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The sounds of the party going on around him fuel Bitty as he dances, moving his body to the thrumming bass of Ransom’s Perfect Epikegster Playlist. The night has been amazing so far; Jack had even taken a selfie with him – at his suggestion! – before returning to his room after to do lord knows what… probably watch tape or a history documentary before going to sleep at a respectable hour.Bitty had followed Jack up to their rooms to make sure his door was locked – again, at Jack’s suggestion – but the party’s still in full swing and it just wouldn’t have been right to duck out early at his first big kegster, so he descends the stairs once more, grabs another beer and dances his heart out with whoever happens to be nearby.After a while, Bitty moves off to grab some water and air on the front porch. He’s leaning against the exterior of the house when he notices a suspiciously nice car blocking the driveway to the LAX house before catching sight of the figure pacing next to it.“That car’s a sight nicer than it has any right to be on this block,” Bitty calls out to the guy, his southern accent peeking out a bit more than usual from the alcohol and the hour. It’s getting pretty late.The guy – man, Bitty mentally corrects as he gets a better look at him – stops pacing and squares his tense shoulders to Bitty before relaxing them as he starts to walk across the street and up the Haus’ short flagstone pathway. He’s a few inches taller than Bitty, who looks appreciatively over his muscular shoulders, tapered waist, and lithe legs before returning his eyes to the face of the newcomer that has come into the yellow glow of the porch light.Kent freaking Parson – hockey star and captain of the Las Vegas Aces – smirks back at him, catching Bitty’s appreciative perusal of his body. Bitty is just buzzed enough to not be embarrassed at being caught and decides to see if he’s reading things right.“Well hey there, Ace,” Bitty drawls. “What brings you to this fine hockey haus tonight?”Kent Parson ascends the short set of steps to join Bitty on the porch, leaning his muscled forearms back on the chipped paint of the railing.“Oh, I was just in the neighborhood,” he plays along, “thought I might come see an old friend.”Eric takes a long drink of water from the plastic bottle he’s holding, titling his head back to catch the last bit and notices, with a little surprise, that Kent Parson’s eyes wander down to his extended neck and bobbing Adam’s apple with intent.“Your friend’s not at the party,” Bitty tells him, and watches as his face falls for a split second before the smirk returns like a mask.“Ah, then I should probably go,” Parson says, though he doesn’t move from his spot on the porch rail, “I’ve got work in Boston tomorrow.”“But you drove all the way here,” Bitty smiles his sweetest smile. “I’d be a poor Southern gentleman if I didn’t insist you stay for at least one drink.”“I guess I could stay for one drink,” Parson agrees, pushing up from the rail and into Bitty’s space. “But after one drink I might want to stay for more.”Impulsively, Bitty pushes up on his toes and kisses Kent Parson full on the mouth. Surprisingly, Kent Parson kisses him back, deepening the kiss as he tongues Bitty’s lower lip, asking for more. Bitty opens to him immediately, responding in kind as he feels Parson’s hands on his waist, pulling them closer together. The kiss is passionate and lustful, sparking desire low in Bitty’s stomach.Too soon, Kent Parson breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against Bitty’s own. Bitty takes the opportunity to catch his breath, glad that, though the kiss had ended, Kent Parson was not showing any signs of revulsion or regret at having kissed him.“This isn’t what I came here for,” Parson groans, moving his right hand from Bitty’s waist to his face, his thumb caressing Bitty’s cheekbone softly as his long fingers cup the back of his head.Bitty grinds their hips together a bit, feeling the evidence that this attraction is not one-sided in the other man’s jeans.“But it’s what you want right now?” Bitty asks boldly.A small group of partygoers exists the house, breaking the bubble the two men had made around themselves. Parson hides his face from the porch light by nuzzling at Bitty’s ear. He bites the lobe lightly, whispering, “It is.”“I can take you upstairs to my room through the back,” Bitty suggests. “No one who would recognize you would be on the back stairs right now.”“You live here?” Parson asks, surprised.Bitty knows the real question is ‘you play D1 hockey?’ but he’s used to it by now.