Page 23 of The Poster Boy (Love The Game #3)

Jay

W hen I missed the third pass in a row, Boone skated over to me. He sprayed me with ice when he came to a stop and knocked his gloved fist into my helmet a couple times.

“Are you awake in there?” Boone smiled, but his eyes were full of worry.

I was a shit friend for keeping things from him. There was no way Boone would ever think less of me for who I liked, or was with, or wanted to be with. But he might murder me for letting a certain pretty goalie distract me from the game.

“I’m fine. It’s just an off day, that’s all. I’ll be ready for the game tomorrow, don’t worry.”

“Are you sure you’re okay? You’ve been weird.”

Shooting Boone a smile, I knocked my stick against his. “I am weird.”

“Okay, fair. Then you’ve been weirder. How’s that?”

“I’m fine.” I wasn’t. I was drowning in my stupid obsession with Marek. I couldn’t regret being with him, not when it felt so good. Right. But he was a hell of a distraction. I’d missed a pass earlier because he’d caught my eye. I missed another because I was trying too hard to not look at him.

In a word, I was being fucking awkward. It was definitely easier to play the game when I hated him.

Boone didn’t believe a word I was saying, but he let it slide. For now. He thumped my chest with his fist.

“Get your head out of your ass, Brooksie.” He skated away, but I knew the conversation wasn’t over.

He had officially sniffed something out, and he wasn’t going to let it go without a fight.

But he wasn’t going to keep digging here.

He’d wait until we were back home, and then he’d pester me about it.

Thankfully we still had to hit the weight room after this. It gave me time to come up with a cover story. Boone checking on me seemed to be the magic trick because for the rest of practice, my focus was razor sharp.

In the weight room later, Boone took the treadmill next to mine and matched my speed.

“Level with me, Brooksie. What’s going on?” He glanced over at me.

“Just had an off day, man. Nothing to worry about. And anyway, I pulled my head out of my ass like you told me.”

Boone lowered his voice. “It’s that person you’re seeing, isn’t it?”

“I might have something like that on my mind.”

He wasn’t going to let it go, which annoyed me, but if I dodged him too hard, he’d dig deeper, and if he dug too deep, he’d sniff out my obsession with Marek in no time.

Most of the team didn’t know I was gay, but that wasn’t the thing I cared about.

I cared about them knowing my business. I didn’t want to be the next poster boy for queer players.

I didn’t want the media attention that Myers had to put up with .

In my periphery, I saw Marek over at the weights.

He was spotting Griffin and laughing. And if I hadn’t been such a grumpy asshole, I might have been able to join in.

But the team thought I barely tolerated Myers, and the less they knew the better.

I didn’t want our relationship to become a distraction for the team.

I’d grumped my way into a corner where Myers was concerned.

I couldn’t be his friend out of the blue because I was a gruff bastard and the whole team knew it.

But the spike of jealousy that stabbed at me when Myers put his hand on Griffin’s shoulder and squeezed got me right in the guts, and it was a miracle that I kept my feet under me and didn’t stumble and fall off the treadmill.

“Have you finished your shopping?” Boone asked. We had a short break over Christmas before another three-game road trip. As I’d done for the past few years, I’d be spending the holiday with Boone’s family.

“Already done.”

“Ugh, you’re such a showoff. I bet you got it gift-wrapped too.”

“It’s already been delivered to your mom’s house. You better hurry up before you end up on Santa’s naughty list.”

“If Boone’s on the naughty list, you’re at the top, Brookbank,” Andrew chirped as he mopped the sweat from his forehead with a towel.

“It’s not so bad being on top. You should try it sometime.” I hit the stop button on my treadmill and reached for my towel. “I’m going to hit the showers.”

Some of the guys had already finished their workouts and left, but I was never among the first ones out, and I was desperately trying to act natural.

Deviating from my routine would tip people off that something was up.

And if they looked too hard, they’d see the way my gaze found Myers in every room.

I felt like our connection had put a flashing sign over my head announcing that Marek and I were fucking. Nothing was wrong, but acting like I wasn’t obsessed with Myers, like I didn’t care about what he had to say or who he said it to was harder than I thought it would be.

When he’d arrived, it had been easy to ignore him because I hadn’t wanted to be his friend.

