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It’s like I told her, we were two sober, horny, consensual adults looking to get off.

And damn, if all I want is to do it again.

“Men!” Coach Bryant’s voice booms over the room. “Stop talking about Rakestraw’s facial hair and get focused on the game.” He shoots me a glare. “But if you shave that off without permission, the whole team is doing bag skates after practice for a month.”

“Good game, Rakestraw.”

I wasn’t just good. I killed it. A shut out, and against a team like Northridge that’s no easy feat.

“Thanks,” I say, knocking fists with one of the coaching staff on the way out. The post game energy is high with Reid playing DJ and getting everyone worked up for the afterparty. Down the hall, Reese waits by the entrance, adjusting his tie. Coach has a rule about leaving a game dressed up–he likes us to look like winners, regardless of the results. Reid walked out of here in a bright red suit, looking like a clown, although Darla doesn’t seem to mind. I’m used to suits–growing up formal wear was pretty standard for special events. Part of me wants to push back but on a night like this, I lookandfeel like a badass. “What’s wrong?” I ask Reese as I get closer and see the weird expression on his face. “Tie too tight?”

“No.” He makes a face and releases the tie.

“Then what’s with the constipated look on your face?”

My phone buzzes in my back pocket and I check it for the first time since the game ended. There’s a series of ‘congratulations’ texts from friends that saw the game and a few offers from puck bunnies to celebrate, including one threesome.

Look, I promised to get my shit together. I didn’t promise to go celibate.

I scroll down to the final text, quickly realizing it’s one I don’t want to read: My father’s.

“You really dominated out there tonight,” Reese says, giving me an excuse to put the phone away and deal with those messages later.

“Yeah, well, contrary to popular belief, I like to win as much as everyone else on the team.”

“I never said that.” He pushes open the door. “You just seem different. Like you were two steps ahead of everyone else out there.”

“Just my same old awesomeness, bro, accept it.” I refuse to admit it, but even though I’ve been bored as hell, physically and mentally, I feel better. Other than waking up to Nadia induced hard-on’s every morning, my sleep is great. I’m less tired when I get up. Better hydrated. My cravings for all that shit have diminished, replaced with one other desire–getting in between the thighs of a girl that’s not interested. “Your game was on point too, don’t forget that.”

“Are you fishing for compliments, Cain?” Twyler steps out from the crowd waiting for the players outside. The group is filled with girlfriends, friends, and family hanging around after the game to congratulate the team. The group is bigger than normal, which is pretty common when the team is doing well. People want to be a part of the energy of a winning team. I don’t even look to see if anyone is waiting for me. My parents haven’t even been to one of my games since high school.

“I don’t need to fish, Sunshine,” Reese says, sliding his arm around Twyler’s waist. “My two goals speak for themselves.”

She rolls her eyes, and shifts her attention to me. “That last save was amazing, Axel. I thought maybe that kid was going to get it past you, but you were so quick.”

“You know me,” I wink, “I’m good with my hands.”

Reese punches me in the arm. “Don’t flirt with my girlfriend, dumbass.”

Behind Twyler, I hear a loud choking cough. Craning my neck, I see her. Nadia. Huh. She did come to the game, afterall.

Twyler shifts and places her hand on her friend’s shoulder. “You okay?” She holds up a bottle. “Need some water?”

“Sure, thanks.” Nadia’s voice is husky and brown eyes flick to mine as she takes it, unscrewing the cap. Her cheeks have a faint pink tint, and I watch as she wraps her lips around the mouth of the bottle, then takes a big swig.

My cock twitches under my pressed suit pants.

Before I can figure out how to respond to her being here, a kid in a Badger jersey rushes over, program in his hands.

“Reese! Can I get your autograph?”

“Sure,” Reese says with a friendly smile, taking the marker out of the kid’s hand. “What’s your name?”

“Walker.”

A moment later it’s clear that Walker was the Trojan horse, because a heartbeat later, an entire team of U12s swarms toward him. Twyler and Nadia step back as the kids push forward to get to us.

“One at a time,” Reese laughs, signing his name. “What’s your position?”