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holky

After Dog’s game—when you score your first goal, the guys will call it “your game” forever—all the guys wanted to celebrate. We couldn’t, though, because we had a seven-thirty flight to Minnesota the next morning, kicking off a brutal Midwest trip. Over the next week, we’d play in Saint Paul, Denver, Dallas, and St. Louis.

Since the first game would be tomorrow night in Saint Paul, we couldn’t afford to get shitfaced and drag our hungover asses onto the plane. As soon as we landed, we’d head straight to the SaberDome for a quick skate, then check into the hotel for food and a nap before warmups. Since the Sabercats were second in their division and tough as hell, there was no room for sloppiness.

When Harpy and the alternate captains said we’d celebrate Dog’s debut win on the roadie, I was all in. I didn’t mind pushing the party off for a few days. The idea of going home tonight, cracking a couple of beers with Dog, and spending time alone sounded far better than going out to Revolution Hops with the whole team.

But as soon as I let myself picture us at the house—close, relaxed, and buzzed—the questions started. Would we jerk off together? And did I really want to go there? Earlier, after our nap, I’d been so sure, but now my mind was spinning. We were both straight, so if we gave in to whatever this was between us, what then? Would we regret it? Would it ruin everything?

Dog was special, and there was no denying that. I already knew I wanted him in my life for a long time, so was it worth risking that to get off together and satisfy some impulse we didn’t understand? Would a few minutes of experimentation be worth blowing up our friendship?

Since it had been a hard game, we were filthy and had to clean up before heading out. I tried not to look at Dog in the shower, but I didn’t merely fail—I crashed. The shower was a big communal room with no privacy, and he stood opposite me, a couple of nozzles away. When I looked over, he had his head tipped back beneath the spray, water cascading over him like a damn spotlight. It wasn’t fair; no one should look that good under fluorescent lighting. The water slid down the cut lines of his chest, traced the deep ridges of his abs, and disappeared over the hard angles of his hips. Every part of him looked carved, like the sculptor hadn’t been able to stop perfecting him.

His shoulders were broad enough to carry a team, and his arms looked like they could break through a wall without trying. And his back— Jesus . It was strong, tapered, and elegant. He didn’t move much except to lather up, casual as hell, unaware—or perhaps not—that he was rewriting my definition of beautiful.

I told myself to turn away, rinse off, and mind my business, but I was locked in place. No matter how many times I averted my eyes, my gaze kept drifting back to him. Honestly, his body looked like something straight out of a workout manual, in the chapter called “What to Strive For.”

I didn’t want to be obvious—and I sure as hell didn’t want anyone to notice me staring—but I couldn’t look away. My heart was pounding like I’d just finished a brutal shift. I wasn’t sure if I was admiring him, envying him, or spiraling into something else entirely. All I knew was that Dog was hot as hell, and no amount of cold water would change that.

“Dude, what’s up with you?”

I jumped like I’d been caught with my hand in the cookie jar, except the cookie was over six feet tall, ripped, and currently the object of my… whatever.

Riley stood under the nozzle beside me, shooting me the kind of look guys get when they show up to practice still reeking of perfume and sweaty sex.

“The fuck are you talking about?” I glared at him while I pumped body wash out of the container on the wall.

“You’re studying Dog like you have to draw him for anatomy class. If I didn’t know better, I’d?—”

“Shut up, Riley.”

He smirked before ducking his head under the spray. I knew exactly where he was going with that, which was why I shut him down. Riley was the youngest guy on the team, and he was also the nosiest—and horniest—by a mile.

We’d partied a lot together, and the man was a legend when it came to puck bunnies and pick-up lines. One time on the road, a hotel mix-up landed the two of us in a room with two beds. Naturally, we each met a woman. After a quick conference, we took them back to the room, where we all agreed to stay two to a bed and keep things quiet. Everything was fine, but was it our fault the girls switched beds after the first round?

