I stumbled, then bumped into Sorenson as he skated by. We both staggered a little, but he caught himself on the boards and I somehow managed to get my dumbass upright.

  “Easy there, Mathis.” Sorenson smacked my shin with his stick. “You hiding whiskey in your water bottle or something?”

  “Pfft. I wish. Sorry, man!”

  He tapped my leg again. “Don’t worry about it.” As he skated away, he threw over his shoulder, “Dinner’s on you next time we’re on the road!”

  I just laughed. Seemed like a fair trade.

  Warmups ended a few minutes later. On the way into the locker room, I caught Christian’s eye, and the little shit smirked at me. I chuckled and rolled my eyes.

  As I listened to Coach’s pregame speech, I sent up a prayer to anyone who was listening that we won this thing in regulation. Knowing my luck, we’d end up in one of those protracted shootouts where nobody could get that decisive goal, and it was just shooter after shooter after shooter. What was the league record for shootouts, anyway? Like nineteen, twenty rounds?

  Fuck that. Regulation win tonight, or else I was going to wind up banging Christian in the parking garage.

  The first period didn’t instill much faith that this was going to be settled in sixty minutes. They scored. We scored. They got a power play. We got a power play. They scored. We scored. By the end of the second period, it was 2-2. Both teams had the same number of penalty minutes. Both goalies had made exactly eleven saves.

  We still had forty minutes of hockey, and this sport was chaotic enough that anything could happen during that time. All it would take was one side tilting the ice and hammering a goalie, and the score could become promisingly lopsided (ideally in Seattle’s favor). But given my postgame plans and the decidedly even game so far, I wasn’t holding my breath that things would change.

  Five minutes into the second period, I was eating those words.

  The first two minutes were more of the same from the previous period, but then Philly got a breakaway at the worst possible moment. Our defensemen had been out for almost the full two minutes. They were gassed, and thinking the action was well into our offensive zone, they’d gone to the bench for a much-needed line change. In the same moment, Condit did a badly timed drop pass, probably expecting one of his wingers to be right behind him. Unbeknownst to him, one of Philly’s forwards had swooped in. He stole the puck and flew toward our end of the ice.

  There wasn’t much our skaters could do. They were way too far behind him, and he was one of those guys who was both fast as hell and deadly with the puck.

  Yanni was ready for him, glove and stick both poised for whatever came his way. The player wound back for a slapper, and Yanni dropped into the butterfly position, probably anticipating a low shot.

  As soon as the goalie went down, the player switched to his backhand and chipped it right over Yanni’s left shoulder.

  Goals like that weren’t great for morale. A turnover in the middle of a line change that left our zone undefended—that had everyone off their game for a couple of shifts. We pulled it together and found our game again, but not before their rookie scored his first NAPH goal, making this a two-goal game. Fuck.

  We rallied, though. In the minute and a half after that rookie’s goal, we peppered their netminder with eight shots on goal. Another shot pinged loudly off the crossbar. That sound could throw a goalie off his game, so this might be our chance if we kept hammering him with shots.

  I hit the ice a few seconds after that crossbar shot. Condit and Wilcox were tied up the defensive zone; they’d been out for almost a minute of very intense play and were probably running out of steam. They’d tried to peel away for a line change, but only Sorenson had been able to get off the ice. We needed a whistle, or we needed to get the puck out of our end so our exhausted forwards could get to the bench.

  That was when I realized Philly was so focused on a puck battle in the corner, they hadn’t noticed me. Grekov and I were both behind their D with nothing but open ice between us and their goal.

  Condit got the puck free and started up the wall. I tapped my stick to call for the puck, and he sent it my way. Their defenseman noticed me and charged toward me, so as soon as the puck hit my tape, I passed it to Grekov… but my damn stick snapped in half.

  I shouted, “Fuck!” as the bottom half of the stick went flying. Before it had even landed, I dropped the handle to the ice, kicked the puck toward Grekov, and sprinted toward the bench.

  Christian was ready and waiting, holding out a new stick handle first.

