I was hiding under your porch because I love you.

The team is willing to give him the whole season to wallow in self-pity over Ryan leaving, but at the start of the next training camp, they start subtly hinting that maybe he should be getting over it. And then not so subtly.

When Mike Fisher is pointing out cute guys in bars, Shea's life has really gone off track.

The final straw is when someone leaves a flier for an escort service in his stall with the words TREAT YO SELF written on it.

Shea can feel his face turning brick red with a combination of embarrassment and anger.

There's some yelling after that, about how he is the captain, dammit, and they need to respect his privacy, especially since it hasn't been affecting his game.

Everyone looks suitably chastened when he's done, which doesn't really make Shea feel any better.

"They're just worried about you," Dicky says. "They-- we want you to be happy."

"I know," Shea mumbles. "I am happy." He will be eventually, anyway.

Dicky gives him a deeply skeptical look, but lets it go.

When Shea gets home, he realizes he shoved the flier in his bag. He smooths out out. His team knows him uncomfortably well. The guy's name is Roman and he is fucking gorgeous. There's a picture of him in a suit, a picture of him working out shirtless. The text boils down to a classy version of "For a good time, call Roman."

Shea is not actually going to call him, but in the shower that night he thinks about it, about Roman sliding to his knees for him, about coming all over that pretty face.

Whatever. It's just an idle fantasy.

*

Shea doesn't think about it for a couple of days.

When he gets back from walking the dogs after practice, Seth says, "Uh, I'm going to go hang out with Dicky tonight. Probably crash there?"

He sounds a little off. Shea eyes him for a beat, then shrugs. "Sure, have a good time."

Seth gives him a bright smile. "You, too," he says, and pats Shea's shoulder, quick and awkward.

Shea blinks after him, shakes his head.

At six, when Shea's debating between chicken or salmon for dinner, the doorbell rings.

Shea opens it, and freezes.

It's Roman, from the flier. He's wearing grey slacks and a black dress shirt. He smiles at Shea, and if it's possible, he looks even hotter than his pictures.

"Hi," he says. "Shea? I'm Roman."

Shea shuts the door in his face. Then he calls Mike. "What the fuck?"

"Oh, good, is he there?" Mike says.

"Yes," Shea says, glaring at his closed front door. "Yes, there is a hooker on my front porch."

"Escort," Mike says, almost reproachfully.

Shea hangs up. He counts to ten and then opens the door again. Roman is still standing there, a smile tugging at the edges of his mouth. He raises his eyebrows in polite inquiry.

"Thanks but no thanks," Shea says.

"Oh, come on," Roman says. "Your friends already paid. Have dinner with me, at least."

He has an accent, which is just ridiculously unfair. "They can get their money back. And you can tell them that I'm fucking over it, and I don't need their interference."

"One," Roman says. "They're not getting their money back. I am non-refundable. Two, how can you be over 'it' if you won't even have dinner with me?"

Shea scowls at him. This is some reverse psychology bullshit, but it's still working. "Fine," he snaps. His wallet and keys are on the hall table, and the dogs will be fine for a couple of hours. He steps out, locks the door.

Roman looks him up and down. Shea is wearing track pants and a Preds t-shirt. Shea looks back, daring him to say something. Roman doesn't.

They get in Shea's car. Roman slouches down in the seat, thighs sprawled wide. "Where are we going?"

"Prince's," Shea says. If he's going to make regrettable decisions, he is going to go all the way.

Roman looks surprised, then he grins. "Sounds good."

He straightens up, losing that flirty edge to his body language, and reaches for the radio.

They talk about music on the way there. Roman is good at conversation, at making Shea want to talk.

Which is good, because the wait at Prince's is always ridiculous. Roman doesn't seem to care that he's sitting around in a dress shirt and slacks in what is frankly a pretty sketchy hole-in-the-wall fried chicken joint.

They talk about growing up in Canada and Switzerland, the best and worst things about living in Nashville, their countries' respective chances for medaling at the Olympics. It takes an hour and half to get their chicken, and they eat it in the back of Shea's SUV, sitting side by side with their legs hanging over the bumper.

Roman moans when he takes the first bite, and Shea laughs. "Right?"

