Page 6 of Offside Play (Love The Game #1)

Jude

T he Calgary Bobcats’ training facility was one of a cluster of buildings perched on a hill above the city, comprising part of Calgary’s main ski resort.

I found the training facility itself easily, thanks to the team’s logo emblazoned above the main entrance.

When I’d parked the SUV, I headed around to the front of the building and spotted Brayden waiting outside.

“You look a bit shifty, loitering around here,” I told him as I drew closer.

He rolled his eyes at me. “Come on. Let’s get inside.”

“Lead the way.”

He guided me through a maze of corridors lined with team photos, pointing out various rooms along the way—the medical facility, the equipment room, and a room filled with sofas and air hockey tables that he said was used as the players’ lounge.

“We’re here a little later than I’d planned, so some of the guys will probably already be on the ice warming up,” Brayden said as we reached a set of double doors. “I’ll show you where to sit, and then I’ll have to leave you to it. We’ll do proper introductions afterwards.”

“Okay. Just tell me where you need me to go. I don’t want to be in the way.”

“You won’t be in the way.”

The moment we stepped into the small arena, I was hit with a wall of sound.

Skates gliding over ice, sticks hitting pucks, voices shouting instructions.

The cold air hit my skin, making me shiver after the summer warmth outside.

It was all so different to my own training sessions, which took place outdoors, whatever the weather.

“Fucking hell,” I breathed, stopping dead and taking in the sight of several of Brayden’s teammates skating across the ice.

Being a professional footballer, I was used to athletes, but there was something about the way these guys moved that was so different to anything else.

I was mesmerised by the way they glided and turned so fluidly, sheer power in their movements, their muscles flexing and shifting with their smooth motions.

Brayden nudged me with his elbow, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to Coach Keller first, then you can watch from the stands.”

I followed him over to the side of the rink, where a stocky man with dark hair threaded with grey was studying the players intently.

“Coach? I’d like you to meet my brother, Jude. The one I told you about who plays soccer in England.”

Coach Keller turned to me, holding out his hand. “Pleased to meet you, son. Brayden mentioned you were out of action. How’s the injury?”

I extended my own hand, gripping his firmly. After a short, perfunctory handshake, I gave him my most professional smile. “Much better, thanks. It’s been disappointing on a professional level, but I’m glad it’s given me this opportunity to come and see Brayden play.”

He nodded briskly. “Make the most of it.” His attention turned back to my brother. “Brayden. On the ice.”

“Yes, Coach.”

I took a seat at the side of the rink, watching as Brayden disappeared into the locker room.

Pulling my phone from my pocket, I replied to a text from my agent before losing myself in the latest Premier League transfer rumours, and by the time I put my phone away, Brayden was back, skating smoothly onto the ice with the remainder of his teammates.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the rink.

I’d always known hockey was fast-paced, and I’d watched Brayden’s games when we were kids, and more recently on TV, but seeing the players up close was something else entirely.

They moved with a combination of grace and aggression that reminded me of some of the top footballers I’d played with and against. It was that balance of skill and physicality that so many athletes aimed for, but only the best managed to achieve.

Despite my efforts to watch the team as a whole, I found my gaze drawn to number 39, over and over again.

Even with a helmet obscuring most of his features, something about him drew my attention more than any of the other players.

Maybe it was the way he moved with determination across the ice, all pent-up aggression and tensed muscles, taking every opportunity to go on the offence. It made my dick stir in my jeans.

Fuck. He was so hot.

He flew across the ice, landing directly into the path of the player in possession of the puck, both of them colliding with the boards close to where I was sitting. The player who’d knocked into him straightened up, shaking his head with a grin, and number 39 growled out an apology.

That growl .

My stomach flipped. No . It couldn’t be.

But as I watched him launch the puck straight at the goal with vicious accuracy, I caught a glimpse of his thickly stubbled jawline beneath the helmet.

“Fuck,” I whispered, my hands gripping my thighs, my fingers digging into my flesh as I stared at the sight in front of me.

The practice continued around me, but I couldn’t focus on anything except number 39.

Every movement he made confirmed what I already knew but didn’t want to accept.

The way he skated with that same controlled aggression he’d shown at the club.

The way he kept himself separate from the other players during their breaks, projecting that standoffish “leave me the fuck alone” aura that somehow made my dick hard and my heart race.

When the team gathered around their coach for what looked like a tactical discussion, I tore my gaze away from him, my heart hammering in my chest.

This was a disaster. A complete fucking disaster.

I slept with my brother’s teammate .

I slept with my brother’s teammate, and even worse, I wished I could do it again.

Burying my head in my hands, I groaned. Yeah. This was a complete and utter fucking disaster.

When I lowered my hands, the players were in the middle of another drill.

Number 39 swung his stick for a slap shot that sent the puck flying toward the goal with so much force, I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d dented the crossbar.

Several players shouted in approval, but he kept his head down, not even acknowledging the praise of his teammates.

“How’re you doing?” Brayden’s voice made me jump, and after my moment of surprise, I glanced down to see him standing at the boards, a bottle of water in his hand.

“Good,” I managed, hoping my voice sounded steadier than I felt. “You guys are fucking brilliant.”

