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CHAPTER FOUR

JETT

I watched Volkov walk away and gulped my beer. What the hell was up with Hopkins? Did he know about me? The birthmark wasn’t that obvious, was it? No one had ever mentioned it before.

With a smirk sliding across his lips, Hopkins flung his arm across the back of the booth and turned to me. What really happened in Dallas?”

“It’s none of your business. Why do you care so much?” As my gut knotted, I swiped my finger up and down the condensation of my beer glass. “I just didn’t get along with some of the guys.”

“Why? Because you’re gay?” He inched closer, his intense gaze heating my skin.

I breathed in deeply as my pulse quickened and my breath snagged. I was going to give myself away. It would be so much easier to deny it if the fucker wasn’t so close, and so Goddamned…I snuck a peek at him. Fucking gorgeous. There was a reason I’d picked him for a good fuck in the app. But every time he looked at me with those gray-blue eyes of his, I was a puddle. Didn’t help he was all clean shaven, yeah, even down there, I looked, except for his face. “No, I’m not gay.” My he art pinched. This wasn’t right, but I wasn’t ready to lose my only living parent. Right now, he was still proud as fuck of me, except for the whole quitting college thing.

He came in closer, his breath whispering over my cheek. “Are you sure? Because you have this um…” He skimmed his index finger down my shirt to the hem and lifted it. “Little birthmark that?—”

“Stop it.” With my dick plumping in my jeans, I sucked in a breath, then shoved his hand away and glared at him. “What do you think you’re doing? You know this is borderline harassment, right?”

“Is it though?” He cocked his head, his gaze dropping to my mouth as his tongue skimmed his lips. “A guy I almost hooked up with had a birthmark by his belly button, just like yours.”

“So?” I forced a scoff. “Lots of people have birthmarks.” I shimmied toward the wall. I had to get away from him. I’d deny this to the end. I didn’t need another gay guy, of all people, to start shit with my new team. Who’d have thought?

He shifted in next to me. “What’s the matter? Are you afraid of me?” He sniffed at me. “You smell pretty good. What cologne is that?”

“What?” I stared at him, my lips twitching in an almost grin. Who does this? He was crazy, which was perfect for a center.

“You heard me.” He looked in the direction of the restrooms. “Either Volkov had to take a massive shit, or he’s sitting in the restroom waiting for us to hash this out.”

“He’s probably doing the latter and chatting with his Instagram followers.” With a shake of my head, I slumped my shoulders. Did he have to be so close?

“If you’re gay and hiding it, I just want you to know something. You don’t have to hide with me. Or with Archer.” He set his chin on my shoulder. “Even if you dissed me on that hookup app.”

Fucking really? I shrugged my shoulder, knocking his chin off. He was right, but I wasn’t going to say a word. “I’m not, and I didn’t, but thanks.”

With a sigh, he slid away from me, his body heat leaving my side, and sipped his beer. “What’s your story, anyway?”

The waitress stopped by and dropped off our food.

“My story?” I slid into my original spot and unrolled my silverware. We were going to shoot the shit now?

“Yeah, your dad is some CEO or some shit, right?” He spooned rice onto his plate, followed by red curry chicken, then stopped and looked at me. “Want some? If you can handle a little spice.” He wagged his brows at me.

Jesus Christ, he didn’t know how to turn it off. “No, thanks. My stomach doesn’t do atomic-level spice.” I chuckled and spooned rice onto my own plate.

“You two work it out?” Volkov strutted to the table with a wide grin stretching his lips and slid into his side of the booth.

“For the most part. He still won’t admit he’s gay.” Hopkins flashed a smile at me and stuffed food into his mouth.

Volkov choked out a laugh. “Yeah, okay.” He side-eyed me and filled his plate with pad Thai.

The captain didn’t know, did he? Only the coaches and upper management were supposed to know the details. I peered at him. If he did know, would we still have occasional drinks together, or would he treat me differently? I stuck my fork into my food. “Hopkins and I here were just shooting the shit.”

“And you never answered my question.” Hopkins washed his food down with some beer. “CEO, right?” He lifted his brows at me.

“Yeah, he’s the CEO for SoCal Networks.” I pursed my lips. I’d been studying IT at Notre Dame in case hockey didn’t work out and I’d have to work at my dad’s company.

“And he has a habit of endorsing hockey teams, am I right?” Hopkins ate more of his food. “I mean, there were SoCal Network logos all over the Dallas arena, from what I remember. Which is weird because you’d think he’d be endorsing The Kings.”

