Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 90364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Where I should be jealous or bitter that it was Anton who did it, there’s none of that. I’m actually … proud.
After the rest of our teammates attack him with hugs and claps on his ass, I barge through them all and wrap my arms around him.
Our helmets bounce off each other, and we almost topple over, but somehow, we manage to stay upright.
“Thank fuck you did that for our team,” I say.
“The trade isn’t looking so bad now, I take it?”
That’s an understatement. I’m starting to think it was the best damn decision the B’s has ever made. And not just because of the hockey.
Eighteen
ANTON
I’m on the streak of my life. After Colorado, I score at least one goal in each of the next three home games, which goes a long way toward winning over the Boston fans and shutting up the haters. If you talk to Ezra, he claims it’s all thanks to his dick, and while I’m not ready to believe something so ridiculous, I’m also happy to go along with his superstitions because I’m not going to say no to regular sex. With Ezra. I keep waiting for the itch to be around him to leave me, but instead, I swear it’s getting worse.
Scoring five goals in one game is one of those career achievements every player dreams of, and I’m still riding the high.
At our next away game in Toronto, Ezra and I are roomed together again, which makes it easy to hook up, but back at home, we need to get more creative. We both agreed that me being seen at his apartment too often would be basically announcing to the world that we’re sleeping together, and while I’m not apprehensive to officially come out, my need for privacy hasn’t changed.
Then on top of that, I’ve found a place to volunteer at that collects food donations and packs and organizes distribution of the goods. On the down low. So no one, not even Ezra, knows about it. Having that take up most of my free time means fewer chances for hooking up, but somehow, we’re making it work.
After a light day yesterday in the weight room, we’re back on the ice today to prepare for our game tomorrow.
We go through an hour of line work with Diedrich and Larsen, then half an hour of firing bullets at Griffith in goals, but all I’m thinking about is what I have planned for when we’re done today.
I’m sweaty and gross by the time we leave the ice.
I stretch out my neck as we strip off our hockey gear to head for the training room, and when Ezra falls into step beside me, his presence makes me immediately go stiff. Since we’ve started rooming together, I’m paranoid everyone knows what we’re getting up to. I want to argue with myself that just because we’re both gay, it doesn’t mean people would assume we can’t keep our dicks to ourselves, but … we can’t. Not because we’re gay, but because I’m very quickly becoming addicted to Ezra. Well, sex with Ezra. He’s good. At sex.
Damn it. I shake the thoughts from my brain and try to focus on anything other than the heat rolling off his body. I’ve been avoiding spending too much time with him while the team is around because he makes it hard to concentrate.
All it would take is one heated look and everyone would know.
Do I care if they know I’m hooking up with Ezra?
It’s … complicated.
Us sleeping together puts the team dynamic at risk. We’re making it work now, but if this thing ends badly, it will affect our game. I don’t want that thought getting into the other guys’ heads.
“What are you doing later?” Ezra asks.
He doesn’t bother to keep his voice down, and I can’t help glancing around to see if anyone else heard us. And if they did, do they think it’s a weird question? Or have they accepted that we’re starting to get along? And if they have accepted that, do they think it’s weird? Do they assume something’s up?
Why did I think I could do this?
I clear my throat and match his volume. “I’m meeting up with someone.” There. That’ll throw them off. Maybe.
“Oh, really?”
“Yep.” Then I pick up my pace and join Diedrich on the bikes. I can feel Ezra’s eyes on me the whole time I work out, and I want to remind him to at least try to be subtle. When I move on to weights, his stare still burns into me, and then for my cooldown on the treadmill, he follows and takes the one next to me. Hearing his heavy breathing fills my mind with all sorts of indecent images. I torture myself with it for five minutes before calling it a day.
When I head for the showers, Ezra pulls me back.