He shot me a grin. “This is nothing. Wait until you see us in an actual game.” He glanced behind him and then gestured toward number 39, who had his head tilted back, his throat working as he tipped a bottle of water to his lips.

“You know how I mentioned some of the guys could be a bit intense? That guy over there is Cody Clements, our left wing. Practice is supposed to be no contact, but you probably saw what happened.”

Swallowing hard, I managed a faint nod. Cody Clements .

“Fucking grumpy bastard on and off the ice,” my brother continued, thankfully not noticing my reaction, “but he’s a machine, and he’s got our backs when it counts.”

Not Conan. Cody . I couldn’t be too mad about the fact he’d given me a fake name—after all, I’d done the same thing to him.

“Yeah…he does look intense,” I said carefully.

“That’s putting it mildly. He barely talks to anyone except when he has to.

But like I said, he’s got our backs out there, and that’s what matters.

” Brayden’s brows pulled together as he studied his teammate.

“He’s really antisocial, so you might not get to meet him, even when I introduce you to the rest of the team after practice.

He mostly keeps to himself. He never even comes to team dinners or social events. ”

“Okay.” I tried to ignore the disappointment that filled me at his words. Thankfully, Brayden didn’t seem to notice, continuing to speak as he gestured towards the ice.

“Petrov—you know the guy who scored the winning goal in our last game?—can get in his own head, too, but it’s usually easy to shake him out of a bad mood.

He’s normally easy-going…unless we’re in the middle of playoffs, like we are now.

Speaking of, I should get back to it. Coach wants to run through some penalty kill scenarios. ”

I watched him skate away, determined to keep my eyes on him, but my unwilling gaze was dragged back to Cody Clements.

Cody Clements, whose head rose, his gaze fixating on the stands where I was sitting. Even from this distance, and even though his face was obscured by his helmet, I could see his eyes widen and his nostrils flare as we stared at one another for a long, charged moment.

Did he know? Had he realised that I was the one he’d fucked last night?

He spun away, executing a perfect turn as he focused his attention on the drill, but not before I caught the rigid set of his shoulders.

He’d seen me. He knew I was here.

And from the way he was pointedly avoiding looking in my direction again, it seemed like he might recognise me.

The rest of the practice passed in a blur.

I tried to focus on Brayden, to enjoy watching my brother do what he loved, but my gaze kept sliding to his teammate.

To the way he played with tightly controlled violence, the way he moved across the ice like he owned it, the way he looked out for and protected his teammates yet somehow managed to keep himself apart from them.

He was so fucking mesmerising, it was impossible to keep my eyes off him.

When Coach Keller finally called an end to the session, I felt like I could breathe properly for the first time since I’d spotted Cody. The players skated off the ice, but my brother remained, beckoning me towards him, and I stood, making my way down from the stands to the rink.

“So, what did you think?” He glanced up at me with a grin, his face flushed with exertion. “Do we have a chance?”

“Fuck, yeah. You were all amazing, and you deserve to win this.” I stared out across the rink. “This is so different to football. If one of our players had tried some of those moves, they’d be out for the rest of the season.”

He laughed. “You should see us when we're in action, especially when we have some shit to sort with another team. This was just a friendly practice.”

“Friendly? Even Clements?” My heart rate kicked up when I said his name, and I forced myself to take several deep, steady breaths.

“Yeah. That’s just Clements being Clements. Like I said, practice is supposed to be no contact, but accidents happen. Davis can take it. Neither of them got hurt.”

“If you say so.”

He laughed again at my sceptical tone. “I’ll introduce you to them, and the rest of the guys after I’ve showered. What do you want to do tonight? I was thinking we could grab dinner somewhere, or get takeout, and catch up properly.”

“Sounds good to me.”

After practice, Brayden did as he’d promised and introduced me to a number of his teammates, but there was no sign of Cody. I wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing. Good, probably, given the impression I had of him so far.

But when we left the training facility, I caught a glimpse of him walking towards the car park, his gym bag slung over his shoulder. He’d changed into jeans and a hoodie, and I drank in my first unobscured sight of him in daylight, without his hockey gear.

Fuck me, he was gorgeous. So tense, with his shoulders set and his jaw a hard line, but fucking beautiful at the same time.

That deep brown, tousled hair, lightly tanned skin, and sharp jawline covered in thick, dark stubble.

Then there were the blue eyes that appeared to be ringed in black, thanks to his thick lashes.

Like I said. Fucking beautiful.

I sucked in a breath, cataloguing every inch of him. That was when I noticed the tattoos peeking out from beneath the sleeves of his hoodie, and when he turned his head, I caught a glint of metal in his ear. My breath caught in my throat as I stared at him, frozen in place.

He didn’t even spare a glance in my direction, but I could feel the tension radiating from him, even from a distance.

“Jude? You coming?”

I turned back to Brayden, forcing my mouth into a smile. “Yeah, sorry.”

I was sorry. Brayden was why I was here, after all.

But as I climbed into the SUV and followed my brother’s Mercedes away from the training facility, I couldn’t get rid of the image of Cody from my mind.

It wasn’t even his looks. It was the way he’d been walking across the car park, all alone.

Something in my chest had tightened at the sight of him looking so tense. So isolated.

This was going to be a problem. A big fucking problem.

And I had no idea what I was going to do about it.