Page 8 of Ice Rivals (Desert Ice Hockey #3)

CHAPTER EIGHT

JETT

T he next morning, I was up early, dressed in my team sweats, and the first down at breakfast. I scanned the spread at a buffet table laid out for the team in a conference room and grabbed a plate. It wasn’t like I’d been able to sleep much, anyway, not with Hopkins lying next to me. Every little sound he’d made while he was sleeping had been like a jolt to my aching dick. Yeah, I’d wanted him bad. Even with the stupid show he’d put on. Or maybe because of it? He was probably a lot of fun in bed.

Volkov strutted across the room to me. “You’re up early.” He picked up a plate from the end of the buffet.

“Yeah, had the first night jitters, I guess.” More like the Mason jitters. “How’d you sleep?” I spooned some scrambled egg whites onto my plate, then some melon and sausage.

“I slept like a baby.” As he added eggs to his plate, he leaned in. “How was Hopkins? You two talk at all last night?”

“Yeah, a little bit. He’s nervous, but I think he’s more worried about fucking up and not getting played than anything else.” After moving down the line, I cut a bagel in half and stuffed it into a toaster.

“Coach is going to play him no matter what. He’s already showing signs of being one of the greats.” He added bacon to his plate and cut his own bagel.

I glanced at Volkov. That was a lot coming from him. “You think the three of us will play on the same line when the season starts?”

With a shrug, he said, “Yeah, that’s a big possibility.”

At the game, it was the second period, and I was on the ice with Hopkins and Richardson, another rookie Coach had been trying on our line. Hopkins had already scored a goal with Richardson’s assist. I flew down the ice, chasing after the Blue’s new center. The fucker was on a mission to score.

Our rookie goalie took a defensive posture as I skated up the center’s backside. He flicked his stick back and cuffed me in the chin. “Fuck!” Pain sliced through my jaw. The fucker better not have loosened any teeth. I skated to the boards, my palm covering my chin, warm wetness seeping through my fingers.

The ref blew a whistle and play stopped.

Hopkins skated to me. “What the fuck? That’s a—” His eyes widened. “You’re hurt.” He pulled my hand away. “Shit, you’re bleeding.” He held up his gloved hand to our coaches and medic. Through his teeth, he said, “That fucker.”

He bound off toward the Blue’s center, leaving a yard sale in his wake, his stick, his gloves, and then his helmet. “You son of a bitch. What’s the first fucking thing they teach you in hockey?” He snatched the center’s jersey and yanked him off his skates and to the ice, then straddled him.

“Hopkins!” Archer jumped the boards and hustled to Hopkins along with the other guys on the ice with us.

“What the fuck is he doing?” Holding my chin, I skated toward them all, now a mound of jerseys and flinging arms, bodies wrestling .

Hopkin’s fist flew back, and he landed a punch square on the center’s jaw.

Flipping over, the center shoved Hopkins off him and grabbed him up in a half-nelson, both on their knees on the ice.

As Hopkin’s face turned red, he pawed and scratched at the center’s hand and arm.

“Holy fuck.” Heat swarmed my chest. If I wasn’t bleeding out on the Goddamned ice, I’d throw that fucker off Hopkins. I gritted my teeth. Fuck the blood. I grabbed the neck of the center’s jersey and wrenched, blood splattering in his hair and on the ice. “Get off him.”

“Stop, everyone, stop!” Catching my arm, the ref pulled me away. “Go get stitched up.” He shoved me toward my bench, where our medic was skating onto the ice.

Volkov stepped in and pried the center’s arm off Hopkins and separated the two. “I love me a good fight, but save it for the real games, boys.” He snorted and snapped his gaze to me. “Get fixed up. We’ve still got another period.”

It would take some time to clean the blood off the ice anyway. By then, I’d be stitched and bandaged and ready to go again. I ticked my head at the medic and skated off with him.

After the game, we all walked onto our flight in our suits, headed to Vegas to play the Golden Knights. We’d been busy as fuck after the game, and I hadn’t had a chance to talk to Mason yet. He’d been holed up with Carlson, anyway. I sank into a seat next to Volkov, the same seat we had coming in, and huffed. “Hopkins, okay?”