Roman makes a garbled noise of agreement. The wait may be awful, but it's the best fried chicken in the city.

It doesn't feel like a date. It doesn't feel like something he used to do with Ryan, which is why he picked this place.

When they're done, Roman asks, "What are you getting over?"

Shea stares at the asphalt of the parking lot. "My, uh, my partner left me. We were together for five years, and I loved him, and he left me for his childhood sweetheart."

When he says it like that, out loud, it hurts, but it's a dull, familiar thing. It sounds like something he actually can get over.

"Oh," Roman says. "That sucks."

Shea snorts. "Yeah." He stands up. Roman's face is interested and kind, not pitying, so Shea can smile at him. "Ready to go?"

"Sure." Roman stands up and helps him carry their trash to the garbage can.

They're both quiet on the way back to Shea's house. Shea pulls into his driveway and turns off the car. It's just starting to occur to him that there isn't another car here, that Roman could have gotten a cab from Prince's, when Roman touches his hand.

"Invite me in," Roman says.

The brush of Roman's fingers feels electric. It's been so long since anyone's touched him with that kind of intent. He meets Roman's eyes and thinks, Why not?

"Okay," he says, gruffly.

Roman smiles, slow and filthy, and Shea feels a little lightheaded.

It takes him two tries to unlock the front door. Roman stands a demure two feet behind him until Shea turns off the alarm. Then he pushes Shea up against the wall and presses his mouth against the side of Shea's throat.

Shea gasps at the hot, wet pressure. Roman slides his thigh between Shea's legs, grinding against Shea's growing hard-on.

There's a clatter of toenails on tile, and then the dogs are snuffling interestedly at Shea and Roman's legs.

Roman pulls back with a startled huff.

"Sorry," Shea says. He feels flushed, off-balance. "I, uh, I gotta let them out before--" The word 'bed' dies in his throat.

"Sure," Roman says. He holds his hand out to Dug, who gives him a slobbery lick. Roman doesn't seem offended.

"Come on, boys," Shea says.

He lets the dogs out into the backyard, stands on the patio in the dark while they pee and check out the bushes. He throws a stick for them a couple of times, goes down on one knee to scratch behind their ears and accept some enthusiastic face licks. He's dragging it out, because he needs a minute to really think about this.

He thinks maybe Mike and Dicky aren't wrong. If he's going to move on, he needs to start somewhere. He needs something to count from that isn't Ryan. He doesn't care about the hooker thing, except that it makes everything easier, less complicated. (And, fuck, he bets Roman knows what he's doing.)

He shuts the dogs in the den, ignoring their reproachful looks.

Roman is still waiting in the front hall. He gives Shea a cautious look when he comes back, like he's wondering if Shea changed his mind.

Shea's blood is humming in his veins, and it's partly nerves, but mostly anticipation. "So are you going to fuck me, or what?" he asks.

Roman breaks into a dazzling grin. "Yeah," he says. "Yes, definitely."

He crosses the hall to put his hand on the back of Shea's neck, tug him down into a kiss. He tastes sweet and minty, and Shea pulls back after a minute, realizing he probably doesn't.

"Come on," Shea says, and leads Roman up to his bedroom. "I'm gonna--" He vaguely mimes brushing his teeth, and Roman nods.

"Bathroom?" he asks.

Shea shows him. There's a pocket door between the sinks and the rest of the bathroom with the toilet and shower. Shea brushes his teeth at the sink while Roman uses the other half.

When Roman comes out, he's stripped down to just his black boxer briefs. Shea watches him in mirror, his eyes sliding down Roman's chest, his cut abs, his narrow hips. The outline of his hard dick is visible under the clingy fabric of his underwear. When Shea pulls his gaze up, Roman's reflection is smirking at him.

Roman comes up behind him and tugs at the hem of Shea's t-shirt. Shea pulls it off. Roman's smirk gets wider. He kisses the back of Shea's neck and slips one hand under the waistband of Shea's pants, wraps his hand around Shea's half-hard dick.

He rubs his thumb over the head of Shea's dick. "What do you want?" he asks.

"I want you to fuck me," Shea says.

Roman meets Shea's eyes in the mirror. He rocks his hips, rubbing his hard-on against Shea's ass. "Yeah, I can do that."

