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CHAPTER THREE

MASON

“ O kay, dude is hot, but damn, look at the puck bunny on his arm.” While lying in my bed, I set my thumb and index finger on my phone screen and pushed out, zooming in on the Instagram image of Jarvis with some blonde with fake lashes and perfectly curled hair, a skin-tight red dress hugging all her curves. It looked like they were at a fancy golf club or something. A wedding, maybe? Funny thing was, he’d been giving me gay vibes all day at camp. “Fuck.”

I closed the app and called Archer. My phone rang a few times and picked up. “Hey, man, what’s up? Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“I’m in bed. Well, I’m in bed and doom-scrolling.” I snickered. Why was I so fascinated by this guy?

“Oh no. Don’t tell me you’re looking at photos of Jarvis.” He scoffed. “Dude, leave it alone.”

“I can’t. Something’s off, I’m telling you. He’s got all these photos of himself on the ice, but then there are photos of him out with these puck bunnies, and they don’t look right. Like they look staged.” I twisted my lips. That’s what the problem was. It was like it was one big photo shoot of a life and not real. “He’s not married, and the guy is twenty-six. For a breeder in the NHL, that’s unheard of.”

“He’s probably happy being a bachelor. I mean, he’s hella hot. He’s probably out there fucking models and shit.” He drew a deep inhale.

“Weren’t you having your dad over for dinner tonight? Did he tell you anything?” I gnawed my lower lip. “Like, what the hell happened in Dallas? What was the real reason his teammates didn’t like him?”

“I did ask, and he can’t tell me.” He let out a soft huff.

“So, he knows.” I arched a brow. I was not above cornering Archer’s dad, our defensive line coach, and interrogating him.

“He does. Listen, all my dad told me was what happened in Dallas with Jarvis would never happen with the Coyotes. He assured me of that.”

“But what was it, exactly? I mean, I’ve watched some of the game highlights on YouTube. Dude scored a winning goal, and no one, I mean no one, congratulated him in any way. It was like they were all pissed about it.” How much of a fucker would you have to be for your teammates to treat you that way? I shifted in my bed and then scratched my forehead. “It makes no sense. And now we have to watch all these inclusivity training videos.”

“Did you watch yours yet?” he asked.

“Uh, no.” I pursed my lips. “I didn’t have time.” I choked out a laugh. That was a lie.

“But you had time to stalk Jarvis on social media?” He chuckled. “Leave it alone, Mason. And quit badgering the guy.”

“But…I can’t.” Why? God, my damn eyeballs kept running to him all day. It wasn’t like we were vying for the same position. What was it about him? “H-he pisses me off, and I don’t know why yet.”

“Jesus, lots of people piss you off. Like Volkov told you today, save it for the opposing teams when the season starts,” he said .

I glanced at a new photo of Jarvis, his shirt half off and muscles on full display. My dick woke. God, he had a nice body. A very fuckable body. My gaze ran to the comments, all from women, heart emoji and fire emoji and a few comments about being available for him and what town they lived in. Heat prickled through me. This was all fake. I knew it. And when I vibed about someone, I was never wrong. “He’s gay, Archer.”

“What? No, he’s not.” He barked out a laugh. “You’ve really lost your mind this time.”

“Yeah? We’ll see about that.” A plan formed in my head. Maybe if I kept on Jarvis, flirted with him even, I’d see a sign. Yeah, I’d figure this shit out. “Archer? I’m getting to the bottom of this, and I hope he’s the bottom.”

“Oh, Jesus. He’s not gay, all right?” He tsked through a chuckle. “Go to bed. You need to be rested for tomorrow.” He hung up the phone.

I lifted the edge of my lips. “I’ll be ready.” I set my phone on my nightstand and flicked off the light.

I strolled into the locker room with Carlson in tow and duffel bags over our shoulders. We’d decided to carpool together since we had to travel to North Scottsdale for camp at the Ice Den. Today, I might get to play with Volkov and Jarvis as an offensive line. I was looking forward to showing Coach Henderson I could play at their level.