“Yeah, he’s fine. How’s your chin?” He eyed my injury, still bandaged.

“It’s fine.” I chuckled. “Fucking head wounds always look worse than they are.” Yeah, I’d have a nice scar, but who didn’t have one on their chin ?

“That’s the spirit.” He patted my forearm, which was lying on the armrest between us.

Hopkins stepped onto the plane with a scowl planted on his face, and then his gaze caught mine and softened. “How’s the chin?” He slid into the seat in front of mine and twisted around.

“Fine. Five stitches and it’s brand new.” I fingered the bandage. “How are you? Did you get hurt in that fight?”

“Hell no. Takes more than a chokehold and a punch to the gut to damage this body.” He jabbed his finger into his chest.

“What are you going off about now?” Carlson fell in beside Mason and fished out an iPad, readying for tonight’s club movie.

“Nothing. Just letting Jarvis here know how indestructible I am.” Turning around, Hopkins buckled his seatbelt.

Huffing a laugh, Carlson said, “Yeah? What about the time you got in that bar fight at The Club on Mill? You had a shiner for weeks.”

“Uh, The Club on Mill?” Wasn’t that the gay bar down by the university? Who the hell gets into bar fights in a gay bar? Unless… “What happened? Did some homophobic assholes go in there?”

Volkov peered at me. “How do you know what sort of place that is?” He lifted his brows.

“I…I’ve heard of it from, um, somewhere.” Buckling my seatbelt, I cleared my throat. Shit, had I given myself away?

“Yeah? Where?” Mason turned his profile to me. “’Cause I’m pretty sure I’ve never mentioned it to you.”

“I think I saw it in a website adver—” Fuck me. I was about to dig a deeper hole. “I don’t know where I heard that.” I tsked. “Just answer the question and quit making this about me.” I flicked my glare on him.

“No, that’s not what happened. We’d been beaten by U of A, and one of their football players was in there spouting off about it, so I clocked the fucker.” He shook his head. “He had it coming.”

“But Mason didn’t know the dude had two big gym buddies with him, and they got him good before our squad broke it up.” Carlson gave a soft snort. “Imagine nine queer men in a brawl.” He turned and wagged his index finger. “Mind you, we were all very masc jocks.”

“Oh my God.” I rubbed my forehead. Never had I seen a fight in a gay bar between queer men, but then I didn’t go to those places all that often. I was learning so many interesting things about Mason. What more would I learn tonight? A shiver ran down my spine. Shit, it would be another night on edge, listening to him sleep.

“Anyway, let’s settle in for the movie.” Volkov fished his iPad from his laptop bag, resting it on the floor between his legs.

I was going to take advantage of the recovery equipment on board too. If I was going to be tired, at least my body would be well rested.

After reaching our hotel and getting our room keys, I strolled with Mason to the elevator. Here we went again. Another awkward moment in an elevator with him. Fuck. As the doors opened, we stepped inside. I hit the button for our floor, number eight tonight. I had to remember that. There’d been times on the road when I’d forgotten what room I was in and ended up having to go to the front desk to check. I glanced at Mason standing next to me and heat burned low in my belly. I fucking wanted him. How was I going to pretend I didn’t? It was bad enough I’d had to hide multiple boners last night.

He smirked at me and fixated on my mouth, his tongue sneaking out to lick his lips. “I tell you what, I wanted to kill that fucker tonight.” His mouth tensed. “I still do.”

“Why? It’s over.” I knitted my brows. Shit, he’d gone after the guy for me. For me . Did that mean…no, don’t go there. We were teammates, and it was what teammates did for one another.

The elevator stopped with a ding and the doors slid open .

I snuck a peek at Mason as I stepped into the hallway. He was different tonight. Quiet. No taunting. A tiny ache ghosted through me. Shit, did I want him to play-flirt with me?

He walked down the hallway to our door and slid his keycard out of the breast pocket of his jacket, then pressed it against the lock. It clicked, and he pushed the door open.

