINS, 3 LOSSES, 3 TIES. Coach was all fired up. And now, when the guys from the Harkness press office showed up with a reporter in tow, it wasn’t to talk about me. (I’d been relegated to a single sentence at the bottom of these articles, usually “…the same team that welcomed gay left wing John Rikker,” blah blah blah.)

“Tell us how it feels to be the winningest college team on the Eastern Seaboard,” a sports writer had asked Hartley last week.

“It feels like hard work,” Hartley told him.

And that was true. But it was the best job ever.

One pleasant side effect of all that success was that I didn’t have time to feel lonely. Between school and hockey, all my hours were spoken for. I fell into bed like a dead man every night.

Success also meant a lack of friction in the locker room. The fact that our win song played all the time helped to promote a “live and let live” vibe. The result was that the whole team inched up the Rikker scale, simply by default. They were too busy winning to snub me.

Only one teammate was actively avoiding my eyes these days. And that was Graham, of course. He wasn’t rude or anything. It’s just that he seemed to always replace a reason to walk out of a room if I walked into it. I don’t know what I expected to happen after our strange little Vermont interlude. But if I’d thought we might be close again, it wasn’t happening.

I didn’t like it, but I wasn’t offended anymore. Because I knew that Graham wasn’t afraid of what I might do. These days, I was pretty sure that Graham was afraid of what Graham might do.

The second weekend in January, we had only one game scheduled. To celebrate our Friday night off, Bella and I blew off the dining hall in favor of a cheap Chinese restaurant off campus. Together, we ate General Tso’s chicken and greasy fried rice. When the fortune cookies arrived, hers and mine had identical fortunes inside.

“What a scam,” Bella sniffed. “If they match, it feels as if my fortune is cheapened.”

“It’s a pretty good fortune, though,” I pointed out. Our little paper slips had read: True love awaits.

“Eh. I feel more optimistic whenever the lucky number on the back is sixty-nine.”

I laughed, of course. With Bella, you just had to.

“How’s your sex life, Rikker?”

“I sort of remember sex. Though the details are fuzzy.” Fortune cookie or not, I was never going to have a boyfriend if I didn’t meet some available gay men. In theory, there were plenty of those at Harkness. But none of them spent twenty hours a week at the hockey rink.

Bella made a wry face. “There’s a harsh irony. The team pervert gets no play.”

“I know, right? I have to do the time, but I can’t do the crime.”

She pointed to my fortune. “Maybe you’ll meet some cute boy soon.”

“As it happens, my lucky number on here is sixty-nine,” I said, waving the cookie slip.

“What?” she jumped for it. “That’s not fair.”

Laughing, I held it out of her reach. I was only kidding, of course. The lucky number was 16. Which did nothing for me.

Bella’s phone chimed, and she read the text on it. “Hmf,” she said. “I don’t know whether to be flattered or insulted.”

“Why?”

“Graham is texting me. Hartley and his girlfriend are hanging out, playing RealStix in his room. He invited me over. But he’s also hoping I’ll pick up a couple of six packs on the way. What an ass.”

In spite of her protestations, after we left the restaurant, she cheerfully dragged me into the package store. (That’s what you call a liquor store in Connecticut, for some reason.)

“What shall we bring?” Bella asked.

“I dunno. Am I coming with you?”

“Sure you are. It’s Friday night. Do you have a better offer?”

“That would be no.”

“Then choose an ale. I’ll pick a lager.”

I bought a six of Switchback. Not only do I love that beer, but it’s the stuff that Graham and I drank at guerrilla night. The most immature part of me was hoping he’d remember.

Bella led me to an entryway in the very beautiful Beaumont House. “He’s on the third floor,” she said. We climbed up two flights of marble steps. There were four rooms and a bathroom on the third floor landing. Bella opened the left-hand door as if she owned the place. “Hey guys,” she said, breezing in. “We brought the goods.”

“Awesome,” Hartley said from where he sat cross-legged on the bed.

Beside him, Graham looked up at us. When he saw that I’d come in with Bella, a flicker of confusion crossed his face.

Good.

“Damn, this is a sweet room, Graham,” I said.