Riley emerged from under the shower spray, water dripping from his hair and lashes, and gave me a look. “What’s with you and Dog? You can’t keep your eyes off each other.”

I opened my mouth to deny it but made the mistake of glancing over, only to find Dog watching me. He flashed a quick smile before looking away. Then he kept flicking his eyes at me while he lathered up, sliding his hands across his abs like he was starring in a commercial for bath soap.

When his hands inched lower, I held my breath and stared like an idiot while he lathered his pubes and the tops of his thighs. The white suds clung to him, and nestled in the foam was something that could only be described as a Renaissance masterpiece. If Michelangelo had sculpted hockey players in the shower, Dog’s cock would’ve been his magnum opus.

Heat surged through me as I remembered how it had felt rubbing against mine when we were tangled up in bed. It was huge, so it was no wonder it had felt so damn good. A sharp spike of desire made me wonder if I was about to get hard in a team shower for the first time since middle school.

“Holky!”

Riley had hissed my name, and I snapped out of it so fast I nearly slipped on the wet floor. “The fuck is it now?”

At least he had the decency to lean closer before muttering, “You’ve got to stop looking at him like that. People are watching you.”

A quick scan of the room showed most of the guys focused on showering and talking about the game, but a few weren’t so subtle. Gabe smirked as he turned away, and Packy raised an eyebrow and ducked his head, trying not to laugh.

My stomach dropped. Shit.

If I don’t fucking get it together, I will be screwed.

* * *

Despite our early flight, Riley decided my house was the perfect place to have a quick beer. His excuse was that he didn’t have a date, but that had never stopped him from going out and finding one. He wasn’t fooling anybody. I knew damn well he wanted to watch Dog and me after whatever theories had taken root in his nosy little brain. He roped Gabe and Brody into coming along, which would have been fine, except Packy overheard and called his wife to tell her he had important teammate bonding to do.

Dog and I had barely walked into the house when the doorbell rang. One after another, they poured in: Riley, Gabe, Brody, and Packy.

“So nice of you to invite us,” Riley said.

“Fuck off.” I’d have said more, but the bell rang again.

This time, it was Logan. “Riley told me we’re hanging out,” he said, like that explained everything.

I hadn’t even closed the door when Harpy and Luca showed up, grinning like they were in on some secret. Apparently, Riley had run his mouth and invited Harpy, who’d swung by to pick up Luca on the way.

Fucking Riley. So much for a quiet night with Dog, a couple of beers, and whatever else might’ve happened.

We headed downstairs, and for the first time in recorded history, nobody was in the mood for poker or video games. Just as I started thinking we might have a chill night, I caught sight of something that made my blood pressure rise.

Dog had sat on one of the two-seater couches, which was great. Yet before I could as much as blink, Riley—the smug little shit—sauntered over and plopped himself down next to Dog, spreading out like he paid rent.

Dog shot me a look, disappointment written all over his face. While I was debating whether to ask Riley to move or not, he looked at me with his oversized faux-innocent eyes, wearing the biggest shit-eating grin I’d ever seen. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he was loving every goddamn second of it.

Fine. If that was how he wanted to play it, game on. I passed around IPAs, then walked over and locked eyes with Riley. “Mind if I sit there?”

He scoffed. “It was a hard game, and I’m comfortable.”

“Let me sit with Dog.”

Riley raised an eyebrow, his face a picture of mock confusion. “Why? There are plenty of other places to sit.”

“It was Dog’s game tonight, and we’re roomies.” I kept my voice as casual as I could. “I figured we’d hang out.”

A slow, shit-stirring smile spread across Riley’s face. “No problem, bud.” He clapped Dog on the knee and stood. As he passed me, he tossed a grin over his shoulder and added, “Be good, now.”

The fucker winked, just to twist the knife. Bastard.

I slid onto the couch next to Dog, whose eyes were bright. “Hey.”