I glanced at Volkov, watching me while he ate. “Yeah, well, he likes to endorse the teams I play for. Plus, the company services businesses all over the world.” I moved my curried shrimp around my plate with my fork. “He also endorses the local teams in the LA area.” I needed to change this subject. “And your dad is in management in Connecticut with the Wolf Pack?”

Hopkins ate some curry-filled rice. “Yeah, hockey family.” He grinned at me. “My little brother plays at the juniors level.” He swallowed his food down. “He’s a D-man.”

Nodding, I said, “My sister’s at Notre Dame, working on her master’s in biomedical engineering.” I was not from a hockey family, and if it weren’t for my family’s wealth and Dad hiring the best trainers, nutritionists, you name it, I might not be here. I owed him a lot.

Tapping his head with his finger, Hopkins said, “Wow, so she got the brains, and you got the?—”

“Athleticism. Yeah.” With a soft grin, I nodded and then drank some beer. When Hopkins wanted to be, he was actually pleasant to talk to. I let my gaze trail over his body, the wide shoulders and thick bicep muscles, then up to his profile, the pointed nose over plump lips. Damn, what would it have been like if I had hooked up with him? What was he like in bed? I bet he was a take-charge kind of guy. Just what I liked. My dick twitched. Okay, focus on hockey and chit-chatting.

“So, you’re an LA boy. Did you ever surf?” Hopkins held his fork up, giving me a lopsided grin.

Huffing a laugh, I said, “Yeah. It’s a great sport to do in the summertime between seasons.” I wiped my mouth with my napkin and faced Hopkins. “It’s a full-body workout that strengthens and is great for cardio, plus you gotta know how to balance.” I hooked a brow at him.

“Okay, maybe you can show me how it’s done some time.” Hopkins snapped his gaze to Volkov. “We play in LA this year, right?”

With a soft chuckle and a shake of his head, Volkov said, “Yeah, but I’m not sure you’ll have time to go surfing.” He shoved his fork into a mound of noodles and chicken. “I have to say it’s good to hear you both getting along.”

Hopkins patted my shoulder. “Oh, don’t you worry about us. I owe him a hard hit into the boards tomorrow, but I’m sure we’ll get along otherwise.” He sniggered.

“You’ll have to catch me first, Hopkins.” I chuckled and ate another bite of curry. He had so much to learn about the NHL.

“Really, is that a challenge for a race?” Hopkins set his fork on his plate and raised his brows at me, planting his elbow on the table and his cheek in his fingers.

I sucked in a breath. “Yeah, what the hell.” I snuck a glance at Volkov, smiling back at us.

Picking up his fork and pointing it at me, Hopkins said, “First thing on the ice tomorrow. A race, blue line to blue line, five times.”

“Why not goal line to goal line, five times.” A wide smile spread over Volkov’s face as he pushed his empty plate away and tented his fingers on the table.

I eyed Hopkins. “I’m game.” I was going to beat the little shit once and for all. “And if I win, you owe me dinner.” Fuck, did I say that aloud? Was I nuts?

“Hell yeah. Homemade dinner. Can you cook, Jarvis?” With a smirk, he looked me up and down like I was a popsicle he wanted to lick.

“Of course I can cook.” With my balls tingling, I shifted in my seat. Yeah, that was a bad idea. I wasn’t sure if it’d be worse if I lost or if he did. “Anything you want, I can cook it, and it’ll be delicious.” I smacked my lips at him.

He squirmed in his seat. “Damn, I’ll be sure to win, just so you have to cook for me.” He turned his smirk on Volkov. “Look what you’ve started. ”

With a sly grin, he said, “Oh, I know exactly what I’m starting.” He drank the rest of his beer.

The next day, I skated around the rink, getting good and warm for my race against Hopkins. Why the hell had I agreed to this crap? Volkov had talked Coach Henderson into it before practice and the whole team had placed bets. Mostly on me. I had to pull this off, I just had to. Or I’d never live it down.

Hopkins glided by me, a shit-eating grin tugging his lips. He up-nodded at me. “Can’t wait for my chicken cordon bleu dinner.” He cackled.

“That’s what you want?” I skated to Coach and the rest of the team, all lined up against the boards behind the goal. I had no idea what I wanted him to cook when he lost. And he would lose. “What can you even cook?” I stopped on the red line, my pulse kicking up. Everyone’s eyes were on me.