“Thanks,” he muttered. Graham had a generous single, with a big screen TV on the wall and a giant bed. There was even room enough for a beanbag chair in the corner, where Hartley’s girlfriend Corey lounged, a video game controller in her hand.

Hartley and Graham both sat the wrong way on the bed, propped up against the wall. Bella climbed on too, snuggling up to Graham’s side.

I wandered over to the desk, where Graham’s computer and a couple of speakers were playing his favorite tunes. He was half-way through a classic rock playlist. I decided to fuck with him a little. With a few taps of the keyboard, I switched to a list of dance music. Lady Gaga began to sing “Bad Romance.”

Although Corey began to move her shoulders to the beat, Graham gave me a look of irritation.

I just grinned at him, forcing him to look away.

Perfect.

I parked my butt on the floor next to Corey, who was battling it out in a game of RealStix against her boyfriend. There were only ten seconds left in the game. When the buzzer sounded, Pittsburgh had beat the Bruins 3-2. “Who’s your team?” I asked Corey. “Did you just beat Hartley?”

“Of course,” she grinned. “I always play Pittsburgh.”

“Ask her why,” Hartley said with a smirk.

I gave Corey a sidelong glance. “Maybe I don’t need to. Pittsburgh is a great team. And the captain is the hottest dude in the NHL.”

“Jesus, not you too!” Hartley complained as I high-fived his laughing girlfriend.

Corey put a hand over her heart. “It’s his boyish smile, you know? And he and I play well together. Right, Hartley? You owe me five bucks.”

“Beginners luck,” Hartley mumbled.

Corey just smiled. “Beginner’s luck means something different to Hartley than to other people. I’ve been kicking his butt for a year and a half now.”

“Who’s going to take on Graham’s Red Wings?” Hartley asked. “Bella?”

“I’m more of a spectator,” Bella said. “Even when it’s on a screen.”

“Graham versus Rikker, then.” Hartley tossed me his controller.

Without a word, Graham pulled up the menu on the screen. He dialed up the Red Wings versus the Bruins without asking me which team I wanted to play. But nobody seemed to notice except me. The Bruins were popular enough around these parts, anyway. (If I were, say, a Ducks fan and he knew that without asking, then tongues might wag.)

Hartley opened a beer for everybody. I took a slug of it before Graham started the game.

Right from the first minute, it was a battle.

He and I attacked each other’s weaknesses like two people who had spent the better part of junior high matching wits. When we’d played that night in Vermont, I’d noticed that Graham had upped his game over the years. (Because he had it in his dorm room, obviously. Not because his reflexes were better than mine.) Even so, I was lucky enough to score the first goal today. As soon as the lamp lit, I glanced at him. Take that, G-man.

His gaze said: bite me, Rikker. And there was heat in it.

The ref dropped the puck and we were at it again. I skated away with the puck, sending it flying behind the net where I knew that Graham’s slowest D-man would have to chase me. And the sharp elbows were out as the two of us battled it out.

“Jesus, kids,” Bella muttered. “You know this is your night off, right?”

Around us, conversations were begun and ended. Corey left to go to her roommate’s concert, and Orson arrived with a six-pack of Harpoon.

Graham and I played all three periods of the game without handing it off to anyone else. I was up by one goal when the buzzer rang.

“I’m next!” Orson said immediately. “Trade you a Harpoon for the controller.”

“Deal.”

I handed Orson my controller, but turned to look at Graham. His face was as sweaty as mine felt. And his expression said: this ain’t over.

A couple of beers later, Graham broke out the scotch. He and I sipped wordlessly while Hartley battled Orson to a tie. Bella was engrossed in her phone the whole time. “I have to go,” she said eventually, standing up. “Pepé’s girlfriend dumped him, and I think he needs some comforting.”

“Is that what we’re calling it these days?” Graham asked.

Bella gave him an ornery look and shouldered her bag. “Goodnight all,” she said. I received a kiss on the cheek, and then she was gone.

After Hartley beat Orson, Graham cued up another Red Wings vs. Bruins game. “Rematch,” he said, his voice stiff.

“If you insist,” I said. “It will only end the same way, dude.”

“Arrogant,” Graham grumbled.

“Slow reflexes,” I returned.