“Look here Mister Calder-winning-all-star-captain-man,” Bitty snarks, “I may not be a goon, but I’m quick, I’ve got soft hands, and I know how to handle a stick.”He winks after the last bit, and is rewarded with a soft chuckle from Parson and a low, “I bet you do.”“So?” Bitty prompts.“Lead the way.” &&&& Bitty takes the long way to his room, leading Kent freaking Parson by the hand off the porch and around the side of the house. The back yard is littered with cans and Solo cups, but there are no people hanging around in the cool of the night. Feeling bold, Bitty stops for a moment to kiss Parson again, turning and pushing him against the siding and roaming greedy hands along the planes of his unfortunately clothed abs.Parson looks a little dazed when Bitty ends the kiss, his pupils blown wide in the dark and his lips plump and slick with spit. Bitty leads him through the back door, which opens into the kitchen and is mostly empty save for a passed out Nursey who is snoring in a chair at the kitchen table with his head down on his arms.Bitty takes Parson – Kent, he thinks to himself, he should probably start thinking of him as Kent instead of Kent Parson or Parson – up to his door and stops to fish his key from his pocket so he can unlock it. Kent grabs at Bitty’s hips, grinding against his ass and making Bitty fumble with the lock slightly before the key slips in and he can turn the knob.“You’re so fucking hot, you know that?” Kent tells him as Bitty opens the door. They move inside and Kent pushes Bitty’s back against the wall next to the door before initiating a quick but sinfully hot kiss full of tongues and teeth.“I just realized you have me at a disadvantage,” Kent tells Bitty, pulling his head back slightly, but rutting his hard, jean-clad length against Bitty’s lower abs.Bitty can barely think he’s so turned on, but manages to squeak out a, “Pardon?” as Kent moves to suck and nibble at Bitty’s neck.“You obviously know who I am,” Kent says when he’s satisfied with the mark he’s left, “but I don’t even know your name.”Bitty moans when he realizes that in the space of ten minutes he went from taking a water break on the front porch to making out with a professional athlete in his bedroom. He’s nineteen and not completely inexperienced, but this is like a fantasy come to life. It sort of feels like a dream, but the body against him is very much real.“E- Eric,” Bitty stutters, “but pretty much everyone calls me Bitty.”“On account of your size?” Kent asks, smirking.“On account of my last name being Bittle,” Bitty shoots an eyebrow up, unimpressed at Kent’s joke.Bitty realizes his bedroom door is still cracked when another door in the hallway creaks open a bit. He shuts and locks his door quickly, telling Kent that they’ll want to keep out the riff raff. Kent agrees and moves to sit on Bitty’s neatly made bed. Bitty straddles his lap and leans in for another kiss. Kent stops him with a soft hand on his chest.“What do you want me to call you?” Kent asks.“What?”“You said almost everyone calls you ‘Bitty,’ but is it okay if I call you ‘Eric?’”“Sugar, you can call me whatever you want as long as you take this shirt off.”Kent complies easily and Bitty eagerly spreads his hand over Kent’s bare chest, tweaking a nipple and smiling when it sends a chill through the shirtless man.“Off, off!” Kent demands, pulling at Bitty’s own shirt. It hits the floor soon after, joining Kent’s button up. Bitty grinds down on Kent’s lap, happy to receive a moan for his efforts.“What’a’bout you?” Bitty pants, arousal bringing out the Georgia drawl he normally works to subdue. “I’m callin’ you Parson or Kent in my head, but…”“Parse,” Kent tells him, “or… or Kenny.”“There’s no way I’m using your hockey nickname in bed,” Bitty tells him, popping the fly on his jeans to relieve the now-uncomfortable pressure on his hard cock.“Fair enough, Eric,” Kent responds, grabbing Bitty under his thighs and flipping them over so that Bitty is on his back with Kent hovering over him, knees on the bed. He, too, unbuttons his pants before moving to take his snapback off.“Leave the hat,” Bitty commands. Kent complies.The rest of their clothes join their shirts on the floor in between bruising kisses and wandering hands until only their underwear remains, both tented and sporting dark spots of precome.Kent mouths at Bitty’s length through his dark red boxer briefs, looking up at Bitty with his grey-green eyes through pale blonde lashes. The room is dark, lit only by the orange glow of the streetlight filtering in through sheer drapes, and it gives everything a surreal cast.Kent works his way back up Bitty’s body with lips and tongue and teeth until they’re face to face.“Tell me what you want,” he breathes.