Page 8 of Two Guys One Puck (Gods Versus Monsters Hockey #2)

EIGHT

SEABORN

I t never fucking occurred to me that Ktytor would be here, but of course he is. He’s going to be drafted before he does four years in college. He’s already one of the best players in the league. He’s got to be invited to a few development camps. Teams will be chomping at the bit to draft him.

I can barely afford to take time off work to be here, let alone travel out of state, why would he?

He’s not one of the rich kids. He’s playing on scholarships like I am.

The more I think about our truce, the more annoyed I am that Ktytor is even here.

Why the fuck did he have to come to my fucking city to do this when he could have gone anywhere?

It makes me want to sabotage him, but every time the opportunity arises, I’m hit in the chest with the truth and his words. I can’t risk fucking myself to maybe ruin an opportunity for him when he’ll have tons.

The coaches call us in after finishing up drills on the ice.

“Great day, guys,” Fig starts. “The hard part of it is over. After you all shower and change, we’re going to have a paddle ball tournament with a bunch of the guys on the team.”

A couple of the guys gasp and speculate in whispers who the team members will be.

“Go shower so you don’t smell,” one of the other coaches says and dismisses us to the locker room.

Since the groups move to different activities at different times, alternating things with the others, the locker room isn’t overcrowded.

It’s just us and the purple group. There’s a lot of chatter as I strip off my hockey gear and shove it into my bag.

I grab a towel and head to the showers, taking the first open one.

They are nicer than ours at the Gods’ facility, but only walled on three sides.

No one is really shy about nudity, so it’s not a big deal to have the front open. Not like anyone is going around staring at dicks. Even with it being more accepted to be gay with a few out guys in the league, still no one wants to be accused of being the guy looking.

Except Ktytor it seems. Because when I’m all lathered up and turn around to rinse my back, I find Ktytor in the shower directly across from me.

Not only did he take the shower directly across from me, but his heady gaze is on me while his lips are slightly turned up. He’s been waiting for me to notice. But why? His attention drags down my body, drinking me in.

Does he want to see me naked?

I cock my head, taking in all of him in return.

He’s leaner than I am, smaller muscle for faster movements; while I train for strength, he trains for attack.

Cut abs and light brown hair leading from his navel to his cock.

He brushes his fingers over it as I stare.

If that’s him soft, hell. In the harsh fluorescent light, I get a better view of him than in the parking lot that night.

My dick takes notice. Fuck.

I tear my eyes away, willing it to not get any harder. The last thing I need is for another guy to say I was hard in the locker room. Why the fuck am I even getting turned on?

A soft laugh comes from behind me, and I can’t help myself. I turn around again and find Ktytor with a raised brow.

“What?” I mouth.

He lifts his shoulders in a shrug and glances down again.

I hold up my middle finger, forcing myself to not look at his cock.

His smile spreads as he lathers himself, trying to force my view lower with every stroke. But I don’t let his hands guide me. I rinse my hair, then soap up myself. Two can play at this game.

His upper lip pulls in a snarl, and heat flushes through my chest.I like pissing him off way too much.

Maybe this truce will be more fun than I thought.

I rinse off and grab my towel. Instead of wrapping it around me and heading to change, I dry myself right there in front of him, taking my time.

I don’t know what comes over me, but I turn around and bend over, drying my legs.

A barely audible groan reaches my ears. Did that sound come out of Ktytor, or did I make it up?

I want to believe it’s real.

I school my features but turn back around, flicking my gaze over in his direction.

His lips are parted, and his cock is half hard, but he hasn’t tried to conceal it.

He’s standing there just staring, and I’ve never had a bigger ego boost. I wrap my towel around my waist before he sees I’m getting stiff again at the idea of it all.

I still don’t know what that means or why the fucking guy who’s causing it is one I fucking hate. I need to get my head on right for the rest of this week. I can’t be more focused on Ktytor than I am the opportunity.

I get dressed and join the guys as we head back over to the practice facility for this ping-pong tournament.

A bunch of the players from the team are there—more than I expect—and we are told to pick a guy in our group and pair off for doubles.

I glance around, but by the time I even fully process what I’m looking for, everyone in our group is paired off except for Ktytor.

“Guess you’re with me, sweetheart.”

“At least I know you’re fast,” I say in a syrup-sweet tone.

Shock flickers across his expression, but only for a second before he gets it under control. “And I know your hand-eye coordination is good, baby doll.”

I wink, and we take our paddles. There are four tables, but it’s still going to take some time to get through all the teams.

“Damn, teaming up with the enemy?” Gatlin asks. He’s a big defenseman and former Guardians player. He went in the second round of the draft this year. It’s good to see him here.

“Everyone else was taken.” I lift a shoulder. “I didn’t see you jumping to defend my honor.”

“I didn’t know you needed your honor defended.” Gatlin glances between Ktytor and me.

“Did you even try?” I say in a mock hurt tone.