But that was different now. Now, I wanted him around, but it was impossible to say that to him.

Or to change the way I’d treated him when he’d first been traded.

Now our dynamic was set. On the ice, we were teammates.

He was my goalie, and when he was in net, it was my job to help him do his job.

And after the game, he was the poster boy, and I was the angry defenseman who avoided the cameras whenever possible.

There were occasions when I’d be asked to be on camera and give short interviews, but mostly those spots went to more interesting players.

The team captain. The star forward. The goalie.

The cameras were another reason I didn’t want my shit with Marek to become public knowledge.

The media was a dog with a bone when it came to him.

Even now that his affection for the press had cooled after the whole incident where they asked about his parents, Marek still gave interviews.

The press had stopped asking about his love life; instead they’d gone digging and turned up the fact that his parents kicked him out and his sister worked her ass off to keep him in the game.

Not that I was paying attention or anything. I wasn’t that obsessed with him.

To prove how not obsessed I was, I went home after practice and took care of meal prep for Boone and me for the week without looking at my phone once. I totally didn’t almost burn the ground turkey, and I absolutely didn’t almost chop my thumb off when I was cutting vegetables.

Boone had gone out Christmas shopping. He was the kind of sick person who loved busy places.

He didn’t mind the throng of holiday shoppers or the crowds.

Lineups were all part of the fun, according to him.

He’d stopped trying to get me to go with him years ago.

Apparently there was a limit to the amount of grumpiness Boone was willing to deal with, and holiday shopping put me well beyond that limit.

I’d almost managed to get Marek off my mind when my phone buzzed with a text.

Marek

You were shit at practice today.

I’d be insulted if it weren’t true.

tsk tsk. Get your head in the game, Brookbank.

I liked it better when he called me Jay. I liked it even better when he was balls deep inside me when he did so.

If you want me to be better, stop being so distracting.

Awww you do like me.

I never said that

You didn’t not say it, therefore it’s true.

That makes no sense .

It does if you’re me.

I know you like me.

Well, I didn’t hate fucking you.

The only thing you hate about me is that I’m beautiful.

He wasn’t wrong. If he was less gorgeous it might be easier to ignore him.

But his smile was sunshine bright. He put on a good show for people with it.

But I also liked the quieter Marek. The vulnerable one who’d invited me over and had shown me the way he struggled with shit sometimes.

The way he was less than perfect. And I hated him a whole lot less after that.

Every time I was with him, my affection for him grew and now it had turned into this barely manageable thing. It was unwieldy, but I was determined that it didn’t matter. That I could deal with it.

I didn’t hate fucking you either.

Marek sent me a picture of him grabbing his hard cock through his sweats.

See what you do to me?

Need help with that?

My own dick had risen to the occasion. It had a Pavlovian response to Marek now. If I thought too much about him, my dick let me know about it. I’d probably jerked off more in the past few weeks than I had in years. And it was all Marek’s fault.

And here I was again, my bare feet padding on the floor as I made my way to my bedroom about to jerk off again.

To Marek, again. We hadn’t had phone sex before.

I didn’t want to text my way through an orgasm so I did the thing I’d been trying not to do ever since I walked in the door after practice.

I called him.

“Jay,” Marek purred my name. “This is a pleasure, but not a surprise.” He sounded pleased with himself and his tone was close to gloating.

“Get your dick out, Myers.” I flopped down on my bed, put the phone on speaker, and grabbed the lube.

“Bossy.” Marek laughed, but I could tell he was doing as told.

“You like me bossy.” I shoved my pants down to mid-thigh and uncapped the lube.

The first touch of my hand on my cock felt like a fucking reward after a long day of pretending that I wasn’t obsessed with him. A long day lying to myself.

“I like you any way I can get you.” Marek’s admission was quickly followed by a moan. “God, Jay.”

“Tell me what you’re doing.”

Marek let out a laugh. “I’m jacking off. I thought that much was obvious.”

“I know you’re jacking off, Myers, but I want to hear what you’re doing. I want you to tell me how hard you are. How your cock feels in your hand. Tell me what you like, Marek.”

There was silence for a second, then he spoke in a soft voice. “I like when you touch me.”

Fuck.