Page 39

I smack his arm, but it’s too late. The damage is done.

Gerard and some of his teammates laugh. “Thanks. Lots of bench presses.”

I study his chest now that he’s given me permission—well, not really permission, but I’m going with it anyway. His pecs are two slabs of meat, thick and heavy, with pink nipples the size of dollar coins perched on top like cherries. It’s the kind of chest you could use as a pillow—not that I’m thinking about doing that or anything.

Gerard runs a hand through his damp hair, bringing my attention to his handsome face.

His long eyelashes perfectly frame his bright blue eyes, and his lips are full and red as if he’s wearing lipstick, though I know he isn’t.

He’s beautiful in a way that’s wholly unfair for a guy who’s supposed to be a rugged athlete.

I suddenly remember that I’m supposed to be taking in the room, not the boy who’s making my heart race, and look away.

The room is larger than I expected, with an open, airy feel. Each player’s locker has their last name and jersey number engraved on a plaque at the top. The stalls are arranged in a U-shape around the center of the room, and it’s giving luxurious clubhouse rather than college locker room.

Sweaty gear is strewn about, and a large BSU Barracudas logo is emblazoned on the center of the floor, surrounded by scuff marks from countless skate blades.

“Gentlemen!” Gerard’s voice rings out, loud and clear, anddraws everyone’s attention. “I want to introduce you to Elliot and Jackson.”

Heat creeps up my neck as I wave awkwardly at Gerard’s teammates, who are in various states of undress. Some are fully clothed, others are shirtless, and a few are wearing nothing but towels like Gerard.

My gaze lands on the other three members of the Fearless Foursome. Oliver Jacoby is at his locker, the V of his obliques disappearing beneath a white towel slung low on his hips. His short black hair is spiked with water from his recent shower. He regards Jackson and me with warm green eyes and a kind smile, not unlike a big brother welcoming us into the fold.

Drew Larney, on the other hand, is eyeing us with unabashed interest. He’s completely naked, his muscular body on full display as he lounges on the bench with his legs spread wide. He clearly doesn’t give a shit that he’s showing us the goods. He’s half-hard, his cock resting heavily against his thigh. He catches me looking and winks salaciously.

Finally, there’s Kyle Graham. He’s fully dressed in a BSU T-shirt and athletic shorts, and his sandy brown hair is still damp from his shower. He studies us with a grumpy scowl, his arms crossed over his chest. I get the distinct impression that he’s not thrilled about our impromptu visit.

But none of them compare to Gerard. Even in a room full of half-naked athletes, he’s the one my eyes keep coming back to. The way the fluorescent lights glint off his wet skin, highlighting every dip and curve of his muscular body. The way his towel clings precariously to his hips, threatening to slip off at any moment. The way his blue eyes could drown me if I stare into them too long.

He’s a Greek god among mortals.

“What do you think of our little slice of heaven?” Gerard’s voice snaps me out of my funk, and I tear my gaze away from his chest and meet his eyes.

“It’s…impressive,” I manage to say without squeaking. “Very impressive.”

His smile widens. “I’m glad you think so. We work hard to keep it in tip-top shape.”

“I can see that,” I mumble, my eyes drifting back down to his towel-clad hips.

Get it together, Elliot. Stop ogling the straight boy.

But it’s hard not to ogle when he’s standing there like a wet dream come to life.

Jackson, bless his heart, comes to my rescue. “Gerard, would you be willing to give us the grand tour?”

Gerard claps his hands together. “I thought you’d never ask! Follow me, gentlemen.”

He turns on his heel and walks us over to a row of doors with gold nameplates on them. “Over here, we have the coaches’ offices. They’re usually pretty busy during the season, watching tape and strategizing plays.”

The first office is for Head Coach Jack Donovan. The second office belongs to Assistant Coach Riley Dunn. The third office is for Goalie Coach Isaac Novak. The last office is for the team doctor, Marty Zuckerman.

We walk down a short hallway to the next area—a large room filled with sticks, pads, helmets, and skates. “This is our equipment room. It’s all top-of-the-line gear.” He picks up a stick and tests its flex.

“Dude!” Jackson reaches for one of the helmets, but Gerard swats his hand away.

“Gotta earn the right to wear that on your head, bud.”

He replaces the stick and ushers us to a room with exam tables and a large tub that could easily fit Gerard and a few of his equally massive teammates.