He shrugged. “I don’t know, lobster roll? I am a New Englander.” He stopped at the red line, opposite the goal from me, and crouched as if preparing to bolt off the ice.

I bent at the knees and angled my skates. No more talking.

“Go, Hopkins!” A voice called out.

“No, Jarvis! I got a twenty on you!” Another player yelled.

I focused on Coach. The rest of the team didn’t matter right now.

“You ready?” Coach held up his arm and glanced from me to Hopkins.

Ticking his head, Hopkins beamed at me.

“Ready.” I fixated on Coach’s arm. The slightest movement and I’d be off and running.

Coach’s arm dropped.

I took off and got into a groove, taking long strides and swinging my arms. This was a far enough sprint that I didn’t want to wear myself out too soon. As I hit the other side, I flipped around and headed back, glancing at Hopkins, a few strides ahead of me. The fucker was going all out. He’d tire before the end. Keeping my head down, I let a smile creep over my lips.

I hit the other side and twisted.

The crowd shouted, “One!”

My breath and body became one, an unstoppable rhythm, like a runner’s high. Hell, it was a runner’s high. I could do this all day. I stopped and swiveled around.

Hopkins fell back a few strides, his jaw dropping open with heavy breaths.

Back and forth we went, me taking the lead, then him.

We hit the last leg of the sprint. Now, it was time to lay it out there and give it all I had. I quickened my pace, taking shorter strides.

He glided up on my periphery, his arms and legs pumping, his quick, heavy breaths audible in the quiet rink.

I glanced ahead of me and skated faster still.

The guys watched us, some covering their mouths with their hands, all wide-eyed.

“Chicken cordon bleu!” Hopkins took off like a shot, flew past the line into the other players, and smacked into the boards behind the net before falling onto the ice in a heap.

“And it’s Hopkins.” Coach laughed and shook his head as I skated past him.

“Fuck.” Bending over and grabbing my knees, I swooped by everyone in a wide turn, fighting to get control of my breath. The fucker won. I hung my head and huffed a sharp laugh. I should probably do the right thing and congratulate him. Skating in a wide circle, I made my way to him, through players helping him up and slapping his back.

As I reached him, I pursed my lips. “Good race, Hopkins.” I held out my fist.

“Yeah, you’re pretty fast for an old man. I had to really put out to beat you.” His blue eyes twinkled at me as he fist-bumped me, and then he swung his arm around my shoulders for a side hug. “Chicken cordon bleu. Know how to make it?”

“I’ll figure it out.” I leaned into him. “For the record, I’m only three years older than you. That does not make me an old man.” I arched a brow at him. This was going to be an interesting dinner.

He freed me, patted me on the back, and skated off into the crowd of guys.

Coach slid up next to me. “He’s a cocky bastard.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

“Yeah, but he’ll make a great center.” I hated to admit it, but he was just what we needed for a winning season.

Friday night rolled around, and I had the cordon bleu in the oven. It smelled heavenly. I’d found a great recipe online where I didn’t have to fry the things in oil, so it was probably healthier too. We’d decided it would be best to have our dinner on a night when we didn’t have practice the next day. I looked over the roasted potatoes in the pan under the chicken. Everything was almost done.

My gaze roamed to my dining table, already set with a chilled Chardonnay and arugula salad with feta cheese. Was I going all out? Maybe. Was this a date? Fuck no. It was a bet, and I lost. That didn’t mean I wouldn’t show this rookie a thing or two about how a real man cooks.

The chime on my doorbell rang. As my pulse kicked up, I peeked at myself in my microwave oven over the stove, primped my bangs, and adjusted my colorful short-sleeved button-down over my black chino shorts. Fuck, why was I doing that? It didn’t matter how I looked. But then why had I dressed so nicely for him? I was in trouble.

With a huff, I strode to my front door off the entryway and flung it open .

Hopkins stood there with a bouquet of colorful flowers held to his chest. “Hi, honey, these are for you.” He pushed them at me.

I stared at them for a beat and snickered. It figured he’d pull something like this. “Yeah, thanks.” I grabbed the flowers from him and stepped aside. “Come in.”

“Wow, nice place.” He looked around, his black shirt hugging the muscles of his chest and arms and his white linen shorts tight on his perfect ass.

Damn, he’d dressed up too. It didn’t mean anything. He was just pulling shit on me, and I had to remember that.

