Chapter Seventeen (pt. 1) [Liam]

November brought in the beginning of hockey season and, with that, Eli's time really thinned.

Between longer practices, games, work and school, I barely got to see him. That is, I saw plenty of him at school and at The Lodge — we do live in two very small towns, after all — but we didn't really see each other.

The loss of that new source of excitement in my life for two months had me going back, over and over, to the last night we shared at The Lodge after the party. Eli was very firm on his stance regarding the hot tub that night, but surprisingly pliable on everything else.

I remember pushing him against the wall, trapping him there with the weight of my own body. When the two of us are together, I am usually the one being shoved and thrown. I can tell Eli likes the control. I imagine getting some sort of sense of charge over the moment gives him a specific type of comfort or reassurance over the situation as a whole.

However, that night at The Lodge, when it was just us in a completely private place, I wanted a little taste of control myself, and I hoped he would let me take it. I still remember the thrilling trail of tingling excitement coiling around my stomach as he gave in, almost too easily. His skin was on fire from jaw to collarbone, where he let me kiss him with lips and teeth and way too much eagerness. The heat from his stomach burned the tip of my ice-cold fingers as I slipped my hand beneath his t-shirt.

"What's it gonna take for me to get you to that bed over there?" I remember whispering in his ear.

He replied by way of the most delightful of looks. That of someone who was more than willing to be coaxed to go anywhere, if only stirred in the right direction. Even today, just thinking back to it, I can feel my stomach twist hotly at the unspoken invitation in his eyes.

That is the trickiest part with Eli. When we are alone, he doesn't really talk. He is a man of action. I have to try to suggest my intentions in some tacit way, test the waters and go from there. Watch out for his meticulously guarded reactions. Catch the things he wants me to catch.

But it's never completely obvious.

Eli rolls on subtle hints and barely-there signs. If I miss them, they're gone. It's exasperating and nerve-wrecking and thoroughly electrifying. It's more than just the pleasure of the moment with him. It's a whole game. There are layers to our interaction.

I guided him to the bed gently and he pushed me down onto the mattress a little more harshly. He pulled his sweatshirt off over his head before crawling over me on the bed. Except I wasn't ready to give up that delicious control quite yet, so I rolled us over. He didn't protest.

Somehow we ended up horizontal, more easily than I might have ever expected, me on top of him. His lips tasted like heat — tequila and spice and the sweet taste of want. It was intoxicating.

He was the first to reach for my belt. I helped him take it off, before moving on to his jeans. After undoing his zipper, I tried pulling the denim down his hips — a less than subtle suggestion of my intentions — and he resisted me.

So we weren't doing that. Message received.

It's fine. Slow and steady wins the race. Obviously, this is not a race at all. But if, for the sake of sheer shameless indulgence, we consider it is, I can't imagine anything sweeter than the prize.

However, for that moment, on that night, I settled for the half marathon. Which is still more than what I had been getting until that day.

Eli might be intense and waft off a definite air of despair in the privacy of our secret encounters, but he is also frustratingly disciplined. Until the night of the party, all we had done was tumble around in the Ice Arena's locker rooms or The Lodge's empty kitchen. Some frenzied kissing and heated groping, but nothing beneath the security of our clothes.

A mutual friendly hand in the comfort of my bed at The Lodge was a fun, welcome change. And far more rewarding than I would have expected fooling around third base like a couple of freshmen could ever be.

The least pleasant part of doing this thing with Eli was what always came next, though. I hadn't even gotten my breathing in check yet, when he sat up to do himself back up.

"Leaving already?" I asked him.

"If I'm gone too long, my friends will start looking for me," he told me without so much as a look over his shoulder.

I propped my upper body up on my elbows, staring at his back in hopes he would turn around to face me. He didn't.

"Last time I checked, they were occupied," I said.

"Dean might be drunk, but Owen's not. He's staying sober tonight, which means he's staying alert."

"Of course." And God forbid someone suspects Eli Blake has been hanging out with the newest switch hitter in town.

I cleared my throat, getting rid of those unnecessary bitter thoughts. "Whatever." I laid back down on my back, folding my arms under my head. "We should do this again some time."

I truly expected him to ignore that. He stood up, instead, looking at me. "Some time," he echoed.

And that was honestly the meanest, cruelest thing he could have done. To raise my hopes that way. To stir my imagination so. And then go off to play his hockey season, leaving me to stare at the ceiling with nothing but memories of a night that never went as far as I wished it had.

We don't get to see each other again — truly see each other — until the very first day of winter break, in the Ice Arenas. At the crack of dawn. On a Monday.

"This is horrible," I say.

Eli cracks a small smile, the pink flush on his cheeks made more obvious by the maroon beanie on his head. "No," he coos. "You're horrible."

I huff, waving the hockey stick in my right hand in annoyance. "It looks ugly," I complain. "Hockey is ugly."

Except it's not. Not entirely. Not when he does it. Even though the nature of the sport is harsh and rugged, Eli manages to move with impressive grace with a stick in his hands.

The same cannot be said for me.

I can't believe Eli truly thought it would be a good idea to try to teach me how to play hockey. Most of all, I can't believe I let him convince me. Granted, the fact that the rink is empty, at six-thirty in the morning on the first day of winter break, means there is no one around to witness my epic lack of talent. Still. I should have put up more of a fight. Did I truly think I could be anything other than monumentally inept?

Hazel-grey eyes come alight with a quiet sort of mirth. "I practiced that rotating leap thingy, you know."

"Did you now," I muse.

Eli leaves his stick by the edge of the rink before skating toward center ice. I watch his face contort in concentration as he prepares for the attack, before rising off the ice. He can't use the proper blade positioning with those hideous hockey skates of his, but the essence of the axle is there. At least, what most people see when they see a skater jump. And, this time, he doesn't fall.

"I'm impressed," I say as he skates back in my direction, looking kind of smug. I smirk. "I would be even more impressed if you didn't have the grace of hippo."

Eli scoffs. "You're just butthurt because you suck at hockey and I can do your twirly jumps."

I bite back the grin. "That must be it."

Laughter shines in Eli's eyes as he smiles. That, along with the alluring pink hue still on his cheeks and his left collar bone peeking out above the collar of his crinkled t-shirt, makes him look exceptionally kissable in this very moment. And I guess my vivid daydreams from the past two months have made me delusional and reckless, because I somehow come to the conclusion that I should, in fact, kiss him.

Naturally, that was a bad a idea.

***

I skipped yesterday, but here's an update today. Part two comes out tomorrow!

I know some of you were wishing for some more chances to see them interact outside of their physical relationship, so I'm curious about how you feel regarding this one :)

Thanks for reading, I honestly can't believe how many people have been keeping up with this as I post. If you liked, please leave a vote or a comment!