“Your mouth,” Bitty groans, hands roaming wherever they can reach.Kent complies easily, smirking as he makes his way back down to where he was before and taking the last of Bitty’s clothing with him until he’s naked.“Wanna see you, too,” Bitty tells him sincerely.Kent strips off his boxers quickly allowing Bitty a brief look before he situates himself between Bitty’s thighs. He grabs Bitty at his base, tongue flicking out to taste the fresh spurt of precome leaking out. He groans, eliciting another spurt from Bitty’s leaking dick.“Tastes so good, Eric,” he tells Bitty before he takes the head in his mouth.Bitty could probably come from the sounds Kent is making alone. It is clear by his technique and his enthusiasm that Kent is no stranger to blowing someone, and that he loves it. Bitty props himself up on his elbows to get a better view and almost comes undone at the sight of him, head bobbing, cheeks hollowed, eyes closed almost like he’s praying. His black snapback sits backwards on his head still, but a lock of blonde hair has escaped through the hole on his forehead. Bitty can’t stop himself from caressing his sharp jawline with one hand tenderly.Kent pulls off for a moment, steadying his breath while he continues to pump Bitty’s length with his spit-slicked fist.He takes the middle finger of his free hand into his mouth before taking it out again and resting it against Bitty’s hole.“Can I?” he asks.Bitty’s mouth has gone dry so he nods emphatically. Kent traces the rim for a moment, allowing Bitty to get used to the sensation. As he retakes Bitty’s dick in his mouth, he slips the tip of the finger in past the tight ring of muscle, gently pushing in and out as Bitty adjusts around it.A few minutes (or a few hours, Bitty has lost all sense of time) later, Kent adds another finger and crooks them, searching for Bitty’s prostate. Bitty collapses back onto his back, the motion sending his dick into the back of Kent’s throat.“Lord, Sorry!” Bitty apologizes, but Kent just takes it in stride and keeps working Bitty over.He finds what he looking for soon after and Bitty can’t stop the moan that punches out of him of its own volition.“Fuck, Kent!” he cries, probably too loudly considering the Haus’ thin walls, but he can’t help it.Kent nails his prostate repeatedly, never letting up on his attentions to Bitty’s dick, and all Bitty can think is I could die like this and it’d be just fine with me.“Kent – Kenny – I’m gonna come,” he warns. Kent hums around him and continues bobbing his head. He takes all of Bitty in then, his nose hits just above Bitty’s thatch of curls and rubs Bitty’s prostate one more time before Bitty explodes with an orgasm strong enough to leave him lightheaded.By the time Bitty comes back to himself, Kent is positioned over him stripping his own leaking cock quickly, his eyes laser focused on Bitty’s face. He comes groaning Eric, fuck, hot spurts landing on Bitty’s stomach and thighs, and crashes on to the bed next to Bitty, chuckling.“What’s so funny there, Mister?” Bitty asks, a little self conscious that he might be laughing at him, but still too blissed out from coming to really worry.“This was not how I imagined tonight going at all,” Kent tells him. “Well, maybe… but…”“Well I didn’t exactly picture this happening when the night began either,” Bitty retorts, “but I’m not sorry it happened, either.”Kent rolls towards Bitty and kisses him sweetly. “I’m not sorry at all.”They lay there for a few moments before Bitty remembers there’s come drying on his skin.“Ugh, lemme go find a towel,” he says, pulling on his boxers and a Samwell Hockey t-shirt.He heads out into the hallway, carefully shutting the door behind him so it barely makes a sound. He walks across the hall to the bathroom, grabbing a washcloth out of the linen closet and wetting it. He rubs at the spots of tacky come on his skin, getting as much off as he can see. He’s in need of a shower, but doesn’t think he’ll be awake long enough to take one.As he exits the bathroom to return to his room with a fresh washcloth for Kent, Jack’s door creaks open.“Bittle?” Jack asks, voice groggy with sleep. “You look…”“Go back to sleep, Jack,” Bitty tells him. “I was just usin’ the bathroom.”“Oh, okay then,” Jack sounds confused, tired most likely. “See you in the morning.”Bitty enters his room, locking the door behind him again. He looks at his alarm clock and is surprised to see it’s almost three AM.“Kent,” Bitty whispers, reaching the bed where Kent has managed to get himself under the covers. He shakes his shoulder gently. “Don’t you have a game tomorrow? I mean, today? Do you need to get back to Boston?”“Too tired,” Kent murmurs. “I set an ‘larm.”“Well alright then,” Bitty smiles, pushing the hair off of Kent’s forehead tenderly.He climbs into the small bed beside Kent. He gives Kent as much space as he can, not sure if the other man would want to cuddle or be left alone. Kent rolls over almost immediately, reaching for Bitty and pulling him close.It should feel weird, Bitty thinks, to be this intimate with a virtual stranger, but it feels nice – right. Bitty has never been overly touchy with others, especially men, especially athletes, but the feeling of Kent’s arm wrapped around his waist, the soft weight of it holding Bitty’s back to his front feels natural.Bitty falls asleep to soft snores and warmth. &&&&&&&
