Page 11 of Next Season

I threw my hands in the air. “I’m doomed.”

Jean-Claude’s eyebrows shot to his hairline. A slight grin tugged at the corner of his mouth before he burst out laughing. “You are very dramatic.”

“Not usually. I swear I’m normally pragmatic and much more chill. I’ll be better when I’m back on the ice.”

“Of course.” He pulled his cell from his pocket and handed it over. “Put your number in. I’ll text you later with a pickup time. You’re in luck. I’m off today and after I finish my latte with the mushroom art, I will be on my way to the market.”

“Oh, that’s awesome. Thank you.” I typed my contact info, pushing Send so I’d have his too.

He smiled as I returned his phone, and stepped around me. “Bonjour,MonsieurThoreau.”

And then he was gone.

Two thoughts about this. One, exposing myself as a compulsively paranoid athlete had gone better than expected. After his initial surprise, Jean-Claude had seemed relatively unfazed by my oddball request. Two, my name sounded extraordinarily hot spoken in a French accent by a French-Canadian man with a gravelly voice and green eyes and—

Okay, where did that come from?

I gulped, pulling my gaze from his retreating back. I mean, sure…I noticed the guy, but there was a reason for that. Jean-Claude was big and brawny. He was built like a fierce D-man, yet he moved like a panther. I was subconsciously aware of him the way I would be of anyone I might meet on the ice.

Except he was a chef, not a hockey player. And that didn’t explain why my brain automatically tossed up adjectives like sexy, charming, attractive.

That was new and…different.

But I had bigger things to worry about than random queer thoughts. I had to get better. Fast.

* * *

Vinnie addeda light weight to my barbell and took his place behind my bench to spot me. I cracked my knuckles and adjusted my grip before lifting the bar over my head.

“Nice. Strong as ever, man,” he noted, catching my eye in the gym mirror.

Elmwood’s new sports center gym was state-of-the-art per Vinnie’s instructions. There was a yoga room, a swimming pool, a sauna, a cardio area, a section for free weights, and another for stationary bikes, elliptical machines, and treadmills. Everything was so new it sparkled in the dimly lit space.

Vinnie had adjusted the lighting for my sake, which I appreciated—though I hated that it was necessary. I didn’t bring up my ongoing headache situation. I didn’t want to talk about my lack of significant progress, my sleepless nights, or my lack of appetite. And while Vinnie would totally understand my convoluted reasoning behind the tuna-on rye deal I’d struck with the chef at his husband’s diner, I didn’t want to go there either. I felt as if I were slowly losing control over every facet of my life, and it sucked.

Physical exertion was my best bet.

With a little luck, I’d stop thinking about Jean-Claude…and weird things like the size of his hands and the scar under his lower lip, partially hidden by his well-trimmed beard, and—

Fuck, what’s wrong with me?

I fumbled to drop the weight on the stand without crushing Vinnie’s fingers. “Sorry. I spaced out.”

“It’s all good. You’re doing well.” He clapped his hand on my shoulder and flopped onto the bench across from me. “I should get going. We’re down a coach, and I told Ronnie I’d help out with the pee wees. Want to meet up for dinner later?”

“Thanks, but…please take this the nicest way possible—you don’t have to entertain me. I’m fine,” I assured him.

Vinnie nodded. “I know you are. I don’t mean to nag, but I feel sort of responsible for making sure you aren’t miserable here.”

“Miserable? No way. I genuinely like Elmwood. It’s beautiful in autumn and everyone’s friendly and…I’m doing okay.”

“All right. I’ll shut up.” He uncapped his water and guzzled half of it, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Nope. Not sexy at all.

But out of the fucking blue, I had a vision of Jean-Claude doing the same thing and my dick twitched in my shorts.

Holy. Fuck.

I sat up quickly and grabbed my water bottle, clandestinely wriggling my boxer briefs to avoid a pup-tent situation. And because I was suddenly nervous for no good reason at all, I started babbling.