Page 20 of Something to Prove (Smithton Bears #2)

“M&M’s, and no.” Walker had lifted his chin regally and retied his robe. “Especially not if there was a threat of zombies. They might be contaminated, and I told you I’m not monster material.”

I’d pursed my lips, loving this playful side of him.

“You like M&M’s?”

“Love them.”

“Plain or peanut?”

“Plain.”

I’d narrowed my eyes and leaned in to pluck at the tie. “Sorry, but that kind of makes you a monster.”

“Excuse me?”

“Peanuts are better than plain.”

Walker had scoffed derisively and slumped in his chair with his knees parted, giving me a perfect view of the goods. “You’re wrong.”

“I’m right.”

“Wrong.” He’d given his cock a glancing stroke that made my toes curl.

“What are you doing?”

“Touching myself.”

Christ. This redheaded demon was the fucking sexiest man on the planet. “I, uh…I don’t think my dick works yet. Give me another twenty minutes.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” he’d purred.

“Are you…did you want to top?” I’d choked out.

Sure, I’d bottomed in the past, but it had been a while—years. So would I? I thought so. If it was something he wanted.

Walker shook his head. “No, it’s not my preference. But I have toys. You haven’t seen my dildo collection. I have a fabulous twelve-inch one you might like. I can fuck you with it. Or…I could rim you. I’m pretty good at it.”

Don’t quote me, but I was pretty sure I’d gaped for a solid minute and nodded.

But before I could sweat over the idea of Walker fucking me with a dildo or rimming my ass, the timer buzzed.

He’d stood, retied his robe, then tousled my hair and sashayed toward the oven to rescue our pizza while I’d stared after him in a daze.

A total fucking daze.

That was the Walker effect for you. He was in my head, distracting the hell out of me. I wasn’t used to splitting my focus.

For me, hockey came first. Always.

I might have joked about the extra attention, but I’d always had my head on straight where my sport was concerned.

My dream coming into college had been to sign with a professional team.

That was a lofty-ass goal for a kid who’d played with borrowed sticks and had relied on sponsorships throughout high school.

My parents had never had the money, and hockey was expensive.

Equipment alone had always cost a fortune.

Mom and Dad had supported us however they could, but I doubted they’d thought my siblings or I would pursue hockey beyond college. They were more concerned with education. Me? I wanted to play with the big boys.

I’d worked my ass off proving that I had what it took to succeed, and I was very aware of the tiers of measured success.

It was like a video game. You hit one level and had seconds to adjust to the next round of expectation.

I’d been one of the best forwards in high school, but I’d had to start from the bottom in college.

Now I was at the top again—a big fish in a small pond, as Toby reminded me.

I’d be a guppy next year. And if I had my sights set on the NHL—the mega dream I didn’t dare speak aloud—I’d be chum.

I was unproven and expendable. And while a connection with an influencer was nice and all, it meant nothing if I suddenly forgot how to play hockey.

Don’t be fuckin’ ridiculous. That’s never gonna happen.

Did I mention I was on fire?

Check it out.

The Bears were up four to three against North Falls with less than a minute on the clock in the third period.

I skated up the right lane, flipped backward and signaled to Brady with a brief nod.

We’d become adept at communicating on the ice over the past year.

A slight hand gesture could mean anything from pass the puck to dump it or watch your weak side.

We had an opening now. North Falls’ D-man was a burly brute with Viking berserker energy who leaned heavily to his left as he blocked or shoved, leaving his right side unprotected.

I had a feeling he was playing injured and that had to suck, but reading weakness and strength and knowing when to take advantage was part of the job.

Brady faked a pass to Gus, then raced to the goal as if on a one-man mission to score.

At the last second, he flicked the puck to me.

The big Viking was on my tail, but I was ready for him.

I deked to his left, pulling him off center as I changed course.

Now it was me and the goalie. There was no overthinking this.

I had to be quick and wily to get past this last line of defense.

I aimed for the corner and bam! The lamp lit. Score for the Bears. My teammates swarmed as the arena exploded with a collective whoop, cheering and screaming their heads off.

God, I loved hockey.