As I walked to my stall, my gaze snagged on Jarvis, shirtless and pulling up his black athletic shorts over his briefs. Fuck, the guy had a satisfying dick inside his underwear.

He pulled the band of the shorts up to his hips and stopped, his jaw dropping open, and brows lowered. “Like what you see?” He gripped the band of his shorts and cocked his head, a smirk playing over his lips.

Shit, he caught me. Clearing my throat, I strutted to his stall, set my hand on it toward the shelf and looked him up and down. “I can see how all these puck bunnies fawn all over you.”

The locker room hushed, and the guys turned around. Someone shouted, “Show’s about to start!”

Carlson and Volkov stepped toward us, and then stopped.

He ticked his chin at me. “Yeah? And what about the puck boys who fawn over you?” He shifted his stance, his green-eyed gaze locked on mine.

My gaze dropped to his chiseled abs and his belly button. My heart flipped into my throat. Holy fuck! The hockey stick birthmark. It was faint but looked pretty much the same. Was he the guy— No, he couldn’t be. It can’t be the same mark. I swallowed hard and fluttered my gaze to his face. “What of it? Love is love, right?” I leaned in close, brushing my lips over the shell of his ear, breathing in the aromatic scent of his cologne. The fucker smelled good. “Nice birthmark. Reminds of one I saw on?—”

“Okay, boys, let’s get into the weight room.” Coach Henderson clapped his hands. “We’re going over some video today as well, so you can all get an idea of what we’ll be working toward when we hit the ice.”

Straightening and planting a hand on my hip, I peered at Jarvis, now covering the birthmark with his palm. Maybe I was wrong? I looked around me. Everyone followed Coach out of the room, leaving me with Jarvis and Carlson.

He stared at me, slack-jawed. In a harsh whisper, he said, “You’d do well to keep your mouth shut and your head in the game instead of on me.”

My brow snapped up. “Yeah? What if I don’t wanna?” I skimmed my finger up his washboard abs, the muscles clenching.

His breath hitched and he held it, his eyes rolling back for a beat. “Watch yourself, Hopkins.”

The corner of my mouth curled. “What happened in Dallas, Jarvis? Why did your teammates hate you so much?”

His gaze softened and he frowned. “None of your business.” He shoved me away and twisted around. “Get dressed, or you’ll be late.” He shucked his brick-red team athletic shirt over his head.

Carlson yanked me backward by my arm and I stumbled. “What?”

“What are you doing?” He glared at me. “Just get dressed and leave him alone. We shouldn’t be making waves like this.”

“You’re not making waves. Only me.” I scowled, shaking my head, and ambled to my stall and started changing. I waved Carlson to me.

As he drew close, I leaned in and whispered, “He’s got the birthmark. Told you he was gay.”

He snuck a peek at Jarvis, now stomping out of the room, tossing a glare back at us. “What the hell are you talking about?”

I pulled my shorts up my legs. “The hockey stick looking birthmark? He has one right next to his belly button. Just like in the photo.” I plucked my phone out of the pocket of my slacks, pooled on the bench, and then opened the app.

“No fucking way.” Shaking his head, he let out a soft snort. “You’re seeing things, Hopkins.”

“Shit.” I scrolled through my messages, attempting to find his profile. It was gone. “The fucker deleted his profile.” I scoffed. “It figures.” I threw my phone into my duffel. Fixating on Carlson, I held up my index finger. “Something fishy is going on here, and I’m going to find out what.”

He grabbed my finger and lowered it between us. “Nothing is fishy except in your mind.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “Wait, do you like him? Is that what this is about? You falling for a straight guy?” He huffed a laugh.

I tsked. “God, no.” I slipped my shirt over my head and pulled it down over my abs. “But would you blame me? I mean, did you see the body on him?” I smirked. I sure as hell wouldn’t turn him down if he offered himself to me.

“Jesus, Hopkins.” He tagged my shoulder and stepped toward the hallway. “Come on, we’re going to be the last guys in the weight room.”

