Page 43 of Locked & Loaded

“No.” I can feel myself blushing harder. “I meant sex in general. With a guy.”

His expression changes then, the teasing fading into something softer.

“Chris,” he says, like the answer is obvious. “I liked it so much I’m trying very hard not to be embarrassing about it.”

I blink. “Embarrassing how?”

His eyes flick down between us, and only then do I notice he’s already half-hard again against my thigh.

“Oh my God,” I say, stupidly pleased.

Mads sighs, like his own body has personally betrayed him. “Yeah. So. That much.”

My heart kicks hard.

He smiles and I smile back, and he pulls me in for another kiss. When we part, his eyes are tender as he looks at me.

“So it’s still a yes?” he asks. “You still want to date me?”

“I do,” I say, without hesitation.

“Good,” Mads says, then leans in and plants a ridiculous little kiss on my nose.

For a second, I just stare at him.

Mads watches me back, the corners of his mouth twitching. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“That was not a nothing face.”

“It was a normal face.”

“It was not.”

I sigh. “Fine. It’s just rude.”

His eyebrows draw together. “Rude?”

“To fuck me like that and then kiss my nose.” I give him a look, because apparently that should be self-explanatory. “Pick a lane.”

For half a second, he looks genuinely confused. Then he realizes what I mean and laughs, pressing his mouth to my temple.

“No,” he says after a moment. “I want both.”

Oh.

Well.

That shuts me up.

Epilogue. Mads

Eight months later

I’m standing in the locker room with a ring box in my pants pocket and Christopher Rodriguez looking like he might throw up on the floor tiles.

Eight months of dating in secret, and now we’re apparently doing both major life events at once: coming out and, unless I chicken out, getting engaged. In front of the entire team, the coaching staff, and the poor equipment guy who only came in to collect practice jerseys and is about to get the full show.