“Something wrong?” I grabbed his elbow and turned him to face me. I didn’t like it. I wanted the other Mason back, the guy who’d tell me I smelled good, the one who wore sexy fucking underwear, the guy who almost got choked to death trying to defend me on the ice.

His gaze locked on mine and his forehead wrinkled. “Listen, I couldn’t stand seeing you get hurt tonight, and I don’t know about you, but I’m having a hell of a time sleeping in the same room with you and not?—”

Shoving him inside the room, I dropped my duffel bag, kicked the door shut, and slammed him against the wall, pinning one of his arms over his head, our lips smashing together, teeth clashing, the tangy taste of him lighting up my tongue as it slid over his. My cock hardened in an instant and I ground it into him, heat flashing over my skin.

With a whimper, he threw his duffel to the floor, slapped his free hand on my ass, and thrust his equally hard dick against me, nibbling at my lower lip and slanting his hungry mouth over mine.

I writhed over him, pressing every inch of my body to his, kissing him with abandon. I wasn’t going to think about this. No, it was happening. No stopping it. I unfastened his slacks and freed his thick cock, wrapping my fist around the soft skin covering hard flesh. With a groan, I stroked him, my balls aching.

“Oh fuck.” He breathed hard against my cheek and rocked his hips in time with my pumping fist. “Keep going. Fuck, don’t stop.” His fingers dug into my ass cheeks.

I left his leaking dick for a beat to unfasten my own slacks and pull out my cock. Yeah, this was going both ways. Pressing my shaft to his, I wrapped my hand around both of them and thrust against him, rubbing our dicks together, and captured his mouth in another round of searing kisses. Everywhere my body touched his, little sparks ignited.

With sharp moans, he left my mouth to bite my earlobe and flicked it with his tongue. “Fuck, been waiting a long time for this.” He snuck his hand between us and unbuttoned my shirt, then plunged his hand inside to tease a nipple.

My dick pulsed as pleasure rippled through my body. The edge of climax itched in my balls. “Gonna come.” Yeah, no way I was going to last.

In a rasp, he said, “Me too. Fucking hell.” He thrust hard against me, his brows tensing and mouth dropping open, then his dick twitched in my palm and hot cum spurted over my hand and hit my chest.

“Oh fuck.” A shock of sensation tore up my spine and spread through my body, curling my toes. As each wave of my orgasm swept over me, I freed a sharp gasp, my face buried in his neck, my balls unloading between us.

As it all slowed, I panted, my body relaxing into him, our dicks still held tightly in my hand. Oh my fucking God, what did I do? I popped my eyes open and lifted my head. Could I even look at him now?

“You’re gay. Knew it.” He giggled, his chest thumping against mine.

“No, I’m…” Fuck, no way to deny it now. Puffing out a breath, I freed his cock and stepped back, my hand still full of our cum. I stared at it. How was I going to explain this?

“Okay, so first time? Bi-curious?” Leaning against the wall, he peered at me through his dark bangs, his light-blue gaze studying me.

I couldn’t lie to him anymore. With my pulse hammering, I said, “No, not the first time.” But the first time I’d admitted it outright to a teammate? Yes. I strode into the bathroom and washed my hands, avoiding my reflection in the mirror. Why did I care if he knew? He was fucking gay. He was like me. He was?—

“Jett.” He stepped to me from behind, placing his warm hand between my shoulder blades. “It’s okay.” He rested his cheek on my shoulder.

I glanced at him in the mirror, his gaze meeting mine. “Is it though?” What about my dad? What horrible shit had Eleanor put in his head about queer people? She’d have the gay electric shocked out of me. I dried my hands, wiped myself off, tucked my dick into my slacks, and fastened them.

“Hey, what the hell is going on with you? Talk to me.” He tugged on my arm. “What happened in Dallas, Jett? Was I your first guy?”

Gaping, I stared at him. I’d hidden it all for so long. Would I ever be able to let it out? “Can we, uh, maybe order some liquor from room service or something?” We had a game tomorrow, but I didn’t care. I fucking needed it.