We were finally on the ice and had run through some drills, and now our coaches were playing the rookies against the veterans to see what we had. I was determined to get in the offensive lineup with the best players on the team, which were definitely Volkov and Jarvis. But would they let a rookie be a first-line center?

I skated in big circles on the ice, loosening up and getting my head together. My gaze snapped to Jarvis, his tall body gliding easily across the ice. He was fast and his puck handling was amazing. I had to give him that.

We all stopped, my rookies beside me, at center ice, and I prepared for Coach Henderson to drop the puck. I bent my legs, my fingers twitching in my gloves, my gaze fixed on the man I wanted to replace, Matthews. He was out most of the season last year with injuries, but he was looking pretty fit now.

He peered at me with dark eyes through the clear shield on his helmet. “You’re going down, Hopkins.” He half sneered, half smiled at me.

“Yeah? We’ll see about that.” I gave him my signature smirk.

Coach dropped the puck and skated backward.

We scrabbled for it, and I cradled it in my stick, then I broke away, heading off to my right, sights on their goal.

I pivoted around one of their D-men and headed up the boards. I had this. A dark jersey came at me from my periphery. Fuck. I braced myself for impact. These guys weren’t going to let me get away with bringing it up the side like this.

With a thump, a hard body smashed me against the boards, knocking the wind out of me. “Fuck!” A skate caught on mine and we both went down, landing on hard ice .

As a stinger swept from my elbow to my shoulder, I rolled over and looked at the guy who hit me. “Jarvis!” That was a fucking hard hit for practice, the asshole. As heat swarmed my chest, I threw off my gloves and scrambled to my knees, then snatched the front of his jersey as he slid on his ass across the ice.

“What’s the matter, Hopkins? You can’t handle a real hit?” He jeered at me, sliding his gloves off and throwing them to the ice.

With a snarl, I pulled my arm back, my hand fisted. “This is a practice, asshole.”

My body was shoved to the side, and I rolled around and then hopped up on my skates.

Shaking his helmeted head, Carlson skated in a circle around me, holding his stick against his thighs. “First play? You tried to start a fight on the first play?”

“What? He started it.” I pointed at Jarvis, now on his skates and finding his gloves. It wasn’t my fault the guy came after me. With a scowl, I glanced at Volkov, chatting with Coach Henderson and nodding.

Volkov skated to me, gesturing for Jarvis and me to go to him.

I scanned the other players, some watching, some working on their puck handling with the extra time.

Stopping on one side of Volkov, I peered at Jarvis on the other side of him. Volkov didn’t look happy. “What.”

“Listen, it’s obvious you two have beef with each other.” Volkov patted my shoulder at the same as he patted Jarvis’s. “How about we play well but nice until the end of this practice and then the three of us go out for dinner and a beer on me.” He grinned at each of us in turn.

“Sure.” Jarvis lifted his chin at me. “Think you can handle that, Hopkins?”

I shrugged. “Of course.” I gave him a smirk. “Then maybe after, we can hit the gay bar. What do you say, Jarvis? There’s a great one down on Mill Avenue in Tempe, not far from my place.” I eyed him. If he was the one I’d almost hooked up with, would he remember where I lived from the app?

Choking out a laugh, Volkov said, “I don’t think so.”

Jarvis’s brow ticked. “I don’t go to gay bars.” He huffed and looked away. “Plus, we have practice, remember?” His gaze met Volkov’s. “Maybe he thinks he can fuck around and still get a good position on the team.”

“Oh, come on, it was a joke.” I puffed out a breath. “You need to lighten up a little. Maybe get laid by one of your puck bunnies.”

“Okay, that’s enough. Save it for later.” Volkov shot me a stern look.

“Yeah, sorry.” I shifted on my skates. I was letting this asshole get to me. I had to stop and show them what I had, that drafting me had been the right decision.

