Page 12 of Overtime Goal (Buffalo Warriors Hockey #4)

logan

The end of the regular season was in sight, but the schedule didn’t let up when we returned to Buffalo. Over the next seven days, we hosted New York, Nashville, Winnipeg, and Tampa, racking up four wins in four games. It was a stretch that should’ve left me thrilled and satisfied.

But there were other things on my mind, so most nights, I lay awake staring at the ceiling of my darkened room, thinking about Riley.

Things between us had settled since our talk in Chicago.

The tension from his LA outburst and the fragile peace we’d struck afterward had given way to something softer.

Riles and I were good again. We laughed at the same dumb jokes, ate shitty takeout in my kitchen, and watched movies we never finished because one of us fell asleep halfway through.

He stayed over more nights than not, saying the nightmares weren’t as bad when I was there.

Most of the time, he slept in the guest room, and when a bad dream struck, I’d run across the hall and wake him.

I’d play with his hair and whisper reassurances until he stopped shaking.

He always asked me to stay, and when I crawled in beside him, he’d roll toward me and curl in like he needed shelter.

The next morning, I’d wake to find him on the far edge of the bed.

Once, he’d already left. It was six-thirty in the morning, and he’d left a note saying he had to run errands.

Nothing sexual happened between us, but the tension could set me on fire.

His eyes, full of longing, would lock on mine and give me goose bumps.

Sometimes, his gaze dropped to my mouth.

His tongue would dart out to wet his lips, and a dull ache would settle in my chest because I wanted to kiss him so much.

He wanted me, but not in the same way I wanted him. And he liked me, maybe even more than that, but not enough. It wasn’t what I was foolishly hoping for. For him, it was a physical need, and I thought I knew why.

Riley hadn’t been with a woman since that night in LA, at least not that I knew of.

But thinking he could be, and that he would be again, haunted me more than I wanted to admit.

It was really none of my business. Since there was no commitment between us, he had every right to see whoever he wanted.

We were friends, and that was all. Friends who looked at each other like we were dying of thirst. Friends who shared a bed.

Friends who touched like it meant something and pretended it didn’t.

Maybe he was bi, but he’d never admit it. Even if he wanted me in some secret part of himself, it didn’t change the truth. Neither of us could be what the other needed.

I had to come to terms with this. No matter how many times he curled into me like I was home, regardless of how badly my body ached for his, and despite how fiercely I wanted something real with him, we would never want the same things.

After the Warriors made a quick trip to Columbus, it was time to host Toronto for the last game of the regular season.

The Beavers came to town with a score to settle.

Our rivalry had always been intense, but they’d dominated us for years.

The last two seasons had been different, though.

We’d shown them up, and now they were determined to make us pay.

On game night, the arena was packed. Riles and I both scored, and by the third period, the Warriors were up 7–6.

Unfortunately, the Beavers weren’t about to give up.

They held us in our zone, peppering Gabe with a barrage of fast, relentless shots.

He stood on his head, but if they kept it up, it would only be a matter of time until they scored. We were hanging on by a thread.

With three minutes left, the ref blew his whistle for icing, and Criswell called for the second line.

I was already uneasy as Holky, Riley, and I hopped over the boards.

The faceoff was in the Beavs’ zone, but after Holky lined up, the ref waved him off because he touched his counterpart’s stick.

Riley slid in for the draw, and I shifted my weight, ready to go.

Toronto’s center snapped it back to their right wing, who exploded forward and sliced through our coverage.

Holky hesitated too long and couldn’t block the lane.

The winger tore across the blue line, already far ahead of Holky.

Riley was on his tail, close but not close enough.

It happened so quickly that Gabe was still setting up, and the winger slammed the puck through his five-hole. The score was 7–7.

We coasted to the bench for another line change. Holky skated beside me but kept his eyes down. After we wedged ourselves between Dog and Harpy, Holky never glanced over.

I stayed quiet because I’d been in his shoes. He was human, and hockey players screw up sometimes. But judging from my experience, knowing that did nothing to help with the guilt.

It took all of thirty seconds for the Beavs to catch our third line flat-footed and bury another one. The score was 7–8, and that’s where it stayed. We’d clinched our playoff spot weeks earlier, but the loss still hurt.

I went out with the guys to drown our sorrows at Revolution Hops.

Holky and Dog weren’t there, and I figured Dog was taking care of his man.

Riles and I sat together and talked quite a bit.

One of us would say something, we’d exchange a careful version of one of our sultry looks, and he’d press his leg against mine.

Yet when women came by, he’d sit up, all smiles and sexy eyes, and flirt like there was no tomorrow. Stupid me, having hopes.

After one such female fly-by, Riley leaned close. “You look like you solved cold fusion and don’t like the answer.”

“Just watching you work.” I nodded toward the brunette walking away, still laughing at something Riles had said.