He strolled into my kitchen and ran his index finger over the quartz counter. “Did you buy this place?” Twisting around, his gaze met mine.

“No, just renting for now. I’m supposed to close on my house in Dallas in about two weeks. Then maybe I’ll start looking.” I pulled a vase out of my cupboard—yes, I’d gotten flowers for my house before—filled it with water, set the flowers in it, and put it in the center of the table. “Nice touch.”

“Yeah.” He ambled to my table and picked up the bottle of wine from the marble cooler. “Wow, going all out for me.” He read the label. “Can I pour us some now?”

“Sure.” I’d already opened it to let it breathe. “Dinner should be ready.”

This was weird. He was in my house and acting civil. Acting like we were on a date and not…we were not on a date. After grabbing potholders, I removed everything from the oven and plated the food. “So, the recipe I used doesn’t fry the chicken, so it’ll be healthier.”

“Oh? I didn’t even know it was supposed to be fried.” He stepped up behind me and held out a glass of wine.

His body heated my side and back and a shiver raced up my spine. “Yeah? Guess I should have kept my mouth shut.” Biting my lip, I took the wine from him and sipped it, the crisp apple and honey flavors gliding across my tongue. Did he have to be so close? I’d set our plates at opposite ends of the table on purpose. I didn’t want to be this close to him.

He edged nearer to me, his chest touching the back of my arm, his lips hovering at my ear. “This wine is really good. I suppose you know your wines, being from Cali.”

I shut my eyes for a beat, my cock waking. Damn him. “Uh, yeah.” If I backed up, I’d bump into him. “Can you, uh, move back? I’ve got plates of food here.” I set my wine glass on the counter and picked up our food.

“Oh yeah, sure. I was just enjoying whatever the hell your cologne is. Can’t get enough.” He sniffed at me, then picked up my wine glass and strolled to the table like that was a completely normal thing to say to a straight teammate.

Was he going to be doing that all night? I braced myself, taking a deep breath. I had to be strong and figure out how to tell him to stop. Except, knowing him, it would only make him do it more. I brought the plates of food to the table, set them down at each end and dropped into my chair opposite him.

He held up his wine glass to me. “To winning.” He arched a brow.

“Yeah, winning.” I held up my glass, sipped my wine, and set it on the table.

Cutting into his breaded chicken, he said, “Why hockey if no one else in your family plays?” He chewed and let out a low moan. “Oh my God, this is good.” He tapped his fork on his chicken.

I squirmed in my seat as a spark of heat pooled in my balls. God, what would he be like in bed? Never mind, Jett . “My dad always watched a lot of hockey, so I guess I wanted to play it since he liked the sport.” I stuck my fork into my salad. I never really thought about why I’d started playing before. I’d started so early that it had always been a part of me.

“So, you’re a daddy’s boy?” He flashed me a grin and sipped his wine.

Was I? “No…” Yeah, I guessed I was. With a huff, I said, “I su ppose you started playing because your dad did? You had to follow in his footsteps?” Touché. Turned out, he was a daddy’s boy too.

He shrugged a shoulder. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I want to be like him? He was a great player and an even better father.” He eyed me. “You get along with your dad?”

“For the most part.” My chest tightened as I ate some chicken, the melted swiss cheese mixing with the ham. Damn, I did a good job on this. “He’s…he’s a little on the demanding side, as you can imagine, but we get along all right.” As long as he thinks I’m straight. Wait… “Your parents both know you’re gay, right?”

“Hell, yes.” Pressing his lips together, he straightened his shoulders. “I came out in high school. It was hard at first, but my mom got both of them going to PFLAG and Dad came around.” With a shake of his head, he grinned. “My mom’s fucking awesome. She’s the one who keeps us all sane.”

“Yeah?” I cocked my head, watching him. What would it have been like if my?—

“What about your mom?” He stuffed a roasted potato into his mouth.

I dipped my head and inhaled deeply. He had to ask. “She died when I was around ten. Car accident.” I clenched my jaw.

“I’m sorry.” He set his silverware on his plate, planted his elbows on the table, and tented his hands over his food. “Tell me about her.”

I glanced at him and cut into my chicken. “Oh, uh…” Shit, it was funny, but I could barely remember much about her now. “She was nice, comforting, you know? Whenever I had a bad day, I always knew I could talk to her about it, and she’d make me feel better.” An ache crept through my chest, and I rubbed the heel of my palm across it.