After practice and my cool-down routine, I waved goodbye to Volkov and Jarvis, who were meeting me at Melee’s on Main, a Thai place in old-town Scottsdale, after I dropped off Archer. I strolled out to my car with Archer beside me.

“Dude, what is up with you?” Archer waited at the passenger side of my older Audi A4.

“Nothing is up with me.” I scoffed. My Audi was my college car, but I didn’t see a point in upgrading it until I had a full season’s pay under my belt. I clicked my key fob, and the doors unlocked. I knew Archer was going to lay into me about today.

He climbed into the car, threw his duffel into the back seat and peered at me. “Then why are you constantly chirping on Jarvis?”

After tossing my bag into the back seat, I stepped into the car and started it, gazing across the pavement to the spindly trees popping up at the edges, the sun beating down on everything. I couldn’t wait for it to cool off. “I don’t know, guess he brings it out of me.” I backed out of my parking spot. Thankfully, Archer lived with Leo between here and old town.

“But why?” He buckled up and settled in while I drove onto the larger boulevard. The rink was up by this little airpark and all these big-box stores, and the traffic could be horrendous.

“You know, it’s not all my fault. The asshole checked me pretty hard today. He could have broken a rib or something.” Rubbing my elbow, I winced. I had a nice bruise on it.

Twisting his lips, Archer said, “Yeah, I guess that was a shitty thing to do, but we’ve got to get used to hard hits like that. We’ll probably get harder ones when the season starts.” His gaze dipped and found mine. “You don’t seriously still think he’s gay, do you?”

I shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t know. Yeah? Maybe?” I glanced at him and turned into a residential neighborhood of custom homes in a tan stucco color. He was living the suburban life with his boyfriend all right.

“I’m not getting that vibe from him at all.” With a huff, he flicked his gaze out the window.

“Well, I am, and you’re not gay.” I snuck a peak at him. I was going to hear it now.

Slowly twisting to me, he said, “Being bisexual doesn’t mean I don’t feel gay vibes, Mason.” He arched a brow. “First time I saw you, I was waiting for you to break out in a Madonna song.”

I scoffed a laugh and held my hand flat under my chin, “Vogue” style. “Like this?”

“Yeah, like that.” He burst out in giggles. “Jesus.”

I drove up his driveway, looking over the sprawling one-story home with an impeccable desert landscape, including a saguaro cactus and some agave. I rested my wrist on the top of my steering wheel and studied him. “Listen, I’m sure we’ll call a truce tonight at dinner. There’s a reason Volkov is our captain. I’m sure he knows how to handle assholes like Jarvis.”

Popping open the door, he said, “Just don’t make yourself look like you’re the asshole. Who knows? Maybe Jarvis and Volkov are old drinking buddies or something.”

“I doubt it.” With a shake of my head, I chuckled. I couldn’t wait to see what Jarvis had to say tonight. Okay, or to see what he looked like off the ice, dressed all casual.

“See you tomorrow.” He tipped his chin at me and shut the door.

After parking my car in an angled spot on Main Street, I strolled to the sidewalk, covered from the sun by a rustic overhang made from hand-hewn logs. This part of Scottsdale was all quaint, single-story shops and restaurants lined up next to each other, made to look like the Old West. As I walked, I stuffed my hands into the pockets of my board shorts and an open trolley car drove past. Shit, it was only Tuesday, but people were partying and shouting with drinks in their hands. Tourists…

I stopped at a red door and opened it, stepped inside the dark restaurant and perused the booths lined up along a maroon wall under bamboo pendant lamps.

Volkov waved at me from a booth in the back corner. The back of Jarvis’s dirty-blond head of hair was pointed toward me.

With a smile, I waved at Volkov. Fucking Jarvis couldn’t be bothered to turn around and wave? After striding to the table, I slid in next to Jarvis, a smirk teasing my lips. Yep, I was already fucking with him.

“Hey, heavy hitter.” I held my hand out to him.

His gaze flicked up and a faint grin worked over his mouth. “Hello, Hopkins.” He gave my hand a firm shake.