Orson laughed. “Competitive much?”

“Good clean fun,” I said, covering a smile. Poor Orson had no way of knowing that RealStix had once been our favorite form of foreplay.

Shit, I really needed to get out of this room before too long. Just a few minutes more…

But the game sucked me in. And when I looked up again, Hartley and Orson were gone. It was the middle of the third period of a scoreless game. And my mind snagged on the idea that I was sitting here with Graham alone, at lonely-o’clock. It was just enough distraction to be my undoing. Graham snuck around the net and scored on me. “FUCK!” I yelled, wiping my forehead.

“That’s right. Patience is a virtue.”

As the faux crowd went wild, I put the controller down. “Your game, dude. I should go.”

“What? With three minutes on the clock? You just can’t stand officially losing.”

“Jackass.”

His face wore a teasing smile — the same one I used to see when we played video games alone five years ago.

I really needed to get out of here.

Graham kicked the controller with his bare foot, nudging it into my hip. Fine. Three minutes. Then I was going to be history.

The clock ticked down, leaving Graham and his Red Wings as the winners. “Finally!” he crowed, standing up to stretch.

“Okay, happy?” I asked. Getting up off the beanbag, I grabbed my shoes. I perched on the edge of his bed to put them on. I had just untangled the laces on the first one when my shoe disappeared from view, ripped from my hands by Graham. I raised my eyes, knowing exactly what I’d replace there. Graham’s face was flushed, and there was a lusty gleam in his eye.

Fuck. When he looked at me like that, it was hard to breathe. Even so, I had a moment of absolute clarity. Here we go again, I chided myself even as he pushed my shoulders back onto the bed. I caught myself on my elbows, and time paused for the briefest speck of a moment. Then Graham closed his needy eyes, lowering himself onto me. And then his mouth landed on mine, hot and determined.

I’m sure I grunted in disbelief. And maybe for two or three seconds, I was too wary to let go. But he cupped my jaw, deepening the kiss. Then I opened for him, and that’s all it took. The first real taste of him ruined me. As Graham began to take long pulls from my mouth, the kiss went wild. I shoved myself further up onto that bed, and he followed me in a rush. And then my arms were free to yank him closer.

Fused at the mouth, we bumped and twisted on the bed. For a moment I was on my side, jamming one of my legs between his. Then the world tilted and I found myself on my back, Graham’s hot weight pressing me into the mattress. All the while, our limbs clamped gracelessly around each other. And we were kissing. Always kissing. We couldn’t keep our mouths apart. In fact, Graham made a clumsy attempt to strip me of my shirt. But it was unsuccessful because he wouldn’t release my mouth long enough to pull it over my face. And I wouldn’t remove my hands from his ass long enough to help.

I stroked him through the denim, my hands delving down his crease, as far down as I could reach, and he let out a monstrous groan.

So I did it again, with the same result, until he ground his dick against mine, then pulled up short, panting. “Strip,” he demanded.

“Are you sure that…”

“Strip.” He pulled his shirt over his head. A second later, he yanked his jeans down, leaving absolutely nothing but miles of golden skin and a jutting erection.

Holy shit. Graham wanted to get naked with me, and I was going to let him. And it was going to end badly. I knew that already. The fact that Graham and I always ended badly was fucking written in the stars somewhere.

But did that stop me? Nope. When it came to Graham, I could never keep my head on straight.

And all the thinking I was doing meant that I wasn’t moving fast enough for Graham. So he came after me. He dragged my jeans down off my legs, even yanking my socks off with them. I watched my underwear follow in his hands.

And then we were skin on skin. He was on top again, devouring me. His dick scraped against mine, hard and ambitious. I began to feel greedy. At this rate, the whole encounter was going to reach its inevitable conclusion in the next couple of minutes. That wasn’t okay with me. If I was going to make this mistake, I wanted to make it good.

With a palm against Graham’s shoulder, I gave him a shove, rolling him to his side. His body felt so fucking good against mine. “Slow down,” I urged, rubbing his sculpted pecs with my hand.

“Can’t,” he said simply, leaning in for my mouth.

