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Chapter Two

RIVER

Sorority chicks and frat boys sit on their porches, eyes on Nate and me. At least a dozen girls gather along the front gate to our house. A few look much older than college age.

We’re the talk of campus, whispers floating across the street. Gossip at Kingston University travels faster than the wind.

I get out of the passenger seat, pizza boxes in hand, dreading the onslaught of commentary.

“River, River.” A skinny blonde girl waves. “Over here.”

“Nate,” another girl yells before rushing to the driver’s side, dressed in tight black pants and a chunky red sweater. “Hey, so… you probably don’t remember me, but we?—”

He pushes out his hand. “Just stop. Whatever you were going to say, the answer is no.”

She scowls. “Asshole.”

As she flees, several women approach us, each offering to let us share them. Nate brushes them off with the flick of his hand. I flat-out ignore them, making my way through the crowd of eager puck bunnies.

Balancing almost a dozen pizza boxes on our palms, we head inside the house. Five of our eight teammates lounge on the sectional couch in the living room, two playing video games while the other three watch.

Parker Hale hears me slam the door and turns his head, a cell phone clasped in his hands. “Look at what Brooks and Rousseau brought us.”

Carter Hayes tips up his nose, takes a whiff of the pizza, and drops the remote on the floor. “Gio’s! Dude, I’m starving. How did you know?”

Tall and blond, Carter’s hair is cropped on the sides and longer on the top, a few strands flopping onto his forehead. His bright blue eyes widen on me.

“When are you not hungry, Hayes?” I say with laughter in my tone.

Don’t let his slim body fool you. He can eat all of us under the table. I don’t know where he puts the food, though.

Carter sees each housemate’s name written on the boxes’ exterior and yanks his from my hands.

“Pepperoni and sausage,” I tell him. “With extra pepperoni.”

Licking his lips, he winks. “Thanks, bro.”

He heads toward the dining room, stealing a slice from the box as he walks away.

“The rest of you assholes can wait until we sit down,” Nate warns, palm pushed out to say back the fuck up .

No one messes with Nate.

They follow us into the dining room. Nate sets his five boxes at the head of the table and starts passing them out. I do the same, saving mine for last.

Nate puts his hand on the two extra boxes. “Where’s Copeland and Wade?”

“Not home yet,” Parker answers between bites.

“I’ll take their pizzas,” Carter says, a streak of grease sliding down his chin, his finger covered in red sauce.

“No the fuck you won’t.” Nate sits and flips open his box, folding a slice of pizza Bianca in half. “If any of you touch their food, I’ll kick your ass.”

“Such a grump when you’re not bringing home chicks,” Parker says, waggling his eyebrows. “You need to get laid, Brooks.”

Nate’s nostrils flare at his comment. A shiver rolls down my arms as he takes in the intrigued expressions of our housemates.

“Who says I’m not getting laid?” Nate bites into his pizza, snarling at him.

“You kicked Samantha out,” Parker says. “And we haven’t seen anyone new since.”

“Thin walls,” Waters comments with a cocky grin aimed at Nate.

He balls his hand into a fist on the table, teeth gritted. The two face off, a silent communication passing between them. I expect Nate to grab Waters by the throat. Instead, he uncurls his hand and dabs at his lips with a napkin.

“Speaking of women,” Parkers says, tilting his head to the side, black curls flopping onto his forehead. “We read the article. Girls have been knocking on the door all day.”

“Yeah,” Nate growls. “Our dads are handling it.”

“Who’s the author of the book?”

Nate shrugs. “No idea. She’s using a pen name.”

“Reporters have been asking us for comments,” Monroe says. “We didn’t tell them anything.”

“Thanks,” I say in unison with Nate.

“We got your back,” Parker says through a mouthful of pizza.

The group grunts and nods in agreement. Even Waters bobs his head. The guys mutter their thanks for the food, raising glasses of beer, soda, and water bottles to toast us.

“You’re welcome, cocksuckers,” Nate says with a smirk tipping up the right corner of his mouth. “And thanks for keeping your mouths shut about what goes on in this house. We’re going out tonight. My treat.”