When my gaze met his, my heart fluttered and my breath caught. Fuck, nobody had any business having a jawline that square, lips so fucking kissable, and eyes the color of green where you couldn’t tell if they were blue or brown until you looked up close. Nobody. I held his hand a few beats longer .

“Um…” He dropped his gaze to our entwined hands and gave me a mega-watt grin.

“Oh.” With a stuttered laugh, I freed his hand and brushed my palm over the back of my hair. What the hell was I doing?

Volkov cleared his throat, his reddish-blond hair curling over his forehead, his stark blue eyes gazing between us. “So that’s a start.” He held his palms up.

A waitress set down three beers in front of us, along with menus.

“We assumed you’d be okay with a beer?” Jarvis held his up to me.

“Hell yeah.” I picked up my beer and tapped it on Jarvis’s glass, and then Volkov’s. “Here’s to the Stanley Cup.” I sipped my drink, the cool bubbles sliding down my throat.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, but I like the way you think.” Volkov gave me a warm smile.

“Do you two know each other? Drinking buddies from back in the day?” I sipped more beer and set it on the table. I didn’t need to look at the menu. I knew what I wanted. I always got the same thing, red chicken curry, spicy as fuck.

“We’ve played against each other, obviously, and hung out after games.” Jarvis crept his gaze to mine, bit his lower lip and looked away, shifting in his seat.

Volkov set his forearms on the table and leaned forward. “I’m going to start off blunt here, Hopkins. Have you heard anything about why Jett left Dallas?” He raised his brows.

I stared at him. Was that what this was about? “N-no.” I glanced at Jarvis, playing with the napkin still rolled around his silverware on the table. “Why would I know that?”

“Your father is pretty well-connected in the league. Maybe someone leaked it to him, and he said something to you?” His grin faded.

“No, of course not.” But it was a good idea. Maybe Dad had heard something? I swung my gaze to Jarvis. Why wouldn’t he look at me? I focused on Volkov. “It’s not a secret Jarvis was traded because he was such an asshole to his teammates that it affected their game.” There, I’d said it.

Throwing a glare at me, Jarvis said through his teeth, “That’s not true. They were assholes to me.” He jabbed his finger at his chest.

“Jett.” Volkov stabbed the table in front of him with his index finger.

Jarvis sucked in a deep breath. “Why do you have such a problem with me? I didn’t do anything to you.”

With a smirk, I puffed out my chest. Here we go. “Yeah? Let’s see, first, you called me stupid. Then?—”

“You hit on me in front of some puck bunnies and then insinuated some garbage about me not graduating from college.” He lowered his brows and twisted to face me. “And then you challenged me at the pull-up bar.”

“You…well, you don’t know how fucking hot you are.” What the hell did I just say?” I blinked. “I mean, I’m sure you’re full of yourself, but what am I supposed to do?” I flipped my palm up and took a long pull of my beer. “I’m only human and I am gay.”

Jarvis stared at me, then turned his stare on Volkov. “You see what I mean? He’s, he’s distracting.”

Volkov snickered behind the back of his hand. “It’s actually pretty funny.” He drank some beer. “But you both sound like you’re spoiled brats, five-year-olds, really.” He narrowed his eyes. “Now, what’s the real problem between you?”

The waitress dropped by the table, and everyone ordered, Volkov getting the pad Thai and Jarvis getting a yellow curry with shrimp. It was great timing because I needed to think about this and not just blurt out that I was pretty sure Jarvis was on a gay hookup app.

“I’m still waiting for an answer.” Volkov thrummed his fingers on the table.

With my mouth hanging open, I crept my gaze to Jarvis. “Um…”

“There is no problem. Is there, Hopkins?” He elbowed my rib. “I’m sure we can get along just fine.” With an arched brow, he gave me a sly grin.

“Yeah, okay. I gotta piss. Be right back. Maybe you two can make nice while I’m gone.” Volkov slid out of his side of the booth and strolled toward the front of the restaurant and the restroom.