I pumped my fist triumphantly, my gaze scanning the crowd for a familiar shock of red hair. Walker was on his feet, clapping along with everyone. His smile mirrored mine—wide and carefree.

I didn’t wave or do anything that might draw attention or speculation. It was an ingrained default where guys I was attracted to were concerned. But for a fleeting moment, I wondered what it would feel like to publicly acknowledge that I had a thing for the redhead.

The locker room practically vibrated with laughter and music.

Someone had connected their cell to a portable speaker and turned the volume so high, the lyrics were muffled by the bass.

Communication was reduced to yelling or miming while tape and rank jerseys flew overhead.

This was celebration ground zero—the PG-rated warmup.

There’d be booze, weed, and lots of pretty girls at the main event across town at Langley’s place. He’d made sure everyone knew. Loudly.

“Get your ass there early, Ty. No showing up late and bailing early bullshit. It’s Saturday night and we’re partying, baby,” Langley bellowed in my ear.

Yeah…that line about ducking out early was accurate.

Maybe I should have felt bad about it, but lately, getting shitfaced and stumbling around campus with a hangover from hell the next day hadn’t appealed to me.

And if I had to choose between naked hot-topic conversations in bed with Walker or drunken yammering with a girl whose name I’d never remember followed by meaningless fumbling in the dark, Walker won… hands down.

I couldn’t tell Gus that, though. He was bi too and I knew he would never judge, but he couldn’t keep a secret to save his life. Not that there was anything to tell. Whatever Walker and I were doing was casual, remember?

“My parents are here, man,” I yelled. “They drove for two hours, and they’ll probably want to grab dinner.”

Langley gave a perfect impression of a thwarted child, complete with a dramatic eye roll. “Fine. Come late, but you better be there. My roommate is out of town, so we get to rage for real.”

I snorted. “I feel bad for the guy.”

“Fuck that. Rafe is a grade-A pain in the ass. And get this…he listens to classical music. Sho-van and Vardy.” Langley grumbled, scratching his nuts through his towel.

“Chopin and Verdi?”

Langley bugged his eyes out. “Are you goin’ nerd on me? How’d you know that?”

“I know things.”

“You don’t know shit,” he joked. “That sounds like something you learned with our neighborhood reporter. Hey, I saw Walker in the stands. Invite him to my place.”

Langley’s attention was already drawn to something over my shoulder.

He threw his hands in the air and danced to an ancient Prince song someone had turned on while I wrestled with my skyrocketing pulse.

I literally rubbed my chest, wondering if I’d eaten too much garlic or something.

I didn’t think so, but it made more sense than having a reaction to the casual mention of Walker’s name in a crowded locker room.

I showered and changed, hurrying to meet my folks in the corridor. I knew they’d want to get on the road after dinner, and I didn’t want to keep them waiting. Dad loved the Chinese restaurant on Mattson Street, and they didn’t take reservations.

“There he is!” Mom waved, her short dark curls bouncing as she enveloped me in a familiar floral scent that smelled like home.

I lifted my mom up and spun her in a circle, laughing at her halfhearted squawk. My parents were former athletes and high school sweethearts in their early sixties. My dad liked to say I got my height from him and my looks from Mom. Truthfully, they were both tall and good-looking.

Dad’s hair had gone mostly white recently and he had a bit of a beer belly, but he was as robust and active as ever.

He had to be to keep up with my mom, who was famous for volunteering for every cause that touched her heart from Lab rescue to sports for underprivileged youth.

They were amazing. Six kids, a couple of grandkids, three dogs, fuck knew how many cats, demanding jobs, and community work would exhaust anyone, but not these two. I was lucky and I knew it.

“You made it.” I kissed Mom’s cheek and set her down before greeting my dad—and the redhead who just happened to be standing next to him.

I was already smiling, but now it was a full-fledged megawatt grin. Fuck me. I had to get my face under control, or my mother would start asking questions and jumping to all the right conclusions.

My dad hugged me and tipped his chin at Walker. “We just bumped into Smithton’s local celebrity. I think you know this guy.”

“I do. How’s it goin’, Red?”

Walker scowled adorably. “Very funny. I’m well, thank you. Congratulations on your win.”