“Hey back,” I said, nudging his knee with mine. “I’m really proud of you tonight.”

“We all are,” Harpy said, rising to his feet. He scanned the room, then locked eyes with Dog. “You only get one first goal. We all remember how amazing it feels, and I couldn’t have been prouder to be on the ice with you when it happened. You’re a hell of a liney.”

“Hear, hear!” Riley called, raising his bottle. “Fucking proud of you, Dog.”

Brody chimed in next. “Nels isn’t here, but I know I speak for him when I say it was an honor to back you up tonight. Hope Criswell keeps us all together.”

“We’re all proud of you, Dog,” Gabe added. “Get up, everybody.”

We stood, lifting our bottles as Harpy raised his voice for the toast. “To many more goals for Dog and a lot of happy seasons together.”

“To Dog,” Packy said.

“To Dog,” we echoed, then drank deeply. Despite my aggravation, I couldn’t miss how the room was buzzing with something better than beer: family.

Dog was beaming, soaking in the moment, and as much as I’d hated the guys crashing our night, I couldn’t be mad about this. His goal had been huge —not only his first in the league, but also the game-winner. He deserved to be celebrated, and if that meant our place became the team clubhouse for the night, so be it.

The conversation turned to his playing style, the road trip ahead, and what to expect from the Dallas Thunder. We’d beaten them for the Cup last spring, so they were sure to be out for blood. Beers disappeared fast while we talked—we had two, maybe three each—and by the time Logan stood and stretched, the room had taken on the warm, lazy feel of a night winding down.

“Don’t want to sound like everybody’s mom,” Logan said, “but I think we’ve had enough. We’ve got an early morning and another game tomorrow night.”

Luca, already draped over Harpy, pulled him closer. “Let’s go, babe. You’re going to be away for a week, then I’ll be gone the week after. We’ll be up all night stocking up for such a long dry spell.”

“Shut up, man,” Riley muttered with a laugh.

Packy stood, drained his bottle, and laughed. “Leave them alone. We all want to get laid, so have fun, boys.”

Dog and I walked the guys upstairs and traded goodbyes as they left. Once the door closed, I dug my phone out of my pocket and groaned. “Fuck, it’s after midnight, and we have to get up at five.”

“Is that early enough?”

“Yeah. We’ve got our own jet and fly out of the private terminal. No lines, no waiting.”

He broke into a goofy, half-disbelieving grin. “Shit. I never even thought about that. Our own plane? For real?”

The look on his face made my chest tighten. I’d seen it before—on me, back in my rookie days, when stuff like this made me feel like I’d stumbled into someone else’s dream. For a second, I saw it through his eyes: the private planes, the hotels, the gear trucks, the fans. This whole big life we got to live for playing a game.

I draped an arm around his shoulders. “It’s real, Dog. I know it’s a lot, but you’ll get used to it soon. How you feeling?”

“I’m beat, to be honest.” He hesitated. “Will we have our own rooms on the road?”

“Everybody gets a single these days.”

Our eyes met, and his exhausted expression didn’t quite mask something else that had been there since our nap. Since we hadn’t had a chance to reprogram the heat, the house was still cold. I thought about asking him to sleep in my room, thinking we could see what happened. It wouldn’t be any different from our nap, and after his display in the shower and the way we’d been circling each other all night…

Shit. This was new to me, but I wouldn’t run from it. When I told Dog I’d never been afraid to try new things, I meant it. Still, rushing felt wrong, like I’d be grabbing at something too soon, before I figured out what the hell was going on inside me. I still wanted to jerk off together, but maybe not tonight. It might be better to sit with this for a minute.

Didn’t mean I wouldn’t lie awake thinking about it, though.

And that’s exactly what happened. Even after I got in bed and tried every trick I knew to fall asleep, I couldn’t stop replaying everything that had happened earlier—our nap, the way he’d looked when we opened our eyes, the heat between us. The way his cock felt against mine. And how I’d almost kissed him. Fuck.

