Free Crashing the Net by Samantha Wayland Page B

than anyone . Alexei knew from experience that nothing was more likely to fuck up their friendship and force Mike from Alexei’s life than trying to make them into something that couldn’t possibly last.
    And yet, here he was. In Mike’s bed.
    He glared at Mike and gestured at the empty space beside him. “Well? Let’s sleep.”
    Mike smiled the goddamn smile he always wore when he won an argument, turned off the light, and got into bed. Alexei smashed his head into the pillow, certain he wouldn’t sleep a wink. Particularly once Mike scooted closer and put his head on his shoulder. A long, heavy thigh draped across both of Alexei’s and a warm hand came to rest on his belly.
    Alexei’s arm was going to go numb in under five minutes if they stayed like this. With a long-suffering sigh, he curled it around Mike’s shoulders.
    Mike said, “Goodnight,” and Alexei swore he could feel Mike’s smile against his chest.
    “Goodnight, Michael.”
     
    Alexei woke the next morning and pulled Mike closer, burying his nose in his soft hair, soothing himself against the anxious dreams that often preceded a big game. He dozed like that for a while, half asleep, pleasantly aroused, and perfectly happy.
    Then sanity returned.
    Damn .
    His arms hit the mattress with a thump, instantly colder for having let Mike go. He forced himself to ease from the bed, then for a long time, he stood looking down at his friend. Mike was even prettier with his dark hair going in all directions, hickeys on his neck and chest, and his long, silky eyelashes resting on his cheeks.
    Damn. Damn. Damn .
    Alexei practically sprinted back to his own apartment, furious when he got there and didn’t know what the fuck to do with himself. He stood stark naked in the middle of his kitchen, more unsettled than he had ever been in this space.
    With an irritated sigh, he stomped to his bedroom, pulled on another pair of pajama bottoms, then stormed back into the kitchen. Some music, the rising sun through the windows, and the satisfying—if unnecessarily loud—banging of pans against his stove helped restore his equilibrium.
    Mostly.
    He dug through the fridge and cabinets, pulled out whatever he could find, and began cooking up a storm. Blini and scrambled eggs would be perfect before a big game. He gave his entire focus to the task, not letting his mind wander to anything else.
    He knew the moment Mike stepped into his apartment, but he didn’t turn around.
    “Good morning,” Mike said from directly behind him.
    He barely suppressed his startled jerk. And the desire to rip whatever clothes Mike had on, back off. Then again, maybe Mike was still naked. Alexei refused to look. “Morning.”
    Mike peered over his shoulder. “What’s for breakfast?”
    Alexei looked down at the feast he was preparing. For two. “Just what I could make with what was in the house,” he said, reaching for his coffee to soothe his hoarse voice.
    Mike slid around to rest one hip against the counter beside him. “Looks delicious.”
    Alexei made the catastrophic error of glancing at Mike. Mike wasn’t looking at the food.
    When Mike opened his mouth again—no doubt to say something else Alexei didn’t want to hear—Alexei grabbed a plum from the fruit bowl and shoved it between Mike’s lips. He ignored the bright laughter in his friend’s eyes and the disappointment he felt at discovering Mike was, indeed, wearing something from the waist down.
    “Eat,” he said, pointing at Mike’s chair at the table.
    Mike went without protest, munching on the plum. Alexei tried not to stare at the flex of his jaw, the shine of juice on his lips, or the long line of his neck when he swallowed.
    He imagined Mike swallowing something else entirely.
    One of the blini hit the counter and bounced onto the floor.
    “You all right over there?” Mike asked.
    “Fine.”
    “Alexei, we should—”
    “Shut up. I’m thinking.”
    Which was a patent lie, since he couldn’t hold onto a