“Thanks.” Yep…still smiling.

“Don’t mind us. If you need to do an interview, we’ll hang back and watch,” Mom said, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

“Not today. I was just passing by…out of habit. I usually have a story to report, but I need clearance to enter the locker room, and it slipped my mind, which was how I ended up here…in this corridor instead of the lobby or gosh, the parking lot,” Walker stammered, punctuating his run-on sentence with an anxious laugh.

“And, uh…I should let you go. It was lovely to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Czerniak. Congratulations on your impressive win, Ty. Ciao and cheerio!”

Whoa.

I grabbed Walker’s elbow, unthinking. As in totally disregarding where we were and who might see.

It was just that…Bill and Stacy Czerniak were the coolest people on the planet.

They were goals. If I ever became a parent, I wanted to be like them.

And I guess I didn’t like the idea of steady and chill Walker being nervous with my folks.

I felt weirdly protective—like I wanted to put an arm around him and offer him a handful of M&M’s.

I didn’t have any candy on me, but against my better judgment, I rested a hand on his shoulder. And left it there. I had to touch him, and at that very second, any little thing would do.

“Not so fast. I just got here.” No, I had no clue what I was thinking. Don’t ask.

Walker’s panicky expression indicated he was wondering the same thing. “Yes, but I’m sure you have some catching up to do with your family and?—”

“Nonsense! Please join us,” Mom intercepted, her keen gaze flitting between Walker and me. “We’re going to the China Palace. It’s a Czerniak tradition. My boys are wild about Mr. Wong’s kung pao chicken, and I love the moo shu pork.”

“Please do. We’d love to hear about the behind-the-scenes bloopers with this guy,” Dad inserted, yanking me in for a one-armed bro hug.

I shrugged out of his hold with a faux-grumpy scowl and aimed a hopeful glance at Walker. “Seriously. You’re more than welcome.”

And I meant it. Weird. I should have been sweating the notion of my parents and my secret fuck-buddy sharing chow mein, but for reasons I couldn’t begin to dissect, I liked the idea. A lot.

Walker wasn’t sold on it. He licked his lips and shook his head. “Thank you. I can’t, but have a nice evening, and do enjoy the rest of your stay in Smithton, Mr. and Mrs. Czerniak.”

“Thanks, and good luck to you in New York City next year. One day we’ll see you on TV and say, ‘I met him in person!’” Mom gushed.

Walker flashed a shy smile before disappearing into the crowd of hockey fans milling in the area. I knew better than to get caught staring. Especially with these two. The only way to bypass my parents’ finely-honed bullshit detectors was to keep my big mouth shut.

But my folks were relentless and very curious about Walker.

“Do you know who his mother is…or was?” my mom asked. “Deanna Woodrow was a true inspiration. Her passing was such a tragedy. She’d be so proud that her son is following in her footsteps.”

Dad shoveled kung pao chicken into his mouth, nodding. “Yes. It’s tempting to think he’s got a ways to catch up to her, but he’s forging his own path and it’s impressive. Pass the moo shu, Ty.”

I passed the moo shu, humming along to their commentary.

I didn’t add much. Truthfully, I wasn’t as interested in Walker’s mom as I was in him.

I could have told them about his dad and I probably would someday, but…

not tonight. They would have been shocked, and knowing my folks, they’d have a million questions I couldn’t answer.

So I shrugged, changed the subject to hockey, my nephew’s first steps, our old dog, Marlo’s declining health, and the ten-year-olds my dad was coaching at the rec center. Being with them felt like a warm hug and after a couple of months away from home, I needed this.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about Walker and…New York City. What was he going to do there and why didn’t I know? I wasn’t asking my parents, though. Not happening, and hey, not my business.

Except…I wanted it to be.

And that was a problem. Potentially. Something was going on with me, and whatever it was made me nervous as fuck. The last thing I needed was to catch feelings. We’re talking the very, very last thing.

If I were smart, I’d head over to Gus’s later tonight, go home with a girl, or hell, text Carson.

What I wouldn’t do is order extra Chinese and show up on Walker’s doorstep. No fucking way. Not me.