The guys whoop and cheer.

“Strippers,” Parker shouts, arm raised.

Nate is a lot of things, a dick being one of them, but he loves to spoil people. He acts like our teammates annoy him, yet he surprises them with food and buys them lap dances. He never spares any expense, nor does he expect them to reciprocate.

Nate is a good guy—when he wants to be.

His kindness and my skill on the ice are the only reasons their suspicions have stayed at bay. But what happens when we’re no longer useful after graduation and go our separate ways?

Keeping my secret—now our secret—gets harder each day. I’m not ashamed of being gay. Neither is Nate. It’s the public exposure that scares me. When it comes to sharing women, guys say things like you’re the man or dude, share the wealth .

But how would they feel about Nate sucking my dick in the locker room shower? The locker room is sacred, and we’ve tainted it with our cum.

Instead of praising us, people would drag my name through the mud. I would no longer be River Rousseau, the captain of the Kingston Kings, the top player in NCAA Division I Ice Hockey.

I would be a gay hockey player.

My relationship with Nate would be the topic of conversation in the sports world, and no one would look at me the same again.

I keep to myself, observing my friends silently, thankful they are loyal. While Nate uses money and threats to keep people in check, I treat my teammates respectfully. Some of the guys have struggled with their puck-handling skills. Whenever they ask, I drop whatever I’m doing to help them.

My mother says people never forget how you make them feel. And now, I’m being rewarded with their loyalty.

“Hey, Rousseau,” Parker says, “think your dad would come to the pep rally before the Boston College game?”

“Um, let me check.”

I gulp down a mouthful of food and reach into my pocket. Scanning my phone’s calendar, I click on my dad’s schedule and shake my head.

“Nope. The Rangers are playing the Caps at home that night.”

“Damn,” he groans. “I was hoping he’d sign some stuff, get more people amped up for the big game.”

“We have River,” Nate interjects. “He’s better than Ryan. We don’t need his tired ass.”

Everyone stops eating and speaking, confused gazes fixed on Nate. They stare at him like he’s an alien or some other life form. Most hockey fans worship my father, my teammates included.

“Dude, you’re nuts,” Carter fires back at him, shaking his head. “We love you, bro,” he says to me. “But your dad…” He shrugs. “He’s the GOAT.”

A round of grunts echo around the table.

“The fucking man,” Parker says in agreement. “But we still love you, Rousseau.”

“Your dad is why I wanted to play hockey,” Monroe chimes. “Dude’s a beast on the ice.”

“River will crush his dad’s records,” Nate confidently says, smiling at me. “Just you fuckers wait and see.”

I love how he comes to my defense. No one has my back more than Nate.

“It’s all good, guys,” I tell my teammates. “I get it. As a kid, I wanted to be my dad, too. He taught me everything I know.”

They talk about puck bunnies, frat parties, and video games for the rest of dinner. I zone out, my thoughts drifting back to the author of that stupid book and the hell she will cause if the lawyers don’t kill this book deal.

After I eat most of my pizza, I lean back in the chair and rub my full stomach. “I’m gonna be sick.”

Nate finishes his last slice and glances at me, head tipped toward the stairs. Without words, I know what he wants. We rarely need to speak to understand each other.

I slide my box in front of Carter. “You can have my leftovers.”

His eyes light up like a kid on Christmas morning. “Really? Sweet. Thanks, Rousseau.”

Once upstairs, Nate closes his bedroom door and pins me to the wood. His hand slips beneath my shirt as our lips touch.

“The pizza was good, but I’d much rather eat you.” He tugs his shirt over his head and points at the bed. “While they’re busy fucking off, we can play.”

I do as he says and toss my shirt on the floor. Sitting on the mattress, I spread my thighs and look up at him.

His eyes roll over my chiseled chest, drop to my hard cock, and then back to my face. Ready to pounce, he steps forward and shoves his pants over his hips, the tip of his cock peeking out.

“What the fuck?”

Nate focuses on the mirrored wall behind the bed, mouth hanging open. “Someone was… Who was in here?”