Shea turns around in Roman's arms. He dips his head but hesitates at the last second. Roman lifts his chin and kisses him, licking into his mouth, slow and deliberate.

"Bedroom?" Roman asks against his mouth, and Shea nods. Roman takes a step back. "You got stuff?"

Shea feels his face heat. If he does, it's probably expired by now. He shakes his head.

"It's cool, I'm prepared," Roman says. He gives Shea a nudge towards the bedroom.

Shea strips off his pants and boxers, leaves them in a heap next to the bed. Before he can start to feel weird about standing around naked, Roman comes out of the bathroom with his slacks in hand, fishing something out of the pocket.

His eyes sweep over Shea's body and he smiles. "Nice."

He tosses his slacks aside and walks up to Shea. He puts his hand on Shea's chest and gives him a little push. Shea goes with it, sitting down on his bed. Roman nudges him again and Shea slides back up the bed until he he can stretch out on his back.

Roman straddles Shea's thighs and drops a handful of lube packets and condoms on the mattress next to him. He gives Shea a smug, cocky grin, then bends down to lick the side of Shea's throat.

Shea lets out a breath and tips his head back. Roman kisses his jaw, his neck, his collarbone.

"How do you feel about hickeys?" Roman asks.

Shea winces at the thought of explaining that to the locker room tomorrow. "No."

"Okay," Roman says. He leans up to kiss Shea's mouth.

They make out like that for awhile, kissing and touching. Shea's missed the feeling of bare skin under his hands, against his skin as much as the actual sex.

When Shea's completely hard, grinding against Roman's thigh, Roman starts kissing his way down Shea's chest until he can get his mouth on Shea's cock. He licks a long stripe up the underside, takes the head into his mouth and sucks. Shea groans. He'd almost forgotten how good it felt to have anything other than his own hand on his dick.

Roman rubs the tip of one finger over Shea's asshole, dry, just teasing. Shea spreads his legs wider.

Roman glances up at him, gauging his expression.

"Yeah, c'mon," Shea says.

Roman grabs a pillow and slides it under Shea's hips. He picks up a packet of lube, tears the corner with his teeth, squeezes the contents onto his fingers. He's watching Shea's face while he does it, and Shea has to close his eyes, fight the urge to cover up.

Roman presses a slick fingertip against Shea's asshole, and Shea tenses automatically.

Roman gives him a minute, and Shea makes himself relax. Roman pushes one finger inside him, slow and smooth.

Shea exhales. His hands flex against the mattress.

Roman pulls his hand back until just his fingertip is inside Shea and then pushes back in.

"Why are you so tense?" Roman says. "I know you do this to yourself."

Shea's eyes snap open. Roman gives him a sly smile when he meets Shea's eyes.

"I..." Shea says.

"Just relax," Roman says. "Show me what you like. Show me how you touch yourself."

Shea feels himself blush, a scalding rush of embarrassment and arousal. He licks his lips, slides one hand down to grip the base of his cock. He runs his fist up the length of his cock, rubs his palm over the head.

"Mmm, yes, like that," Roman says. He curls his finger inside of Shea, rubs his fingertip over Shea's prostate, and Shea bites back a moan.

His cock jerks in his hand, wetness beading up at the tip. Shea squeezes the head, spreads the wetness around with the pad of his thumb. Roman slides another finger into him. The stretch is easier this time, Shea's hips coming up to meet Roman's hand.

"What else?" Roman says.

Shea lets go of his cock and slides his hand down between his legs. His hand bumps against Roman's and Roman turns his wrist, lets his palm cup the back of Shea's hand. He still has two fingers halfway inside Shea.

Shea rubs the rim of his asshole where it's stretched around Roman's finger.

"Wait," Roman says. He tears open another packet of lube, spills it over both their hands. Shea pushes the tip of his finger in, nudging in next to Roman's fingers. Roman's fingers are long and slim, but Shea usually doesn't give himself three fingers, and it feels like a lot.

"Breathe," Roman says, and Shea blows out a shaky breath.

Roman reaches up with his other hand and runs his fingernails lightly up the length of Shea's cock, and suddenly three fingers doesn't seem like too much at all.

