Meet the Characters

When he shuts the door behind us, I unzip his jeans and reach for his beautiful hard cock like a hysterical starving woman unwrapping a Dove ice cream bar.  

Wave after wave of pleasure hit us, and after the last spasm subsided, I collapsed gently on top of her. We heaved breath into our bodies. I didn’t look at her right away or say anything. If I did, we might banter, go back to the old way of dealing with the tension between us.

I liked this new way a lot better.

If the Great One was playing for the Icebreakers he’d take it just as seriously as I do. Therefore I am as dedicated as Wayne Gretzky. That’s not my opinion—that’s just hockey logic.

May not be at the pro-athlete level anymore, but I’m still fully capable of maintaining vigorous thrusting motions from many angles for long periods of time.

I’m not as superstitious as the press makes me out to be. Yes, I talk to goalposts every game. It’s called showing gratitude. They’re a part of my team, and it’s literally my job to protect them—what am I gonna do? Not thank the pipes every time we block a goal? I am not a monster.

And then she’s standing there looking at me like she’s so happy to see me. And I did it. I refrained from dropping to my knees. I refrained from wrapping my arms around her and telling her how good it was to see her too. 

If I could come home to this every day, I’d be the luckiest man who ever lived, but I’d have a nonstop erection. Could be bad for business.

I don’t know if I was falling for her slowly, day by day, or if it all started when I met her and then got suspended for years by sheer force of will or denial. But I just fell so hard and fast for Birdie Beckett in the past half hour. I am dizzy with love for her.  

“Who’s got two kids, an erection, and just told your brother he’s falling for you?” He lets his boxer briefs fall to the floor and then points to himself with his thumbs. “This naked guy.” 

“This is one of my go-to moves with my family. Used to absolutely slay at the dinner table. Still does with my nieces and nephews. Now, an amateur would have shoved them up her nose as soon as she’d received the chips. But I know to let the oil cool, or you’ll be sniffing your own burning flesh for the rest of the day.”

I am free. Free to be me. As long as my cat is cool with everything.

I was listening to my favorite Meatloaf song last night and wondering if there was anything I won’t do for love, but it turns out I’ll do everything Donna asks me to. Including participating in a f**king séance.

“I think everything that I thought was being in love before was really just a longing for this feeling I have for you.” 

She doesn’t have to let everything else fall away. She only has to trust that once I’ve made the decision to love a woman, I won’t let go of her. 

If a copy of Wuthering Heights kissed me, it would feel like this. If the song “Whole Lotta Love” by Led Zeppelin kissed me, it would feel like this. If the first few seasons of Game of Thrones kissed me, it would feel like this. Nope. Never mind. Nothing else could ever feel like this. 

It’s almost as if we exist in three separate parallel universes now. In these letters. In our manuscripts. And in the real world, on campus, where you are a grumpy assface. Just know that in the real world, beneath my sassy demeanor is a rapidly beating heart.

I don’t hate parties. I hate being around people at festive gatherings if they expect me to smile and pretend I don’t think they’re boring idiots.

When you look at me, I want to say, it’s like the sun shining through the clouds or the way you catch your breath when you look up at the night sky in LA and actually see it painted with stars.

The kiss starts out slow and surreal but determined, and it builds to something urgent and beautiful and the only thing that feels real in my life right now.
It gets divided up into smaller kisses, multiplies in intensity, and then fades out as gracefully as a perfect song that both satisfies you and makes you want to hear it again immediately.

She is stunning. She is surprisingly gorgeous in the way that a sunset is gorgeous. You just have to stop what you’re doing to marvel at the natural beauty and remember that it’s not your problems and To-Do lists that define you. It’s the things that take your breath away and give your life back to you by nudging you off track.

She’s the executive assistant of my dreams and the succubus from my filthiest, most confusing adolescent nightmares.

I blame the delayed onset of my sexual prowess on all of the men in my entire extended family who are hell-bent on keeping me a virgin forever.