I stared at the ceiling and tried to breathe normally. I hadn’t panicked earlier, but maybe it was time.

What the hell am I doing? Wanting to jerk off with your buddy wasn’t normal behavior for a straight man, was it?

Except Dog wasn’t just my buddy. He was Dog , the guy who already knew how to make me laugh until I couldn’t catch my breath. Even when I told him about the worst parts of my life, he hadn’t flinched; instead of pulling away, he’d moved closer. In a short time, he’d slipped into my life like he’d always belonged there, and now I wanted to be around him all the time.

I shifted under the covers, restless and wide awake. My brain wouldn’t shut up, and my body wouldn’t settle. It would be easier if I could chalk this up to curiosity, horniness, or even some half-assed need for comfort. But that wasn’t really it. When I imagined kissing Dog and jerking off with him, it wasn’t only about sex. It was about getting closer. I wanted to feel more.

That scared the hell out of me because I’d spent my whole damn life dodging that very thing—needing people and relying on them. Every time that happened, things blew up in my face. Reliance led to disappointment, and disappointment hurt more than a knife to the heart.

Mom had walked out like I wasn’t enough, and Dad did everything he could to hurt me. Gabe had never opened to me the way I’d have liked, but when Riley joined the Warriors and we hit it off, I thought he might be the friend I’d always wanted. For a while, it felt solid, like I finally had someone in my corner. But when I started pulling back from meaningless hookups, he drifted away like I’d broken some unspoken pact.

Different people, same result. No matter how it started, it always ended the same: I wasn’t built for people to stay. Yet here I was wanting something with Dog. Hell, I didn’t just want something; I wanted him . Was I only setting myself up to get burned again?

I pressed a fist to my chest, trying to calm my heart, but it wouldn’t shut the hell up. I could still feel the heat of Dog’s skin on mine. Fuck that, I could still feel the press of his cock against me, thick and real, like my body had saved the imprint. But even more than that was the way he looked at me, like I was someone who mattered, someone worth sticking around for. That look rattled every nerve in my brain. Although he hadn’t done a single thing to make me afraid, I still felt the old instinct rising fast—the urge to shove him away before he could beat me to it.

As I tossed and turned, my brain wouldn’t let up. The situation was ridiculous. I wanted Dog as a friend, which made me want to push him away before I could screw it up. And I wanted him in bed, which should’ve freaked me the hell out but didn’t. Not even a little.

I wasn’t a homophobe. I’d always had gay and bi friends. Gabe was committed to Brody, and Harpy and Luca were married. Logan was into men too. They were some of the best guys I’d ever known, and I respected the hell out of them.

But I was straight. I’d never had sexual contact with a guy. Even on wild nights in college, or with Riley during our clubbing days, there were always women involved. I’d never touched a guy because I was never interested.

Then came that dinner in Boston last season when Brody jerked Gabe off under the table, right across from Harpy and me. The images seared themselves into my brain. It was hot as hell, but it was more. Their intimacy was so raw, so real, I couldn’t stop wondering what it would feel like to have sex with someone I actually cared about. I’d never experienced that. Not even close. And those thoughts, tangled up with the electric charge of what was happening right in front of me, had pushed me over the edge. I came hard in my pants—no hands, and no warning. It was heat and need and a thousand confused feelings colliding all at once.

For some reason I still couldn’t explain, that didn’t freak me out either. Before we left, I went to the men’s room, cleaned myself up, and shoved the whole thing down deep, somewhere private where it could sit and confuse the ever-loving shit out of me.

Now, I stared at the ceiling, wondering what the hell I was feeling about Dog. Who knew what was happening, but whether I was straight or not, I wanted to find out. For once, I wasn’t going to let fear call the shots.

I turned over and closed my eyes. One thing was certain: whatever was happening between Dog and me, it mattered.