  Our eyes locked for a split second as I grabbed the stick—oh my God, you’re so pretty—and I gave him a nod of acknowledgment before I tore after my teammates.

  Grekov was charging toward the other end of the ice with Rusanov. Condit and Wilcox both sped toward the bench, and I hurried after Grekov and Rusanov, confident that fresh bodies were on their way.

  Rusanov had the puck now. He shouldered his way through a much smaller forward, but a huge defenseman was coming his way, so he passed the puck to me. Abrahamsson appeared in the zone, and I passed to him. We cycled it, keeping the Philly players moving while we tried to find or open a shooting lane.

  I once again called for the puck, and Abrahamsson sent it to me. The puck hit my tape but now there was too much traffic in front of the net, so I passed to Grekov. I thought he’d send it to Rusanov, who was wide open, but instead, he wound up and fired a one-timer at the net.

  The puck whizzed past everyone in front of the goal and sailed right through the netminder’s five-hole.

  Before the light even went on or the horn sounded, the crowd roared to their feet as Grekov fist-pumped.

  Now we had some serious momentum going, and Coach shouted at us to “Keep it up, keep it up!”

  We did, too. The ice tilted hard in our direction. There was usually a brief delay—a minute or two at most—between when a goal was scored and when the arena announcer called it out. The situation room sometimes needed a little time to figure out who got the primary and secondary assists and the precise time on the clock when the puck crossed the goal line. So we were usually well into another shift when he’d bellow, “The Seattle goal!” followed by the names of the players responsible for it.

  Tonight, before he’d even had a chance to announce Grekov’s goal, Sorenson put another puck into Philly’s net.

  Awesome. Now the score was tied. We could focus on getting and widening a lead instead of digging ourselves out of a two-point hole.

  Except… now the score was tied. Again.

  So help me if this game goes into fucking overtime…

  Just my goddamned luck—after a spicy back-and-forth game, time ran out when the score was 6-6.

  It would’ve been 5-4 in our favor if the refs had been halfway competent. Early in the third, Coach Baldwin challenged Philly’s goal for offside. On the replay, it was blatantly clear that the play was offside; the defenseman’s skate had cleared the blue line enough that there was a painfully obvious strip of not-blue ice between his skate blade and the line when his team’s puck carrier entered the zone. It wasn’t even questionable—it was offside. Full stop.

  But nooo, the refs said it was onside, so the goal stayed, and we were assessed a bench penalty for delay of game. That gave Philly’s power play a chance to rack up another point and put us back into a two-point deficit.

  Sheer anger drove us to pocket two more goals, one of them with only twenty-three seconds left on the clock, and tie up the game.

  So now… overtime.

  Goddammit.

  There would be no never-ending shootout tonight, though—nineteen seconds into overtime, Philly’s star center scored, and just like that, it was over.

  I was bummed that we’d lost. We still got a point, which was great, but losing sucked.

  Secretly, though? I was just glad the damn game was over. All I had to do was get the hell out of here and finish what Christian and I had started up against that Zamboni.

  And… also I had to ignore him as much as possible so I didn’t telegraph to everyone in the room that I was painfully horny.

  Just breathe. Get a shower, get some food, and then go get Christian. Just. Breathe.

  That would’ve been a lot more doable if Christian had been someone who was easy to ignore. But even for the guys who weren’t quietly lusting after him, he was very noticeable.

  At one point, Christian put his hands on his hips and looked around the room. “Where is my Coach bag? Has anyone seen my Coach bag?” He huffed melodramatically. “That bag is expensive, gentlemen! Where is—ooh, there it is!” Then he picked up the gear bag marked Coach Baldwin.

  Everyone in the room chuckled. Christian hoisted the giant bag onto his shoulder, struck a pose, and strutted out of the room like a model on a runway, leaving the team in stitches.

  As I watched him go, warmth rushed into my face, but it wasn’t a blush. It wasn’t embarrassment. It was straight-up heat. I was hot from the game, but now I was even hotter from watching him goofing around and being, well, him.