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Kent’s alarm blares too loud and too early. He rolls to hit the snooze on his phone but is stopped by the warm body lying in between where the alarm is sounding and where he is laying. He smiles as he thinks back on the events of just a few hours before – five-thirty really is too damn early – and kisses Eric’s shoulder as he reaches over him to grab his phone with… shit, ten missed calls from Swoops and a barrage of text messages. They start with simply asking where he is, but quickly devolve into mostly expletives and curses on his life and health if ‘his late night shenanigans cost us the game.’ Kent reads that in a perfect mental representation of Jeff’s voice. “Hey,” Kent whispers to Eric, “I’ve got to get going – work and all.” “Five more minutes,” Eric groans into the pillow. “I wish I could,” Kent chuckles, “I’m already going to have my ass handed to me for skipping out for the night, better not miss morning skate, too.” Eric cracks an eye open and groans again. “What time is it, even?” “Going on five forty-five,” Kent grimaces. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have woken you up.” “No, no,” Eric rolls to his back and sits up, giving Kent a chance to memorize his body once more. “I’m glad you did,” Eric tells him through a yawn. “I don’t, uh—I’m not much of a one night stand guy so I don’t know how this is supposed to go, but I don’t think I would’a liked it much if you just left while I was sleepin’.” “I’m not—“ Kent starts. He rubs his hand over his face and admits, “I don’t do this, either. Like, ever.” Eric looks surprised by this admission and Kent understands. He’s crafted an image for himself, after all: one of confidence, unflappability, and a little arrogance (though he always says it’s called cockiness if you can back it up). “Then why did you?” Eric asks. “I don’t know,” Kent admits. “There’s just something about you, I guess, but…” “But what?” “I don’t know, I guess I was sort of hoping you’d want to exchange numbers?” Kent suggests. Then he hedges, “Like, only if you want. I’d understand if you want to keep this simple instead of…” talking to and potentially getting involved with a closeted professional athlete, dealing with his crazy schedule, and— “I’d like to!” Eric cuts off Kent’s rapidly careening train of thought, making Kent smile his genuine non-media smile. Eric takes Kent’s phone from his hand and types his number in, saving it, and calling himself quickly so Kent’s number is in Eric’s phone as well. When he hands the phone back their fingers brush and Kent, normally known for his impulse control, can’t help himself from leaning in to kiss Eric again. They make out languidly for a few moments, Kent stopping it before it gets too heated. “I really do have to go,” he says sadly. “Coach probably won’t scratch me for the game since I’m on a point streak but I’m already pushing it hard.” Eric sighs but nods, shifting his body so that it’s no longer covering Kent. “Bathroom’s across the hall, middle door,” Eric tells him. “Thanks,” Kent says, smiling as he gets out of the small bed and pulls his clothes back on. They’re a bit rumpled from being left in a pile for the last few hours, but Kent thinks most of the little creases will come out on the drive to Boston just by wearing them. Kent checks his watch as he clicks the clasp around his wrist: just past six. He really needs to get a move on. He steps into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him and placing his snapback on the toilet’s tank. Quickly, he turns on the water to splash his face. He towels his face dry with a dubiously clean hand towel and reaches for a bottle of mouthwash on the counter, taking a swig and swishing it around in his mouth before he spits into the sink. When he looks up, he’s a little surprised at his mirrored reflection. He looks fucked out: kiss swollen lips, eyes a little red from lack of sleep; his hair is a mess. He grabs his snapback from the back of the toilet where he’d set it and puts it back on his head.
