CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The minute Luke had sent Sebastian the message about coming over, he’d regretted it. But now that he was here, this was kinda … kinda okay actually.
He’d been bored out of his fucking mind this week. He’d done rehab and puttered around the house working on little projects that didn’t require too much physical effort.
He’d even called his parents.
Luke’s dad and wife number three had just gotten back from a vacation in Arizona, so Luke heard all about that. He didn’t see what the point of going there just to golf and go out to dinner when they could do that in Nevada where they lived but his dad seemed happy so that was good.
His mom and stepdad were unhappy with the work being done on their condo.
From the beginning, Luke had seen red flags and knew they were going to have issues with the contractor, but they hadn’t listened to him when he’d tried to tell them that, so now he just nodded and made noises so they’d know he was listening.
But after he hung up, he went back to being bored out of his skull.
He’d called his agent and crunched some numbers and did a little more work on his business plan for the bar he hoped to open someday. But that had only held his attention for so long.
Same with baking and audiobooks and podcasts and TV and …
The guys on the team were either playing in the North Atlantic Tournament or had left town to enjoy the week off on a beach or whatever, so he couldn’t hang out with them.
But he was stuck here in town rehabbing his stupid leg and had apparently reached a level of boredom where he’d voluntarily invited the dude he was hooking up with over.
Okay, so maybe the weed brownies had made that idea more appealing. Honestly, he’d been surprised Sebastian had agreed to come at all. But now that he was here, it wasn’t so bad.
“So why aren’t you working today?” Luke asked. He’d figured it was a long shot that he’d even be free until later.
“My employees badgered me into taking the afternoon off,” Sebastian muttered.
Crawford laughed. “Seriously?”
“I know.” Sebastian rubbed his hands over his face. “You probably think I’m a terrible boss, but I’ve been working an insane number of hours lately. I hired someone new and we finished orders for tomorrow early and I let them all talk me into going out and doing something.”
Luke shrugged. “I mean, I’ve never really worked a job like yours so I dunno. But we definitely give our coach and GM shit at times. Hell, Gavin was a chronic over-worker until he met Dakota. We used to chirp him about living in his office at HCI.”
“Yeah, that’s my fucking problem.” Sebastian tipped his head back and rolled his neck. “I’m good at working. Not so good at turning it off. Just before you texted, I was actually thinking about smoking a joint or having an edible, so this worked out great.”
“How are you feeling now?”
“Pretty chill.” Sebastian’s gaze flicked down. “How’s your hamstring?”
“Better. I’m off the Toradol but I’ve still gotta take it easy for a bit. I probably won’t be able to actually fuck you today,” Crawford admitted.
“It’s cool. Blowjob or handjobs are great,” Sebastian said. “I don’t need to get fucked every time. Hell, I don’t even like getting fucked every time.”
“Good to know.” Luke focused on the TV again.
The commentators were still jawing away. It felt like the pre-game show had been going on forever but maybe it was the weed making time go syrup-y slow and easy.
“Huh. Team USA has a pretty queer roster, doesn’t it?” Sebastian said a little while later.
“I guess?” Luke said, because he never really paid attention to that shit.
“Well, you’ve got O’Shea—uh, Kelly O’Shea—Shane Hurst, and Trevor Underhill from Evanston. Dustin Fowler and Matt Carlson from Toronto. And then Graham Pennington …”
“Yeah,” Luke agreed. “True.”
“I guess Team Canada is pretty stacked too though,” Sebastian mused. “With Gabriel Theriault, Jonah Brewer, Felix Hale, Nico Arents, Rafael Moon, and Tanner Clayton playing. Hey—how does that work with Arents, anyway? I thought his dad was Dutch.”
“Dual citizenship,” Luke explained. “He was eligible to play for the Central European Team too, but he was born in Canada and has lived there most of his life.”
“Yeah, makes sense he’d choose to play for Team Canada then,” Sebastian agreed. “I know less about the Nordic guys, although I know Leif Rassumussen is gay. The shitty gossip rags at the bodegas always had pictures of him at events with some hot model dude on his arm or whatever.”
“Let me guess,” Luke said drily. “You’re cheering for the Nordic team to win this today?”
“Well, obviously,” Sebastian said with a laugh. “Rasmussen’s alternate captain for my team.”
“Why are you so fucking obsessed with the New York Rockets anyway?” Crawford asked.
“I grew up in New York. Played with a guy who got drafted by and, uh, plays for the team. My dad was a big Rockets fan too.” He swallowed loud enough that Crawford could hear it, his throat clicking.