  Goddamn. I could not get out of this place and into Christian’s bed—into Christian—fast enough.

  I still had to shower and shove some food into my face. Both of those especially needed to happen before I went to Christian’s place. I was just impatient. Restless with need. Now that I no longer needed to concentrate on hockey, my mind was free to grab on to all those fantasies I’d had about him since the first night.

  Except I didn’t need to get an inopportune hard-on, so I made myself concentrate on hockey just so I wouldn’t embarrass myself in the locker room or the showers.

  All I had to do was shower. Get dressed. Eat enough that I wouldn’t pass out.

  And then get the hell over to Christian’s condo.

  Almost there…

  Chapter 10

  Christian

  The Rainiers weren’t heading out on the road and didn’t have a game tomorrow. That meant this was one of those nights my crew and I weren’t scrambling to get everything packed up and either on the truck or laid out for the morning skate. The laundry was dealt with. The big fans were set up to air out everything in the dressing room. I did a walkthrough to make sure everything was where it needed to be, made a note of a few small tasks that could be dealt with tomorrow, and gave my crew the green light to head out for the night.

  “Nice job, everyone,” I said as the four of us headed for the garage. “See you at the rink.”

  This was when some of us would go join the team at a nearby bar to celebrate a win or commiserate over a loss, but a lot of times, we’d just head home to enjoy one of those relaxed and relatively early nights that didn’t come as often as people thought. These multi-game home stands were the best, especially when the games weren’t back-to-back.

  I didn’t go to the bar tonight. I headed straight home, my heart pounding the entire way. That little interlude beside the Zamboni had me way too spun up for polite company, and I just hoped and prayed Theo didn’t come to his senses, realize this was a terrible idea, and bail.

  It was a terrible idea. It had been the first time. It was beside the Zamboni. It definitely was right now.

  But oh my God, I wanted him.

  I was just walking in the front door when my phone pinged, sending my pulse skyward. Silently pleading with him not to have second thoughts, I looked at the screen.

  Theo: Leaving now. Be there in 15.

  Oh, yes. Oh, thank God, yes. Fifteen minutes sounded like torture at this point, but I could wait.

  Christian: Door’s unlocked. You still remember the way to my bedroom?

  I chuckled at my own text. He probably didn’t remember much about my condo, but it wasn’t exactly a labyrinth and he wasn’t stupid. I doubted he’d have any trouble finding my bedroom, my bed, or me in it.

  A moment later, he replied:

  Theo: If I get lost, I have Google Maps.

  I snorted. Smartass.

  In the bedroom, I put some condoms and lube on the nightstand, and then stripped out of my clothes. I loved foreplay as much as anyone, but the foreplay between us had started the moment he’d arrived in the Seattle locker room. I was tired of waiting. I needed this man to dick me down, and I needed him to do it the minute he walked in the door.

  So, I got to work. I bottomed enough—mostly on my own with toys these days—that I didn’t need a lot of prep, but tonight I got myself ready like it was the first time. Naked and already a little out of breath, I lay back on my bed with my legs apart. I fingered myself until I was long past ready; I was tempted to use a toy, but decided I wanted to be on this edge when he arrived—hungry for more and ready to lose my damn mind with the need for something bigger. I wanted Theo to be that something bigger that finally stretched me as much as I needed. I wanted him to be what finally took me from turned on to losing my damn mind.

  By the time my front door opened and the air pressure changed, I was so keyed up, I actually whimpered. My toes curled and I bit my lip, slowing my strokes as the anticipation threatened to make me go off too soon.

  The footsteps coming down the hall were almost inaudible over my thundering heart. Then Theo stepped into the room, and he stopped dead. He stared at me, slack-jawed, which gave me the perfect moment to stare right back at him. The players always wore suits going in and out of the arena, and he was still wearing his. It was navy blue with a near-black tie, which he’d loosened a little. Oh my God, he looked good.

  He found his breath and met my gaze. “Fuck…”

  “Good idea,” I murmured.