He shrugged. “What can I say? I don’t want to be rude, but I haven’t followed anyone away.”

“Mm.” How else was I supposed to respond when he sounded like he was doing me a favor?

I sipped my drink and looked across the table, where Packy and Abby were arguing over who’d had more assists in March. Gabe kept trying to insert himself as a fact-checker, but they ignored him.

Brody knocked on the table. “Boys, does it really matter? You’re both fuckups, so you’re lucky to get any assists.”

“Fuck you,” Packy threw back at him. “Abby may be a fuckup, but I’m an All-Star.”

Brody snorted. “In your dreams. You both disappoint your mothers every time you step on the ice.”

We all laughed, and Abby pointed at Brody. “Mamochka thinks I am best player.”

Packy grinned at Brody. “And my mom thinks you’re a goon.”

“I am,” Brody said, then gave an angelic smile. “A very charming one.”

“That’s a bold claim,” I said, unable to resist the chirping.

Brody put a hand on his chest. “You wound me.”

Gabe caught me in a fake glare. “Leave my man alone. I’d bust your mouth, but you’re about sixth on my list right now.”

Riley laughed, tipping his bottle toward Gabe. “Let me guess. Various Beavers take spots one through five?”

“Damn right.”

Another group of women passed by, this time a trio in tight jeans and Buffalo jerseys, and one of them paused and brushed Riley’s arm. “You played a great game tonight, handsome.”

Riley put on a grin. “Thanks. Catch the whole thing?”

“Every minute,” she purred.

Riley’s eyes followed her for a few seconds, then flicked back to me like he’d just remembered I was there. He leaned in again, close enough for me to smell the arena shampoo in his hair.

“She’s not nearly as hot as you,” he half-whispered.

My heart gave a stupid little thud, and I smirked at him. “You’re something, you know that? And you’re going to flirt yourself into somebody’s bed tonight if you aren’t careful.”

“Yet to be seen.” He gave me a crooked grin. “Throwing your hat into the ring?”

My pulse hammered in my ears, but I wasn’t sure if it was irritation or the thrill of possibility. His gaze was teasing, but his eyes were full of heat. I glanced away, wondering what it would take for him to act on it.

“Are you still down about the game?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Not down.”

“Frustrated?”

“Not really.”

He cocked his head. “You’ve got that look.”

“What look?”

“The one where you’re building a moat in your mind and forgetting to include a drawbridge.”

I blinked. “That’s incredibly specific.”

“I’m a man of hidden depths.”

“And weird metaphors.”

He leaned back and laughed, leaving my heart torn between longing and hurt. It was back to the same loop of frustrating thought: I wanted him with everything in me, but knew he could never be mine. Shakespeare came to mind: “My love is as a fever, longing still.”

Across the table, Abby held up his phone. “Logan and Riley, back me up. Look at this. I had more assists than Packy.”

I leaned forward and squinted at the screen. “Jesus, could you make the print on your phone any smaller? I’m already getting a headache.”

Riley took the phone and chuckled. “That’s last season, Abby. You were still in Pittsburgh, for God’s sake.”

“What?” Abby snatched it back and frowned. “Shit. Wrong tab.”

Packy did a victory pump. “Told you.”

The band had stopped playing, so everyone heard the exchange. We all hooted, and Packy threw a pretzel at Abby, who looked genuinely insulted.

As the evening went on, Riley stayed with me, pressing his leg against mine. My heart would thrum with hope, and then I’d have to remind myself this meant nothing. It was only an electric, infuriating dance that probably drove him as nuts as it did me.

Riles had just come back from a trip to the men’s room when a voice called out, “Aidan! You coming over to say hi, or are you glued to your boyfriend?”

The guys cracked up, and when I looked over at the bar, I recognized a tall blonde Riley had brought to some team events.

He stood, put on his biggest grin of the night, and pointed at her. “Careful! I could sue you for slander.”

Gabe looked at me and raised his eyebrows. “Is she wrong? You’re not doing anything to clear it up.”

Even though my heart was pounding, I kept my expression blank. “Wouldn’t want to confuse things any more than they already are.”

Riles put a hand on my shoulder and leaned over. “I’m not going over there.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

“Maybe I want to.”

I didn’t answer because my heart was beating even faster.

He sat back down and rested his leg against mine again. Didn’t he realize he was giving me mental whiplash? I sipped my drink, letting the conversation go by while Riles talked to Brody. When he smiled at me, I looked away because I couldn’t let myself want something he wasn’t offering.

All at once, Harpy stood and said he had to go.

“Not yet,” Gabe said. “One more drink.”

Harpy held up his phone. “Dog texted. He wants to crash with Luca and me tonight, so I need to meet him at home.”

“Why’s he leaving Holky alone?” I asked. “Did they have a fight?”

That got everyone talking, and all eyes went to Harpy.

“I’m not sure,” he said, “but I’ll let you know if anything serious is happening.”