There’s one problem fixed for now, he thinks once the blonde mess in contained. He’s as presentable as he’s going to be for now, so Kent turns in the small bathroom, grabs the door handle, and heads into the hallway… where he runs smack into a taller man’s broad shoulder. The man smells like sweat and deodorant and Jack, and Kent suddenly remembers why he came here in the first place. Jack looks confused for a moment before he turns to look a Kent fully, taking his headphones off and hanging them around his neck. Kent can hear the country music playing from them and chuckles a bit. “Still a Carrie fan, I see,” he says, and then when Jack doesn’t do anything more than gape at him continues, “Hey Zimms, didja miss me?” This seems to pull Jack out of whatever mental headspace he was in. Jack shakes himself, his expression changing from confusion to suspicion. His dark eyebrows draw down. “What are you doing here, Parse?” Jack asks lowly. “Why are you in my house?” “I came to see if you were considering teams out West after you graduate,” Kent tells him. He’s not entirely sure what the Ace’s organization would offer Jack, but if they could recreate the magic from the Q, he could negotiate for more easily. Jack’s expressive brows lower even further. “At six in the morning?” “Ah, well, no… actually I was—“ Kent starts but he’s cut off by the door of Eric’s room opening. “Kenny, you forgot your keys,” Eric is saying before he registers the scene in the hallway. “Oh, hi Jack.” Kent looks over to him and can’t help but smile. He’s rumpled and his sweet brown eyes look like he’s about two minutes from going back to bed. Eric’s pulled on a pair of sweats but they hang low and untied and Kent (and Jack) can clearly see the hickeys and bite marks Kent left on his neck and stomach. Jack’s eyes are hyper-focused on the hickey on Eric’s neck. His eyes turn to ice chips, hard and cold, and turns toward what Kent assumes now is his bedroom door, throwing it open. “Get out of my house, Parson,” he growls before the door slams shut behind him. Eric clears his throat after a moment. Kent realizes he’s still staring at Jack’s closed door. “Here’s your keys,” he tells him quietly. “I’m sorry about Jack, he’s…well, you probably know him better than I do. I hope I didn’t just out you to him!” Kent takes the key fob from Eric’s hand before the younger man can start hyperventilating. His brown eyes are wide an upset. “No, you didn’t out me to Jack. He already knows,” Kent sighs. He rubs a hand over his eyes. “Besides, he shut me out a long time ago. I really don’t know who he is anymore.” “C’mon,” Eric says, “I’ll walk you out.” Eric leads Kent down the front stairs, allowing Kent to take in the main living area of the house for the first time. The floors are sticky and littered with abandoned Solo cups and empty cans and bottles, and there’s more than one person lying with their faces on the floor or passed out on a piece of furniture that looks like it could be a couch, but could just as easily be described as a green, fuzzy swamp thing. Kent figures the house is in better condition normally, but it is essentially a frat house so he’s not entirely sure. Eric stops at the front door, pausing with his hand on the doorknob. He turns to face Kent, his wide brown eyes appearing slightly apprehensive. It’s understandable after the interaction with Jack in the hallway. Kent pulls his hands out of the pockets of his pants and cups one around the back of Eric’s head, his fingers rubbing the short hairs at the nape of the younger man’s head. “I think this is the part where I kiss you goodbye,” Kent says quietly. “I would like that,” Eric tells him, a bit shyly. Kent leans down and kisses him softly, lips lingering on Eric’s like he’s got all the time in the world. His phone buzzes in his pocket reminding him that he doesn’t. “Don’t be a stranger,” Eric tells him and he opens the door. “I’ll text you later,” Kent promises, heading out the door towards his rental car. &&&&&& He receives a minimal amount of hassle from the coaches and staff when he gets back to the hotel in Boston. Swoops, who Kent will buy a thank-you basket of top shelf liquor and Jeff’s favorite Belgian chocolate for, covered up his absence even though Kent never told him what he was planning to do last night. Swoops, however, expects an explanation for his night away. Kent manages a sneak back into his room undetected by almost