  He huffed a soundless laugh and crossed the room, undoing his tie the rest of the way. “Any other night, I’d watch you play with yourself like that, but this time…” He shook his head as he climbed onto the bed. “If I’m not balls deep in you in the next thirty seconds—”

  We both cut him off as our mouths came together. I raked my free hand through his hair, and he growled against me as he fumbled with his belt and zipper.

  “Get these clothes off,” I pleaded between kisses as I tugged at his shirt. “Now.”

  His lips curved against mine, and the jingle of his belt buckle and the sound of his zipper had me arching off the bed. Yes, yes, please, yes.

  As much as I didn’t want to stop kissing him, it was kind of necessary if he was going to get naked, so I didn’t protest when he sat up. He leaned over me to snatch the condom off the nightstand. He started to get up again, but paused, and then guided his dick to my mouth.

  Fuck. Oh, fuck. I loved the slide of his hard cock between my lips and over his tongue. The salt of his skin and his pre-cum.

  “God, yeah,” he whispered, rocking in and out. “Been thinking about your mouth for months.”

  I moaned around his dick and looked up at him, finding those dark eyes fixed on me and smoldering with a need so intense, I was probably going to be buying a new bed after this.

  Bring it, baby. Fuck me until your neighbors complain.

  Theo pushed a little deeper, almost to my gag reflex. Then he groaned and withdrew. “Can’t wait.” He tore the condom wrapper with his teeth. “This is gonna be quick, but—”

  “Don’t care.” I withdrew my fingers and spread my legs wider, my whole damn body vibrating as I watched him roll on the condom.

  He was between my thighs and guiding himself in when it clicked in my brain that he hadn’t even bothered undressing. In the same instant he thrust inside me, I realized that… Oh, sweet Jesus, he was sexy like this. Dressed but disheveled, his tie a mess and his shirt partway undone but his jacket still on his shoulders, and his face the very picture of need as he pounded into my ass. I thought we’d been frantic and needy before, but letting go of all that pent-up need had us clawing at each other, grinding and thrusting and panting.

  I pumped myself furiously as Theo fucked me deep and hard, exactly the way he had in my fantasies. Nonsense rolled off my tongue—probably pleas for more and curses because it was so good I didn’t think I could take anymore—but all I heard was Theo’s sharp, rapid breaths as he hauled both of us higher with every thrust.

  I grabbed his lapels and pulled us together—dragging him down as I hauled myself up—into a messy, breathless kiss. His moan made my spine tingle. His rhythm came apart, but I didn’t care and I didn’t think he did either. Not when he was plowing into me and we were kissing and my whole body was ready to come unraveled.

  Theo wasn’t kidding that this was going to be quick, either—in no time, he broke the kiss with a gasp as a violent shiver ran through him. I dropped back onto the bed and rolled my hips, and he cried out and drove into me as hard as he could, shoving me up the mattress as he forced himself as deep as I could take him.

  Then he moaned and slumped over me, holding himself up on his arms. His tie and jacket brushed my chest. His breath rushed past my cheek.

  “Oh, my God,” he slurred.

  “Uh-huh.” I trailed my hand up his side.

  He brushed a kiss across my lips. “Next round will be longer. Promise.”

  “Mmm. Baby.” I lifted my chin for another kiss. “Quickies are fun.”

  “I know, but—”

  “I mean it.” I grinned. “And if that had been much longer, we probably would’ve needed medical attention.”

  He laughed and sank into a longer kiss. He relaxed over me, so hopefully my joke had eased his embarrassment over going off so fast. It really hadn’t been that fast. A quickie, yes, but he was hardly a minuteman. And seriously, as keyed up as we’d both been after avoiding each other for so long, anything longer than a quickie would’ve killed us both. Or at the very least, had us both moving uncomfortably at tomorrow’s practice.

  He touched his hot forehead to mine. “Let me get rid of this. Then it’s your turn.”

  I bit my lip, arching under him. Every nerve ending in my body was still humming from being railed by Theo. The orgasm those beautiful eyes promised? Hell, medical attention might still be on the table.