“It was actually the last thing we did together before his accident. All of the jerseys I wear are his.”
Luke winced. “Shit, is he …”
“Is he what?”
“Dead?”
“Oh, no.” Sebastian laughed. “No, he’s very much alive. It was a fucking awful accident though. He wound up a paraplegic.”
“That’s paralyzed?” Luke asked because he wasn’t sure.
“Yeah, from the waist down. He has a chair that allows him to do so much. Still has good mobility in his arms and hands too, so that’s great.”
“Your folks still live in New York then?”
“No, he ended up going to a rehab center out in New Mexico and he and Mom decided to stay there. The weather’s a lot easier on him. He shattered a shitload of bones in his lower body, and the cold winters were really fucking hard on him.”
“Makes sense.” It would be smarter if Luke moved back to the desert when he was probably facing a lifetime of arthritis, but he’d apparently made Boston his home. “Where in New Mexico?”
“Albuquerque. Ever been?”
“Yeah, plenty. Grew up in Nevada and we took some trips down there and shit. Nice area.”
“Huh.” Sebastian shot him a look, one of his curls flopping onto his forehead.
Luke got a weird itch to lean in and push it out of Sebastian’s eyes, so he cleared his throat and mentioned how much he liked hiking in the Jemez mountains and the Sandias.
They spent a few minutes talking about the hiking in New Mexico before they focused on the TV again.
A woman was singing the national anthems now.
“So, no chance of you cheering for Team USA tonight, huh?” Crawford asked.
Sebastian snorted. “No fucking way. I wanna see what Rasmussen can do.”
“He’s not enough all on his own,” Luke pointed out.
“I know. But they do have a decent roster and he’s damn good. How many goalies can stop him when he comes tearing down the ice on a breakaway?”
“Not many,” Luke admitted. Though Webby did his best. Shame he was playing for Team Canada. “But the US has O’Shea, Underhill, Carlson, and Clayton on D.”
Sebastian winced. “That is a formidable group.”
“USA’s offense isn’t shabby either.”
“None of them are the sniper that Rasmussen is.”
“Again, one guy can’t fucking carry a team.”
They spent a few minutes arguing about the rest of the Nordic team roster before the puck dropped.
As it did, Sebastian said, “Hey. We should make a wager.”
Luke glanced over. “What are we betting on?”
“Who wins tonight.”
“What’re the stakes?”
“Who gets each other off first?”
“I’m down for that.” Luke slouched and watched Sebastian’s gaze drop to his lap. Yeah, he was so horny for Luke’s dick it wasn’t even funny.
Not that Luke wasn’t fighting the urge to slide closer and get his hand on Sebastian’s cock right now too. He shifted in his seat, thinking about the way Sebastian’s mouth would taste, the way he’d sound when he gasped and came in Luke’s hand.
And then Luke was wondering what sounds he’d make if Luke pinned his hips down and blew him …
“Rules?” Sebastian asked.
Luke cleared his throat. “If team USA wins, you suck my dick. If the Nordic team wins, I’ll suck your dick.”
Sebastian blinked. “I thought you didn’t suck cock.”
Luke shrugged. “Not very often. I’ll do it for a wager though.”
“You have to be goaded into it before it stops being gay?”
“No.” Luke scowled. “Jesus fuck, that has nothing to do with it. The truth is, I have trouble breathing through my fucking nose. It’s been broken a couple of times and after I retire, I’m gonna have to have it re-broken and worked on.
It’s really fucking hard to suck dick when I can’t breathe so I don’t do it unless I’m really in the mood. ”
“Oh,” Sebastian said. “Shit, I never thought about that …”
“Whatever.” Luke stared at the screen again.
“I get it, alright? Over the years, I’ve probably said a lot of shit that made people think I’m a fucking homophobe or whatever.
I’m not. I said shit on the ice because we all talked like that.
But after O’Shea—Kelly—came out, Connor laid down the law.
And Kelly came to talk to the team. He talked about how it fucking felt to hear that shit when you’re gay.
It made me think about it differently, okay? ”
“Okay.” Sebastian studied his face. “It never bothered you when people said it to you?”
“Can we fucking watch some hockey, dude?” Luke groused. The game was scoreless so far, although the Nordic team already had four shots on goal to USA’s one.
“Yeah,” Sebastian said. “Sorry.”
Luke let out a sigh of relief. “So, do we have a deal?”
Sebastian grinned and held out a hand to shake. “We have a deal.”
By the time the first period ended, the score was still 0–0.