everyone. Jeff is sitting on his still-made bed, the door to their adjoining rooms open. “What were you thinking, Parse?” he whispers harshly. Kent turns the water on as hot as it will go in the walk-in shower and starts to strip off last night’s clothes. “I was thinking, ‘Zimmermann could be an awesome addition to the roster next year, maybe someone should go convince him to consider the Aces on his short list of teams.’” “And?” Swoops prompts. “He wasn’t at the frat party that was thrown at his house,” Kent tells him. Fully naked, he steps into the steaming shower. Jeff follows him into the bathroom – privacy and modesty don’t really jive with hockey culture – sitting on the closed toilet lid to continue the conversation as Kent showers. “You went to a frat party,” he states flatly. “Twitter didn’t blow up, so you weren’t spotted – thank god, can you imagine the trouble you’d get in with the league if there was evidence of you at a frat party with underage drinkers? – and you obviously didn’t come back to the hotel when you didn’t catch Zimmermann, so where else did you go?” “I didn’t say I didn’t catch him,” Kent responds, “I said he wasn’t at the party last night.” “So what, you sat outside his house all night like some kind of stalker?” “No I – grab me a towel, would ya? – I found another way to occupy my time.” “How?” Jeff snorts before comprehension dawns on him. “No, you’re not saying you… you never hook up!” “This didn’t feel like a hook up,” Kent admits. Jeff looks at him, squinting. “Okay, then, what’s her name?” “Eric,” Kent deadpans, covering his head with his towel and rubbing at his hair. He sneaks a look at Swoops, who looks surprised for only a split second before he recovers. Kent knows he’s had his suspicions about him. Kent the face of the Aces, a Stanley Cup champion, and even within the organization, most people don’t know him as much more than the Captain. He shows up early, stays late, and works harder than god the whole time. Jeff is the only one who has really tried to dig deeper, to actually befriend Kent. He might not be the only one who’s noticed, but so far he’s the only one to ask Kent why it is that he’s never got a girl on his arm or a drink in his hand. When he did, Kent had answered him honestly, saying he didn’t do one night stands and he had bigger things to focus on than partying or maintaining a relationship. Jeff looks like he has too many thoughts battling for the chance to be spoken. Finally, he says, “Breakfast is in twenty. I’m not covering for you the next time you decide to skip curfew. And this better not fuck up your point streak.” He smiles at Kent and shoves his bare shoulder lightly before heading back to his own room to get ready. &&&&&&&& Jack is ignoring him. Bitty knows this as a fact. While Bitty worked in the kitchen making bacon, eggs, and pancakes for his teammates, Jack walked in with stiff shoulders to pull a protein shake out of the fridge and walked back out again before Bitty could get more than a ‘Hey Jack’ out. He secludes himself in his room all day. Jack normally spends his Saturdays studying or writing or going over tape for their upcoming games, but he usually leaves the door open for his teammates. Today, it’s closed and not even Shitty can get in. “Jackabelle!” Shitty cries out after he wakes up well past noon. Bitty can hear him clearly from his own room where he’s currently avoiding homework through a regimen of laundry and obsessively typing and deleting an opening text to Kent. When Shitty gives up on getting into Jack’s room, he comes into Bitty’s and flops down on the made bed, rumpling the sheets. He sighs deeply. “It smells like sex in here, brah,” Shitty tells him, turning his head to look at Bitty where he’s perched on his desk chair. Bitty doesn’t respond with anything more than a hmm while he wills his blush to stay away. Shitty is too observant by half, so he sits up and solemnly says, “Deets.” “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell Shits.” Shitty looks like he’s thinking about prodding more so Bitty offers just enough information to quiet him. “I met a guy last night. He left this morning. I’m really not going to go into detail on this, Shitty.” “Fair enough, my beautiful Bits!” Shitty crows. “I can get a picture from the welt on your neck.” “Leave it alone, Shitty,” Jack growls from his own doorway and how long has he been standing there? “Are you coming?”