“You got it.” He strode out and, a moment later, from inside the main room, said, “Yeah, I’d like a bottle of your best champagne sent to room eight-eighteen,” he said. “Thank you.”

Hanging my head and shaking it, I ambled into the room. Figured he’d think it was a celebration. “Thanks.” I shimmied out of my suit coat and laid it on the desk chair, numbness permeating me. Why was this such a big deal?

“Jett, come here.” Sitting on the edge of his bed, he patted the mattress next to him.

“Wait, I need to change.” Walking to my discarded duffel by the door, I unbuttoned the rest of my shirt and shucked it off. My nice clothes were stifling me. Dropping my slacks, I stepped out of them and crouched to rummage in my duffel for my sweats. As I slid them up my legs, I chanced a peek at Mason, also changing into his sweats. Threading my fingers through my hair, I picked up my discarded clothes and laid them over the chair. I honestly didn’t know what to say .

“Jett.” He grabbed my hand and guided me to the bed, then sat and pulled me down next to him. “You have to talk to me. We’ll be on the same line and sharing rooms for the foreseeable future, and I don’t want this to be weird.” He squeezed my hand. “It doesn’t have to be weird.”

Freeing a long sigh, I braced myself. It was time to come clean. “You were right. I’m gay, and yeah, that was me on the hookup app.” I hung my head, my bangs falling over my eyes.

“I knew it.” He chuckled softly. “I guess that means I’m not your first guy?” He bumped me with his shoulder.

“Nope, not the first one.” I gazed at our entwined hands, his warmth spreading up my arm and into my heart. A lot of guys would be pissed, but he didn’t seem to be. He was taking the fact that I’d lied to him for so long pretty well. “I, uh, only hook up with guys. I don’t date or get involved.” I glanced his way.

“Oh.” He bit the side of his lower lip. “What, um…what are we going to do then?” He let go of my hand and shifted away from me, setting his elbows on his thighs. “I mean, we’re sharing a hotel room, and I don’t know about you, but that shit we did was, uh?—”

“It was good. It felt good.” I wanted his hand back. I wanted him right beside me again. But fuck if I could tell him that.

“Okay, well, I’m glad you see it the same way I do.” He breathed in deeply.

A knock sounded at our door. “Room service.”

“Shit, be right back.” He jumped from the bed and jogged to the door, returning with a tray holding a chilled bottle of champagne in a cooler and two glasses. “Can we still celebrate? I mean, a hookup as good as that is something to celebrate.” He gave a forced chuckle. “You had me ready to nut in like two seconds.”

“Yeah.” With an ache spreading through my chest, I watched his tight ass filling out his sweatpants, his wide shoulders, and his muscled back as he opened the bottle and poured it at the desk across from the beds .

“Okay, then.” He handed me a filled champagne flute. “To very memorable hookups.” He held out his glass.

I tapped mine on his. “Agreed.” I gulped the champagne down, and it almost bubbled out my nose. “Dammit.” I swallowed hard.

“Hey, be careful.” Sipping his drink, Mason patted my shoulder and dropped onto the bed, facing me with his leg between us.

I gazed at him, the ache in my chest thickening. What did I want from him? What did he want from me now? Had I ruined whatever this thing was between us? “I, uh, don’t know what to say.”

“How about we start with how many people know you’re gay?” He drank more champagne, gazing at me from over the lip of the glass.

“Not many, actually. My sister, my agent, some of the Dallas players and management, and some of ours.” I dipped my head. Fuck, this was hard to talk about.

“Those women you were with on Insta? Beards?” He lifted his brows.

“Yep.” I slowly nodded. “I’ve been living a very big lie.” All because of fucking Eleanor. Or was there more to it? Hiding was all I’d ever known.

He took a long pull of his champagne. “The shit that went down in Dallas…was it because someone found out?”

I nodded again. “Yep.” Fuck, here we go. I shifted on the bed to mirror him, facing him. “It was a stupid, drunken move. Got caught, literally, with my pants down in a public restroom with a guy while celebrating a win with the team.” I huffed a laugh. “First thing out of Boyd’s mouth was the f-word and I don’t mean fuck.”

