Avon Gale

“I’m not going to be nice to you on the ice tomorrow or anything. I expect your defensemen to step up and…. Are you okay?”

Lane was not okay. He kept blinking and looking at Jared’s eyes, sucking idly on his lower lip—which was still sore—and thinking about all the things he wanted that he couldn’t have. “Sure. I’m fine. I’m not used to being drunk twice in one day.”

When the elevator doors closed, Lane looked at Jared and waited for him to tell Lane what floor he was on. Instead, Jared swore under his breath, reached out, grabbed Lane by the shirt, and shoved him up against the elevator doors.

Jared didn’t hit him. Instead, he leaned in, trapping Lane against the closed doors and pressing up against him. Lane had been hard since they left the bar, and Jared had to be able to feel it. It took Lane a few seconds to understand what it was pressing back against him, and before he could moan or do anything else, Jared’s mouth was on his and they were kissing.