See the Light by Cassandra Carr Page B

plopping on the bed. He looked down at the dark stain on the front of the pseudounderwear and snickered.
“Gonna have to give those a good wash, huh?” Patrick teased.
“You made me do it. Maybe you should wash them.”
“Big baby.”
Jason turned his head enough to glance at the alarm clock. “Shit, I gotta go. Do you mind if I jump in the shower and then get on the road?”
“No problem, babe. I promise not to join you in the shower and delay your journey.”
“While the idea of delaying my trip to get my hands on you again is tempting, I really do need to leave.”
“I know.”
By the time he’d showered and gotten back into his clothes, Jason had to skedaddle, and after a final, breathless kiss he left. When he arrived back at his place, he dropped onto his bed, still fully clothed, and closed his eyes. He was addicted. He might as well admit it, at least to himself. Now what was he going to do about it?

Chapter Seven
    With Christmas finished, the Olympics were bearing down on Patrick. The team would meet in Boston with the rest of the Team USA contingent in a couple of weeks, and then fly over to Geneva from there. The idea of being in the same vicinity with Jason for three weeks during the Games was both exciting and nerve-racking.
    But he had to get through New Year’s Eve first.
One of the well-meaning wives of one of the other staff members from Philly, Carol, seemed to have made it her life’s mission to get Patrick hooked up with a woman. He’d gotten a lot of “why aren’t you married, a sweet guy like you” and “you’re so hot, and you have a stable job, I can’t understand why women aren’t flocking to you” comments from her over the past few years but had ignored them—until she started mentioning her single friends. Patrick had been with Philly as a scout ever since his retirement, and it was becoming impossible to deflect her attempts at match making.
On this particular evening the team was throwing a party. The owner figured if the players were somewhere they could be monitored, they’d be less likely to get into trouble, so they’d all been encouraged—forced, more like, management and staff included—to don tuxes and gather in the banquet room of a local restaurant. Fortunately the couple who owned the restaurant insisted on discretion from its staff, and they hadn’t had all manner of people trying to sneak into the party, but several “friends” had managed to find their way in, including two different women who happened to know Carol.
Janette was a willowy blonde of about forty-five who kept running her fingertips up the sleeve of Patrick’s jacket. Each time she did, it was all he could do not to flinch. It wasn’t that women disgusted him, but the calculated, hungry look in her eyes scared the hell out of him. The other, Brittany, was a brunette with a sweet smile, and that was almost worse. It was easier to politely repel the attentions of the obvious Janette than it was the subtle niceness displayed by Brittany.
    All Patrick wanted to do was leave, drive to New Jersey, and sink inside Jason. His team hadn’t made the players come to a cheesy party, and Jason was currently in Manhattan. Patrick’s phone chimed, and he turned away to discreetly pull it out.
    So what’s it like over there? Patrick smiled.
    A morgue. How is it where you are?
He felt a hand on his arm and brushed it away, tired of being polite.
    Watching as teammates drink like fishes and fuck random women in the bathroom. All in all, a screaming good time.
    Ah, so maybe this party wasn’t so bad in comparison.
Ugh, that sucks.
He sighed. This whole thing sucked.
I’d rather you were here sucking me.
With a chuckle Patrick replied.
    I bet you do.
He was trying to keep things light, but the lure of the door was strong. If the team wasn’t playing the next day, Patrick would’ve hightailed it into New York City and found a way to fuck his man six ways to Sunday. His man? Shit . He needed to face