His eyes grew wide, and then he clenched his jaw. “Did you knock the asshole to the ground?”

“No, I was too shocked to do anything. He was the only one who saw me. He basically left after berating me for being an ass licker and a cocksucker, and as far as I knew that night, he didn’t say a word to anyone about it. So, I thought maybe I’d escaped a shitstorm.”

I rubbed the heel of my hand over my tightening chest. I had been so drunk I’d barely remembered what happened. It was like a nightmare that lived in broken pieces of my memory. “Anyway, he must have started saying shit about me behind my back because, one by one, my teammates started fucking with me.” I sipped my drink. “Not like how you fuck with me, but mean, nasty comments, never shooting me the puck, and hiding my equipment before a game.” I downed the rest of my champagne as pain sliced through my heart. “It got so bad that Coach had to intervene, and when he found out what it was about, he separated me from them.”

Mason’s gaze hardened. “Those fuckers. I can’t wait to play the bastards. Archer and I are going to give them a piece?—”

“No, no one can know.” I held my palm up to him, my pulse quickening and my eyes stinging. “If this somehow gets back to my dad…” My breath hitched. Calm down. Don’t lose your shit.

“Jesus, Jett.” He set his glass on the nightstand between the beds and dropped in behind me, draping his arms around me from behind. He kissed my cheek. “I had no idea how bad things were for you.” He tightened his hold, nuzzling into my hair.

With warmth rushing through my heart, I brushed my cheek over the side of his head and hugged his forearms wrapped around my chest. I had never, in my life, been comforted by a man. I’d never opened up and let it happen. But he was different. God, how I wanted him. Not just his body, but him .

“There’s a lot to unpack here. How about we do it slowly?” He brushed his lips over the shell of my ear.

A shudder rolled through me and my dick perked up. Fuck, I didn’t think I’d have the willpower to turn him down if he wanted more of me tonight. “Yeah, okay.”

“Yeah? So that means you and me can maybe spend time together? Maybe not call what happened tonight a hookup?” He skimmed his cheek against my shoulder. “’Cause I’m sort of feeling something here.” His throat dipped against my back as he swallowed. “I’m not going to lie…” He chuckled.

“Yeah, I guess it’s time I quit lying too.” I sucked in a deep breath. “I, uh, I don’t know exactly what I want from you, but I do know I want you. Bad.” Turning my head, I kissed his cheek.

“Fuck, you’re making my stomach get all fluttery like in a romance movie.” He let out a soft snort. “I don’t do that for just anyone.” He unwrapped his arms from me and climbed off the bed. “Jesus, I need more liquor.” He sauntered to the bottle with his glass and poured more in. “You?”

“Hell yes. Bring the whole bottle over here. Why don’t we just drink from it and share?” The stupid glasses hardly held anything in them anyway. The tenseness in my muscles relaxed. Somehow, I had a feeling Mason was going to make this okay.

He downed the champagne he’d poured into his glass, then brought the bottle to me and fell in beside me. “So, can we start with your dad?” He gave me a wide grin.

I drank from the bottle and swiped the back of my hand over my mouth. “Sure. You sound like a therapist now.”

“Oh good. Dr. Hopkins, at your service.” With a snicker, he snatched my hand and kissed the back of it. “I hope you don’t mind if I’m more of a touchy-feely therapist.”

“No, not at all.” With a choked chuckle, I sipped more champagne and held it out to him. How to start? “My dad has always provided for me.” I twisted my lips. Yeah, because been there wasn’t the right way to describe him.

“What were things like before your mom died?” He sipped from the bottle.

“It was nice.” I snuck the bottle from him and drank, thinking back. It was so long ago. It felt a little fuzzy now. Like maybe there wasn’t even a life before Eleanor. “My Dad was still an IT guy and worked pretty normal hours. It wasn’t until after she died that he buried his head in his work. Or so, that’s how it looked to me. ”

“So, Mom dies, and Dad becomes a workaholic?” With a click of his tongue, he shook his head. “When my dad was playing hockey, we hardly saw him during the season unless it was on the TV. But that’s the life, you know?”

