Page 1 of Phantom Faceoff (Daddies of the League #5)

Chapter One

Zander

Heat radiates up my arm from the flicker of the bonfire. It’s a cool August night, but between the flames and the way my hands sink inside the jacket of the man perched on my lap, I’m as toasty as a marshmallow.

My fingers find ground over the planes of his slender frame, anchoring onto his shoulders to bring his body closer to mine. Our lips work together in a clumsy tangle, and a puff of laughter hits my face.

“Are you this bad at kissing girls too?” Julian’s wide smile obscures my vision for a brief moment before trailing to my jaw.

My own laugh awkwardly bubbles out. “Tongues are weird, okay?”

He hums into the hollow of my throat. “You could do something else with it.”

While making out is hella fun—and my dick is definitely geared up for action—neither of us are entirely sober enough for any kind of sex to be a good idea.

My hesitation doesn’t go unnoticed, and Julian’s lips press back on mine. “Maybe follow my lead this time.”

Julian and I hit things off over the summer at the Youth Outreach program we both volunteer with, and while I’ve always considered my sexuality fluid and ambiguous, it wasn’t until my best friend pointed out the—apparently mutual—blatant flirting the two of us have had going on that I even remotely considered the attraction.

Even still, without a couple of beers flooding my system, I wouldn’t have entertained acting on it. I’m the world’s biggest sucker for a pair of big green eyes, and when they’re trained on me with a warm body on my lap—what’s a guy to do?

“Hale.”

I’m no stranger to having my name thrown around with such animosity, but the growl that rolls it out doesn’t belong to an opponent on the ice.

No, that right there is danger packed in a pair of ripped skinny jeans and rustling chains dangling from the loops. Very early 2000’s pop punk of him.

Fortunately for me, danger has never been a deterrent.

I have no problem wrapping an arm around Julian’s waist—grinning as he squeaks and buries his face in my neck while I prop my chin on his shoulder. A very pretty picture for the man standing behind him with fury in his stormy gray eyes.

“Blanchard,” I greet him with all the sunshine he lacks.

The way his eye twitches makes my smile widen. Each time he picked Julian up from the program, I was met with a brooding glare and a world’s worth of disapproval.

It’s fun to see his tolerance meter shoot into the red.

“Let’s go.” His voice dips into an almost throaty growl, and the sheepish way Julian pulls back is immediate.

I throw on my best pout and receive the world’s softest kiss in response. “He’s only prickly because he cares,” he whispers against my mouth.

Overprotective best friend who definitely wants in your pants. Not the kind of messy I should involve myself with.

Julian slides from my lap, and there’s barely a heartbeat from the moment he’s on his feet to when he’s glued to Malachi’s side.

I expect some sort of verbal lashing, but all I get is an eye-roll and Julian’s apologetic smile as he’s ushered away.

That’s alright. It’s late. I’m buzzed. There were bound to be some questionable decisions if he hadn’t stepped in anyway.

Malachi Blanchard. The very definition of “emo bad boy”. Who so many girls whisper wants of but who only has eyes for his soft and gooey best friend.

Someone should write a book about that.

My phone pings in my pocket, and I can’t help the smile that springs forth from the message.

Julian

Daddy runs a tight ship, but even the captain has to rest sometime

.

I thumb back a quick response and let my ass slide to the ground, head thunking against the log I’d been occupying.

Me

Good luck sneaking out when it’s your bed he’s resting in.

Julian

Are you mad?

Me

Nah. It’s cute. Like he’s Mary and you’re the little lamb.

More like the lamb and the big bad wolf, but I don’t say that out loud.

Julian

I promise, he’s a marshmallow. Rain check on the tonsil hockey?

I should say no. That it was fun, but I have to focus on the team, on preparing for a busy season on the ice.

But I remember the hostility in Malachi’s stare, and the little thrill that dances in my gut is too potent to ignore.

Me

Any chance you’re an early riser?

I’m met with an instant winky face.

Julian

Daddy isn’t. Meet at the rink or quad?

There’s a fine line between excitement and danger, but life’s more fun when they blur together.

Me

Better option. My dorm.

“You are an eternal cock-block.”

My roommate—with his shower soaked blond curls plastered to his neck and cheeks and a towel knotted around his waist—gives me the bird as he throws clothes from his drawer into a duffle.

Completely unbothered that he just sent my morning make-out session running for the hills and very likely dying of embarrassment.

“We have to meet Coach at the rink in twenty minutes. You can have ass or ice time. With fresh blood joining the team, I need someone I trust, and unfortunately for us both, that’s you, Halefire.”

I am one hundred percent capable of having my cake and eating it too, but before I can retort, he throws a balled up t-shirt at my chest.

“Get dressed. Please.”

Micky Donovan might appear all hard edges and closed off, but I can read the insecure desperation in his pleading eyes. Hockey is his passion, but it’s also his number one distraction from the shitshow of his life, and I can respect that.

Which means getting my ass out of bed and my head where it belongs: on the upcoming season and getting us to the Frozen Four.

My bag is already packed and stuffed under my bed, so I toss on whatever clean combo of clothing is closest and meet Micky at the lobby of the dorm. He shoves a muffin in my hand and ushers me out the door like I’m a child he’s babysitting.

“Parker skip your weekly check-in again?” My words are muffled around the fluffy goodness, but by the glare I get in response, they came across crystal clear.

“I’m half tempted to sick his brother on his ass,” Micky grumbles with a scowl. He’s wound tighter than a jack-in-the-box, and likely just as easy to set off.

“Ah, yes. The pro hockey player you’ve nabbed as your personal coach since high school.”

That at least draws out a thinly veiled grin. “Fuck you. I’ve only met with the guy a handful of times since joining the Ravens. He did me a favor and helped me round out my weak spots so I could make captain.”

Co-Captain with Ellis but still a big accomplishment.

“I’m always up for a road trip if we need to pay the guy a visit.”

He doesn’t ask for me to clarify if I mean his boyfriend or the brother, just stuffs his hands in his pockets and lets his shoulders slump.

“I hate football camp.”

We don’t speak again until we’re half-undressed in the locker room, Micky sucking a sharp breath through his teeth.

“Jesus Christ, Coach is going to have your ass.”

I have no clue what he’s going on about until another of our teammates whistles loud and cracks a shirt across my back.

“What tree did you fall out of to get a whopper like that?”

I look down and spot the big, purple bruise climbing up my side that gets me a room full of side eyes.

“It’s fine,” I say. “Hardly hurts.”

Micky is right. If I told Coach that I took a midnight four-wheeling trip with some buddies from high school because I was restless and couldn’t sleep, he’d probably relegate me to laundry duty for the entirety of the season.

Which is exactly why I say, “Julian and I tumbled off the bed because someone ,” I motion to Micky, “couldn’t respect the sock on the door for five minutes.”

He narrows his eyes because if there’s one person in the world who doesn’t buy my bullshit, it’s Micky Donovan.

Thank god he needs me on the team, or he’d rat me out in a heartbeat.

“You could hook up in Julian’s dorm.”

Like hell.

My roommate might be a pain in the ass, but Julian’s? The man hates my guts and would like nothing more than to use me as a punching bag for his frustrations.

“Might get a peepshow next time.”

Micky rolls his eyes and, thankfully, drops the subject.

That doesn’t stop him from lighting my ass on fire during practice, though.