“Still hurts, huh?” He knitted his brows. “I can’t imagine what it would be like to lose a parent like that.” With a shudder, he shook his head and picked up his knife and fork. “Guess your dad raised you by himself then?” He sliced into his chicken.

“Uh, not really. He remarried about a year later.” I pinched my lips. Fucking Eleanor was useless as a mother. “Hockey raised me.” Yeah, it was my coaches, my teammates, and all the people associated with the game.

“Yeah?” After swallowing a bite of food, he said, “No wonder you’re so good. You live and breathe the sport, just like me.” With a broad smile, he drank some wine.

Did he just…compliment my game? I eyed him. There had to be a catch in there somewhere. “But?”

“But what?” He ticked his shoulders. “You’re a good player.” With a chuckle, he said, “Even though you’re a prickly fucker.” He ate some salad.

“I’m not prickly.” Maybe only to him. Was I treating him differently because he was gay and I didn’t want to get too close? Fuck, maybe. “So, you want to be best buddies now?”

“Sure, why not.” He cut another bite of chicken. “You, me, and Volkov are going to be the starting forwards. We’re going to have to get to know everything about each other.” He peered at me while chewing his food.

Jesus, he might be right. “Maybe. You really think you’ll make it to ten games?” I stuck my fork in a potato and slid it into my mouth. It wouldn’t be unheard of, especially with all the injuries Matthews, last year’s star center, was still dealing with.

He shifted in his seat, leaning over his plate, fixating on me. “Oh, I’ll make it to ten games, and I’ll be playing with you and Volkov by the end of the season. You watch.” A smirk curled his lips.

With a snicker, I cut my chicken and said, “You are so full of yourself.” I stuffed the bite into my mouth and snapped my gaze to his.

“Yeah? I think I’ve heard that before from you.” He lifted his wine, tipped it to me and drank it.

My heart stuttered and I bit my tongue, then covered my mouth before I spat my food out. Fuck, that’s exactly what I texted him when I dumped him on the app.

“You okay over there, uh, Nailmegood, was it?” He hooked a brow.

I wiped my mouth with my napkin and cleared my throat. “What are you talking about?” I drank my wine and side-eyed him. Deny, deny, deny.

Fisting his hand on the table next to his plate, he said, “You were on a gay hookup app, weren’t you? Just admit it already.”

With a soft chuckle, I said, “Hell no. Why would I be on a gay hookup app?” Holding up my wine glass, I gave him my most innocent grin. And deny some more…

“I saw…” With a huff, he shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. The truth will come out. It always does.” He ate a bite of potato and pointed his fork at me. “The thing I’m trying to understand is why you wouldn’t be out at this point. You’re on a team with two queer guys and an organization that would support you.”

“You don’t—” I bit my lip. Fuck, he’d almost gotten me to talk. I clenched my eyes shut for a beat.

“Understand? I think I do.” He ate more salad. “See, I’ve been harassed plenty on the ice and in the locker room. Those guys are just assholes. You can’t let them get to you.”

With a deep breath, I said, “No, that’s not what I was going to say.” I stared at him for a second. Fuck, how could I get out of this? “I was going to say, you don’t know me . And I’m not gay or queer or whatever.” I ate more chicken.

Stuffing the last bite of food into his mouth, he leaned back in his chair and rested his forearm next to his plate. “Whatever you say, Jarvis. Then what was the problem in Dallas? Why did those guys hate you so much they didn’t even acknowledge when your goal won the game?” He lifted his brows.

“I…I can’t talk about that. It’s under an NDA.” With my chest aching, I raised my chin and looked down at him. What a fucked-up situation it had been. And embarrassing .

“Okay.” He bit at his thumbnail, his gaze raking over me. “I’ll quit asking then.”

“Thank you.” I ate the last few bites of my food. We were done here, and now it was time for him to go.

He stood from his chair and picked up his plate. “You pour us another glass of wine while I take care of these dishes.” He strode to my end of the table.

As he reached for my plate, I grabbed his forearm. “No, you don’t have to do that.” Shit, was I going to have to kick him out?

“I want to, and it’s the right thing to do.” His gaze hardened as he peered at me, and then a smile broke out on his face. “We still have bonding to do. Come on, it’ll make Volkov happy.”

“Shit, all right.” I drank the rest of my wine, poured more into my glass and refilled his. We needed to stick to talking hockey and maybe I wouldn’t out myself.