“Yeah.” I held the bottle between my legs. I had a pleasant buzz going now. “But at least you had your mom. Who, by the way, is a MILF.” Yeah, I’d looked up the photos of her. She was quite the puck bunny in her day.

“You shut your mouth.” He pointed his finger at me, the tease of a grin on his lips. “We might have shared orgasms, but that doesn’t give you the right to be looking at my mother like a sex object.”

“Sex object? I’m gay, remember? I admire her beauty.” Quirking my mouth, I drank more champagne. He was really touchy about that. There had to be a story.

“Oh, yeah.” He sighed, leaning on his straight arms behind him. “Almost forgot.” He scratched his head. “Let’s get back to you. When did you first know you were gay?”

I arched a brow. “Right around the time my mom died.” Fuck, did that have anything to do with me hiding it?

“I see.” He raked his gaze over me. “And how did you know?”

Heat flickered up my neck and into my cheeks. “I was, um, watching the Pam Anderson and Tommy Lee porn tape with a friend and…” I wagged my finger at him. “Don’t ask me how we had it. I don’t quite remember.”

“Okay.” With a soft chuckle, his eyes twinkled at me. “Go on.”

“I kept noticing that I was more, uh, staring really, at Tommy’s, um…” With a sharp laugh, I rubbed my eyes with my thumb and index finger. “Dick, then at Pam’s tits. My friend was practically salivating over her.”

“Oh.” With a wide grin, he nodded slowly. “Yeah, that’s an impressive dick to be introduced to at such a tender age.”

I dropped my hand to my side. “Well, I think the whole thing made me realize I was different for the first time. I didn’t put a word to it.” I cocked my head, looking him over. What was he thinking about all this? Was it really necessary?

He straightened. “When did your dad meet…what’s her name? Eleanor?” His brows knitted.

“Maybe a year after Mom died? They met at work. He’d become the manager of his department, and she was an admin for his VP.” I blew out a breath. “Shit, it felt like one minute he was talking about his”—I made air quotes—“ new friend, and the next, he was inviting us out to meet her for dinner as his girlfriend.”

“She moved in quickly, huh?” He chewed his lower lip, studying me. “So who was taking care of you and your sister?”

“He’d hired a nanny.” I scoffed a laugh. “She was cool. She was young and more like an older sister than a nanny.” I let a smile work over my mouth. “Her name was Jenny.”

“I’m guessing you never talked to Jenny about your feelings of being different?” He grabbed the bottle from my lap and drank some champagne.

“Nope. It was like I had this innate sense that told me rocking the boat in any way could really fuck up the rest of our lives.” I pursed my lips. I never could put my finger on why that was. Was it Dad, the situation, or both?

“Okay, so this Eleanor comes into your lives, then what?” He dipped his gaze and flicked it to mine. “How long before they married and she moved in?”

“About six months.” My chest pinched. Saying it aloud made it sound as bad as it was. “Dad had moved up quickly and become a senior manager. Like I said, he was working long hours, we had a nanny, and before we knew it, Eleanor had quit her job, married Dad, and moved in.”

“Jesus, that is quick. And I thought my parents got together quickly, but they dated about two years.” He scoffed. “But then, they had the most fairy tale wedding and marriage I’ve ever seen.” He grabbed my hand and held it on my thigh. “Makes me want to have that someday.”

“What?” I stared at him for a beat. That didn’t sound like him. “You’re so, uh?—”

“I’m so what? Look, I like my hookups, but once my career is steady in the NHL, you can bet your ass I’ll be looking for a relationship.” He waggled his brows at me. “My boys Archer and Jonah both found their persons, and I deserve to have that too.”

My heart ached. Fuck, a part of me wanted that as well. With him, maybe? Jesus, too much champagne. I breathed in deeply. “Okay, so the rest of the story is pretty much the same. Dad worked a lot, made a shit ton of money, and my sister and I tolerated Eleanor in our lives.”