Jack is holding the door open for Shitty, who jumps out of Bitty’s bed and walks across the hall towards Jack. “Jackie-boy!” Shitty croons. He dances under Jack’s arm with a shimmy. “Later, Bits!” Bitty sits at his desk for a moment. He still has a blank message to Kent open with no idea what to say to the man. Sighing, he stands up and heads down to Lardo’s room. She’s awake, sketching lazily while sitting on her rumpled bed when Bitty knocks on her doorframe. He throws himself onto her bed and sighs. “What’s up, Buttercup?” she asks him. “I met a boy last night,” he tells her. “A boy?” “A man, really,” Bitty corrects himself. Lardo stops her sketching, giving him her full attention. “I certainly wasn’t looking for any man,” Bitty continues, “and definitely not this man in particular, but he showed up to the party last night and we just… I don’t know! We had this insane chemistry, I guess? He spent the night, sort of.” “What do you mean by ‘sort of?’” Lardo asks. “Well he didn’t show up until well past midnight. I went out to the porch to get some air and he was just… there… didn’t make it into the party before we were making out on the porch and then going up to my room.” “Uh huh…” “There may or may not have been some really good sexy times,” Bitty mumbles. “And then he fell asleep in my bed!” “Did you want him to?” She asks. “Yes?” Bitty doesn’t sound very convincing to his own ears. “It’s just… it felt very obviously like a one time thing while it was happening—which I never do—and then he got up at too-early-o’clock and asked for my number and I realized that I really do want to see him again but it’s… it’s gonna be difficult.” Bitty sighs out the last part, shoulders slumping. Lardo looks at him quietly, considering.“So what you’re telling me is: you had swasome sex with a dude that you have ‘insane chemistry’ with, he asked you for your number and you want to see him again. I’m not seeing a problem here, bro.” “Well, when you put it like that…” Bitty trails off, spinning his phone in his hands for a moment. “He’s busy working today but he wants me to text him.” “Sweet,” Lardo smiles. “Let’s brainstorm.” &&&&&& In the end, Bitty decides to keep it simple.
Bitty: Good luck tonight!
He doesn’t expect a reply right away, but Kent must have his phone on him during some downtime because his phone buzzes on his desk a moment after he sets it down.
KP: Thanks! Hope I’m as lucky tonight as I was last night ;)
Bitty laughs to himself and smiles. He’s thinking of what to text back when he sees the grey bubble pop up on his screen that means Kent is typing. It appears and disappears a few times before a new message comes through.
KP: I’ve gotta go get to press and then warm ups. I had a good time with you last night. Do you think you’ll be up after the game’s over?
Bitty: If you think I’m not staying up to watch you keep that point streak alive, you’ve got another thing coming.
KP: Great. Can I call you after?
Bitty: Sure thing.
KP: Okay, I’m getting yelled at for having my phone. Gotta go!
Bitty sends a kissy face emoji back and has a momentary freak out before he receives one back. He doesn’t know what in the world is going to happen but he knows two things: First, Kent Parson is a goober with the body of a god. Second, he wants to see where this goes.