We kissed again, softer this time. Trailing a hand down his body, I took us both in hand, pumping my palm against our parallel shafts. Graham gave a deep bellow of a groan. And just the sound alone took me to the edge.

Stilling my hand, I took a deep breath. “Can I suck you?”

His eyes squeezed shut at the very idea. But then he shook his head, and those cool eyes flipped back open. “No. I want you to fuck me.”

For a second, all I could do was blink back at him, wondering if he’d just said what I thought he just said. The request shocked me almost as much as the fact that I was here with him in the first place.

“It’s been a long time coming,” he said into the silence. “Don’t make me beg.”

I cleared my throat. “Have you ever…?”

“Only with toys.”

Damn. I didn’t know what to do. So I made a joke. “G, that’s pretty pervy for a straight guy.”

Graham dropped his face into the pillow and smiled.

I leaned over him, reaching for his bedside drawer. Right inside I found what I was looking for — lube and a condom. The second that Graham saw them, he rolled onto his stomach. Even before I’d lubed up my fingers, he pushed his ass up off the bed. And when I finally reached my slicked fingertips over to caress him, he shuddered and groaned.

My body was absolutely throbbing with expectation. But I still didn’t know if I could go through with it. This was different than a kiss and a grope. If Graham freaked out after sex I’d feel awful.

Nervous, I began playing with him. And with my free hand, I rubbed up and down his beautiful back. Leaning over, I worked kisses into the smooth skin at his waist and tried not to think too hard. My arms were full of this beautiful boy, and each time I pressed my lips against him, it felt like coming home.

And all the while, Graham squirmed against my fingers, his greedy body asking for more. “Come on, man,” he gasped. “Give it to me.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I said, my voice low.

“Hurt me,” he said, pushing back onto my hand. I stretched my fingers inside him, rubbing up against his spot, and he moaned. “Oh yeah. Do it.”

Jesus fuck. It was the most erotic invitation I’d heard in my life. And I ached for him. But something still held me back. Graham was facing away from me, his eyes closed. Hurt me, he’d demanded. It sounded as if Graham was trying to punish himself.

I wanted him. But I wanted it to be real. Not some twisted revenge fuck. “Turn over,” I ordered, slapping his hip.

“What? I think you’re a tease, Rik.”

“I need to see your face,” I whispered.

With a frown, he turned that great body over, bending his knees to get around me. God, he was so gorgeous. I could have just stared at him for hours, all spread out in front of me, ready to be fucked.

But he was still evading my eyes.

Climbing on top of him, I took his face in hand, forcing him to look up at me. My thumb slid over his beautiful cheekbone, over his handsome jaw. “Look at me.”

When those cool blue eyes connected with mine, time slid to a stop. “Jesus, Rik,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

Slowly, without breaking eye contact, I dropped my head for a very soft, very sensual kiss. I knew it was more intimacy than he could probably handle. But he held my gaze, blinking a little, but staying with me. His mouth softened into the kiss, and big hands wrapped around my ribs, holding me in place. I kissed him sweet and slow, until he moaned, his legs wrapping over me to hold me close.

“Good boy,” I breathed. “Now spread for me.” In a big hurry, he did exactly as told. And his eyes never left mine.

Ever so slowly, I gave him exactly what he’d asked me for. And when he broke our gaze a while later, it was only because his eyes rolled back in his head on a shuddering gasp.

That time, I wasn’t offended at all.

Afterward, I had never been so sated. And Graham felt it, too. His body was relaxed to the point of bonelessness. As if I’d fucked all the tension out of him.

Unlike the night of our tequila adventure, he didn’t look like he wanted to bolt. True, we were in his room. So his options for bolting were more limited. But he didn’t look panicked. In fact, he barely looked conscious.

“It’s a shame you didn’t enjoy that at all,” I teased him as he lazed in my arms.

“Smug, much?” he asked, grinning without opening his eyes. “I am covered in jizz.”

“I know. Isn’t it great?” I kissed the place where his neck met his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Rik,” he said then. And I thought he might tell me to leave. Except his hands were running up and down my body as he said it. So maybe not.

“What are you sorry for?”

“Ducking you. Ducking this.”

It was only four words, but they made my eyes sting. “We’re here now.”

“Yeah we are,” he said on a sigh. “Nobody can know.”