Sebastian wasn’t surprised. The Nordic team had poured on the offensive power but defense for Team USA was too strong. He said as much aloud when Crawford came back with glasses of water for them both.
“The Nordic guys are holding their own more than I expected,” Crawford admitted, handing one of them over. “I’m giving Tanner so much shit for that turnover at the beginning though. He was fucking lucky Carlson saved his ass there or Rasmussen would have scored.”
“Yeah. I think it’s interesting they paired Clayton and Carlson together.”
“I guess they figured that Tanner is used to being paired with a big-bodied stay-at-home defenseman. It lets him do his thing.”
“I don’t know Carlson’s stats,” Sebastian said. “But he’s not bigger than you, is he?”
“Matty? He’s a little shorter but heavier than me.” Crawford settled on the couch beside Sebastian, sitting a little closer this time.
Interesting.
“You two have dropped gloves before, right?” Sebastian asked.
Crawford huffed out a laugh. “Yeah. We’re both considered heavyweights in the league. We’ve had a few scraps over the years.”
“Do you enjoy fighting?” Sebastian asked.
“I’m good at it.”
“Those aren’t really the same thing,” Sebastian pointed out.
“Look, I don’t go out there desperately hoping to punch a guy’s face in or anything. But if the game gets heated and someone messes with one of my teammates, I’m gonna fucking give them a warning.”
“Because it seems like you are really into it.”
“I’m good at what I do,” Crawford repeated. “And in the moment, when the adrenaline is flowing and I’m pissed, yeah, I get a rush. It’s probably like when you scored a goal or set up a really great play.”
Sebastian considered the idea. “Probably,” he conceded. “I hadn’t thought about it that way.”
“Have I crossed the line? Sure. I probably have a few times in my career. The time I got into it with Theriault off the ice wasn’t my proudest moment. But I’m never gonna apologize for protecting my guys however I can.”
“Yeah, about that,” Sebastian said, swallowing hard.
“About what?” Crawford asked, staring at the screen.
Sebastian licked his suddenly dry lips. It seemed like the perfect opportunity to ask Crawford something he’d been wondering for a very long time. About the hit to Nicky during the playoff game. “What about some of the other shit you’ve—”
“Wait, hang on,” Crawford said, sitting forward. “I want to see this replay.”
Sebastian sighed. Damn it.
He blinked at the screen, focusing on it in time to see the little shoving match between Tanner Clayton and Leif Rasmussen that had taken place in front of the Nordic team’s net.
“Clayton was all over Rasmussen every time they were on the ice together,” one of the announcers said.
“Is it just me or does hockey have the gayest innuendo of any sport?” Sebastian asked thickly.
He took a sip of water. Damn it, that was the only part he hated about weed. Dry mouth was the fucking worst.
Crawford chuckled. “Yeah, probably.”
They watched in silence as they showed a few other clips of Clayton pestering Rasmussen, before switching to Carlson.
“He’s really banging bodies in the dirty areas there,” the announcer said.
Crawford let out a low rumble of a laugh. “Okay, I see your point.”
The next clip was later in the period when Clayton had Rasmussen pinned against the boards. He said something that made Rasmussen snarl and elbow him in the ribs.
“Man, those two are always going at it,” Crawford said with a shake of his head.
Sebastian glanced over and lifted an eyebrow at him. “Was that intentional or …”
Crawford let out another low, rumbly laugh. “Nah, but it does work, I guess.”
“So are they …” Sebastian asked.
“Are they what? Into dudes? Yeah, we just talked about—”
“No, not that.” Sebastian waved that off. “Are they a thing? Because I feel like you can cut the sexual tension with a fucking knife whenever they’re on the ice together.”
“Nah,” Crawford said. “Clay’s a total slut. The dude gets more tail—male, female, and otherwise—than anyone I fucking know. How he manages it is beyond me but …”
“Doesn’t mean he and Rasmussen aren’t hooking up.”
“I guess,” Crawford said, sounding doubtful. “They played together in Juniors, I know that. They had some weird beef then, maybe that’s what you’re picking up on?”
“Maybe.” Sebastian shrugged. “I could be reading it wrong. I’m just sayin’ there’s something there, I’m sure of it.”
“Or maybe Tanner just has a punchable face? Can’t say I blame Leif for getting annoyed by him.”
Sebastian laughed. “I thought you liked playing with Tanner Clayton.”
“I do. He’s still an annoying little shit.”
“Says the most hated man in the league.”
Crawford shot him a particularly devasting grin. “Buddy, you’re the one gagging on my dick. I don’t think you have any room to talk.”