Roman pushes in deeper than Shea can reach, and Shea inhales, heat curling through his gut.

Roman scissors his fingers lazily, studying Shea's face. "You want more?"

"Yeah," Shea says. "Come on, I want your cock."

Roman pulls his fingers out, and Shea misses the extra stretch immediately. Roman opens a condom and smooths it down over his cock, slicks himself up with quick, practiced (professional) motions.

Shea draws his knees up, digs his heels into the mattress. For a heartbeat he thinks about rolling over, but honestly, he wants to look at Roman's gorgeous face while Roman fucks him. The thought sends another low pulse of heat through him and he squeezes the base of his dick.

Roman lines his cock up, pushes into Shea's body. His cock is long and slim, like his fingers, and he goes incredibly slow, so Shea can feel every millimeter sinking into him.

When Roman is all the way inside him, he stops moving.

Shea is gripping Roman's thigh like he needs it to hold himself steady.

"You okay?" Roman asks.

"Been a while," Shea says faintly. He can't quite catch his breath. It's like he can feel Roman's cock in his throat. He feels stretched, filled, and it's right on the edge between amazing and awful.

Roman makes a sympathetic noise in his throat. He leans forward to nuzzle Shea's jaw, palm his cock gently, teasingly.

Shea slides his hand over Roman's back and makes himself take slow deep breaths. Roman squeezes the head of his dick between his fingers and something bright and hot sparks in his groin. Roman rolls his hips, a tiny little movement, and Shea's body decides this is falling on the amazing side after all.

"Yeah, okay, wow," Shea says, his eyes falling shut.

Roman pulls back, slow and deliberate, then pushes back in. Small, easy thrusts, getting deeper as the heat builds up in the pit of Shea's stomach.

Shea doesn't have to ask him to go harder or faster, Roman is always with him, pushing him just enough to keep that breathless tension winding tighter.

Shea opens his eyes. Roman's bending over him, his hands braced on the mattress. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes dark, but his expression is pure focus. It's exactly as hot as Shea thought it would be.

Roman's pounding into him now, hard and fast and relentless. He gets his hand on Shea's cock, and Shea moans, his back arching. Roman's hand matches the rhythm of his hips as he strokes Shea's cock. All the bright, burning tension coiling through Shea's body pulls tight, an unbearable wanting, and then it snaps.

Shea comes in a dazzling rush. Roman keeps fucking him, sending sparks of sensation through him, keeping that rush going. Shea's hands tighten on Roman's ass, and he feels Roman's muscles clench and shudder, and then go still, his head down.

Then he straightens up and pulls out of Shea. He's gentle about it, but it still feels like he's pulling part of Shea out with him.

Roman removes the condom and ties it off, takes it and the wrapper and the empty lube packets into the bathroom. He comes back with a wet washcloth.

He wipes the come off Shea's stomach and the lube off his ass.

Shea stretches like a cat under his petting. "Hey," he says. "I changed my mind about the hickey."

Roman arches his eyebrows. "Oh, well, then."

He stretches out next to Shea and presses his mouth to Shea's throat, sucks until the skin there feels hot and bruised. He moves his mouth a few inches. "One more?"

"Mmmm," Shea sighs. They'll be extremely visible when he changes for practice tomorrow, but it serves the team right.

Roman rolls onto his back next to Shea. "So are you over it now?"

"It was a pretty great rebound fuck," Shea says. "And you are definitely hotter than my ex, which is a bonus."

"But am I hotter than his new fuckboy?" Roman asks.

Shea considers it.

Roman sits straight up in bed and looks down at him. "You have to think about it?"

"You haven't met Parise." He makes a big show of looking Roman up and down. "But I think you come out ahead."

Roman sniffs disdainfully, but he's smiling. Definitely prettier than Parise.

Roman starts getting ready to leave after that. He gets dressed, calls a cab. Shea puts on his bathrobe and walks him to the door.

"That wasn't a yes, you know," Roman says. "About whether you're over it."

Shea opens his mouth, and Roman shakes his head. He holds out a business card.

"I'm just saying, if you need to put more work into it, I'm available."

Shea takes the card. "Thanks. I'll keep that in mind."

After all, the trainers are right -- you can't rush recovery.