Well, ouch.

But it was hard to blame him. Hiding sucked, and I’d already proven that it didn’t really work very well. But on the other hand, I didn’t make a very good advertisement for coming out. Nobody would look at me and say, Heck yeah! Sign me up for some of that media attention!

Most gay men who’ve been around the block a few times will tell you that it’s a bad idea to be with somebody who won’t acknowledge you in public. Was I willing to be with Graham if I had to sneak around?

Actually, it was a pretty easy decision. “Does this mean tonight isn’t just a one time thing?”

Graham buried his face in my neck. “It’s always been you for me. Always.”

And now he’d shocked me again tonight. The hits just kept on coming. I couldn’t even say anything back, I was just too stunned. But Graham’s unlikely affection fed something hungry inside me. So I held him tightly, and let my contented sighs tell him how I felt.

For a long time, we lay there together, tangled up on the bed. And here I’d thought that naked cuddling with Graham was never going to happen. But his big hands continued to warm the skin of my back. He buried his nose in my hair and breathed deeply.

“I gotta clean myself up,” he said eventually. “Hang tight. I’ll bring you a Zamboni.”

Graham dressed in boxers and a T-shirt, and then disappeared into the bathroom. He came back a couple of minutes later, hair damp from a quick shower. I used the warm washcloth he brought back to clean myself up.

Then I sat up, pulling on my shirt and my jeans.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

The vulnerability in his voice was not what I’d expected. I paused, my zipper in my hands. “Well, I have to use the john. Which means that I have to use yours, or go home. So which is it going to be?”

His eyes traveled to the door. It was after midnight on a Friday night. There were three other rooms on this floor. I could bump into someone in there. Even then, his neighbor would have no reason to suspect us.

I could see him doing the math, because it was the same math that I used to do when I was in the closet at Saint B’s. I put a hand on his chest. “Look, I’m putting my shoes on. And my jacket. So if someone sees me in your bathroom, they’ll just assume that I’m on my way home. You know — after pissing out the beer that real men drink while they watch the game on T.V.”

He nodded. But I could see the reluctance in his eyes.

“I didn’t see a soul,” I said when I came back into his room.

Graham lay on the bed in his boxer shorts. His expression was sheepish. “Didn’t mean to make a federal case out of it.”

I kicked my shoes off and dropped my jacket and jeans over his chair. Then I flopped onto the bed beside him. “Look, I know how it is. But I need you to trust me a little bit. I would never expose you.”

His smile was rueful. “You could have outed me your first day on campus if you felt like it.”

“Never,” I said. “Even when you wouldn’t look at me, I never wanted to do that. I’ve been outed, G. Nobody deserves that.”

He propped himself up on an elbow. And I let myself admire the curve of his bicep. Tonight, I was allowed to do that. “Nobody?” he asked. “How about that television pastor who preached that gays should all die of AIDS, before he got busted for soliciting men in a public bathroom?”

“Okay. Maybe him.”

We laughed, but then things got serious again. “If you could undo it,” Graham said. “If that asshole never outed you at Saint B’s, would you rather be back in the closet?”

“Nope,” I said immediately. “It sucked to be outed, because I never got a chance to make that call for myself. But now I know who my real friends are.” Even if there aren’t too many of them. “There’s nobody in my life who doesn’t know.”

“There’s nobody who reads the Sports Illustrated website who doesn’t know.”

I grinned at him. “Okay, so I no longer have even a shred of privacy. But tomorrow, when you’re skating a little funny, I’ll be the only one who knows why.”

Graham turned his face away and blushed. Fuck, I loved that blush. I scooted closer to him and pulled him into a hug.

And he let me. Then we were kissing again. Graham’s fingers slid into my hair, and he chuffed out a satisfied sigh between kisses. It was almost more intense than the fucking. We’d taken the edge off our desire. So this wasn’t a frantic let’s-get-naked-before-I-come-to-my-senses moment. Every slide of his lips against mine was loving and deliberate. We made out like two people who had all the time in the world, and every moment of it was delicious.

A little later, I set my phone to wake me up at five in the morning. Then, for the first time in my life, I fell asleep in Graham’s arms.