“I had to be with my bro…”

“I guess you’ll lose with your bro then, too,” I shoot back playfully.

“Damn, cold! And for Ktytor?” Gatlin huffs and laughs.

“Is okay. I stepped up to take care of the princess here.” Ktytor steps in and pats me on the shoulder. It’s an innocent touch in hockey, but he lets it linger a moment too long, then drags the pads of his fingers just above the fabric of my shirt, finding my skin. “I’m better for him.”

Gatlin lifts his brows. “So it’s gonna be like that?”

I laugh because what the fuck else can I really do? “You picked. I just picked better.”

Gatlin grabbed his chest like I wounded him, then goes to take his spot as he was in the first round.

“You picked?” Ktytor says under his breath when Gatlin is gone.

I smirk. “You sure as fuck didn’t.”

He steps into my space. “Bullshit. I orchestrated this truce.”

“That ego of yours really needs a lot of feeding, doesn’t it?” I lean in, not backing down.

He rolls his eyes, stepping back. “Maybe it just wants a single compliment from you.”

I scoff, sure he’s not serious. “We’ll see if you deserve it after we win.”

“At least you’re competitive.”

It’s single elimination, but we win our first and second games, somehow working well together. Falling in sync is easier than I expect it to be. There isn’t any fighting over who’s side. We call things out and help when needed.

As I watch, I realize how good a position we’re in. How many guys picked a friend to play with or really anyone they knew without regard to strengths or weaknesses, so most of them get annihilated by the pros. It makes Ktytor and I look better.

As the competition narrows down, the games get more intense. These are guys who have played together professionally for at least a season, if not more. They are teammates while Ktytor and I can barely have a conversation without coming to blows. We win the third game by the skin of our teeth.

Our fourth is against their goalie and a first-line winger.

We set, and their goalie takes the ball, driving it down the middle with lightning force. Ktytor slams it back, sending it on a wicked angle.

“Son of a biscuit!” Their goalie dives for it, colliding with their winger, and they smack together, both stumbling back.

“Don’t give yourselves concussions. Jesus fucking Christ,” Fig calls out, exasperated.

I bite back a laugh while the winger retrieves the ball. He offers it to the goalie, who snatches it. Ktytor side eyes me with a smirk. I’m sure he’s thinking the same thing I am: we have to use their frustration against them.

We do just that, driving it down the line as often as possible. Making them question each other and collide once more. It’s close, but Ktytor and I are so in sync, I don’t even have to think about it.

“Match point.” Ktytor offers me the ball.

“You can serve it.”

“Are you sure, darling?”

“I’m sure.” I can admit he’s better.

He nods, setting himself up. He drives it to their side, and it comes back on the corner.

I spring to get the ball, barely sending it back over the net.

We’re both breathing hard and sweating. He gets the next one, and the ball goes back and forth this round almost longer than the entire game for just this point, neither team willing to let it go.

Finally, Ktytor gets a mean spin on the ball, sending it low between them. Somehow, the winger gets a piece of it, catching me off guard. I get my paddle up, but I’m going to miss it. Ktytor gets to it, shoving me out of the way in the process.

I stumble back, not even giving a shit I’m about to land on my ass because my attention is glued to the ball.

They miss, we get the point, and I hit the floor hard.

“Fuck,” I grunt, knowing I’m going to feel that the rest of this camp, maybe longer.

Ktytor whips around, searching my face. He offers a hand. “You okay?”

“Fine,” I lie, letting him help me up.

I’m stiff, but I hide it. Hockey players are good at that.

“You sure?” a trainer asks.

I nod, swallowing back the soreness. “I’m good. Can’t be worse than those two colliding.”

The trainer nods after a second and backs off.

We are up for the final game and lose badly.

We’re destroyed by two of their best players. Best friends, too. They move together in a way I can’t imagine. One that must have taken years playing together to achieve. Like they know what the other is thinking. I’d like to say it’s not because I’m off my game, but I know that plays into it.

We have dinner, and we’re done for the day. Ktytor keeps looking at me, but I get to know the other guys in our group while we eat, refusing to acknowledge him. We clean up after ourselves and get in the bus back to the hotel.

I don’t go inside with the rest of the guys, though. I head back out to take a walk. It’s my normal night-time routine, and I need it to work my body out. Plus, I want to see how bad my tailbone hurts. I turn around the block and somehow come face to face with Ktytor.

“Where are you going?” he asks.

“For a walk. Not that it’s any of your business.”

He doesn’t look like he believes me. “Why?”

“Because I like to walk.”

“Have a drink with me. We need to celebrate our win and our first day.”

“Near win,” I correct him.

“Close enough. They were impressed.”

“You think?” I ask.

“I know they were. They were even worried they might have injured you.” He’s smug about it. “We play well together.”

“Playing a game together doesn’t mean anything,” I snap, realizing what I’m saying when the words are already out of my mouth.

“Isn’t a game the meaning of everything in our world, baby girl?”

“One drink.”