Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
JONAH
T he holidays were over, and we were back at practice, readying for our game against Northern Michigan in a few days. As I stood on the ice waiting for instruction from Coach Finley, our forwards coach, the D-men were on the other side of the rink running an interesting version of blue line shuffles. Archer was killing it down there, light on his skates as he passed his puck between the ones set up on the ice, then to Tyler. If Coach Gibson was having Archer work with Tyler, then he must be seeing something in Archer. Tyler was our best D-man.
I focused on Coach Gibson, the brown curls on his head loose and framing his face. He looked good in the maroon team sweats. It was a different look for him, more casual and approachable. God, it was fucking with my head after all the time I’d spent on his Instagram the last few days. The way he handled his skates on the ice had ex-hockey player written all over it. I wanted to know more about him. But how?
“Boehm, hello?” Coach Finley patted the top of my helmet, his browned-eyed gaze locking to mine, his short hair barely peeking out from under his ball cap.
“Uh, yeah?” I took a quick skate backward and glanced at Mason, snickering at me .
Pointing two of his fingers at my eyes, then his own, Coach said, “Focus on what I’m saying here, Boehm. What the hell is so interesting at the other end of the rink anyway?”
Myles barked out a laugh, then clipped it short as his gaze met mine.
I glared at him. I knew what he was thinking. My every move was going to be watched now. I was sure to hear about this after practice. “N-nothing. Um, just making sure?—”
“He’s interested in the new coach,” Mason shouted, skating by me, his stick out on the ice in front of him. “Right, Boehm?”
“Hopkins…” I said through my teeth, then snuck a peek at Coach Gibson, whose gaze snapped to mine. Shit, he heard that. “Yeah, uh, just watching the take he has on the blue line shuffles they’re doing.” With a shake of my head, I twisted my lips. That sounded stupid.
Coach Finley took a quick skate to me. “You want to practice with them?” He quirked the corner of his mouth.
“Um, no.” I hung my head and patted my stick on the ice. Now even my coach was fucking with me.
“Good, because we need to work on your shooting.” Coach swiveled and skated a loop around us. “Michigan’s goalie is probably as good as Ace, so you’re going to need to find a way around him.”
I nodded. I had to keep my head on my own shit. Hopefully, I could keep my focus on the game with Coach Gibson standing behind our bench on Friday and Saturday.
The next day, after working out, classes, and another practice where I fought the good fight and only looked at Coach Gibson a handful of times, I got dressed in the locker room, then grabbed my duffel. I was the last one there. I’d tweaked a hammy at practice and had taken some extra time on the rollers stretching it out. I didn’t need an injury right before game day .
As I strolled into the hallway, Coach Gibson’s voice struck me. He sounded off, not the upbeat guy I’d seen at practice. I crept a few steps farther and stopped at the entrance to the coaching office.
“I’m working on Friday night.” He huffed. “Yes, and Saturday. Hockey games are on Friday and Saturday nights.”
I peeked around the corner at him. Who the hell was he talking to?
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he hung his head and paced the office. “Listen, I don’t know if—” He lifted his head, his breath catching. “Yeah, fine. We can meet up tonight. Where?”
My chest heated. Was he making a date with someone? His boyfriend? I grabbed the fabric of my sweatshirt over my chest. Of course he’d have brought his boyfriend down here with him. But then why explain to him about our game days? Surely, his boyfriend would already know about them.
“On second thought, no, I can’t tonight. I have to get up early and… Yes, I want to see you.” He tsked. “New Year’s Eve was fun, yes.” He nodded and paced across the room.
What the fuck? He met a guy on New Year’s Eve? I rubbed my fingers over my mouth and knitted my brows. Maybe he hadn’t brought his boyfriend down here after all. Did that mean he was essentially single, except for this knob he was talking to on the phone? As my pulse picked up, I breathed in deeply.
“I’ve got to go. I’ll figure something out. Maybe after the game on Saturday?” he asked. “Yeah, bye.” He growled.
I stepped out into the doorway.
His gaze snapped to mine. “Oh, hey. Boehm, right?” With a charming smile, he set his phone on the desk and stepped to me, hand out. “I don’t think we’ve had a chance to formally meet.”
Sparks shot up my arm when I shook his warm hand. “Yeah, hi.” The ice-blue of his eyes so close mesmerized me. I squeezed his hand tighter. I didn’t want to let him go.
With a slight chuckle and a tick of his brows, he pulled free of my hand. “So, what can I do for you?” He planted his hands on his hips, then raked his gaze over me, his tongue flicking over his bottom lip.
Goddamn, he was something. Gorgeous as fuck, especially up close. How was Tyler able to focus on anything when they were working together? I thought hard. This was my chance to talk to him. What do I say? With a soft chuckle, I brushed my hand over the back of my head. “Oh, I didn’t have anything in particular. Just thought I’d say hello. I’m, uh, from Minnesota, so not too far from Toronto.” Dumb, Jonah!
“Yeah? Did you play in juniors up there?” He shifted his stance, studying me.
“I did. Me and Archer met in camps in Minnesota. I’ve been friends with him since…” I blew out a breath. “Well, since we were ten.”
“Carlson, yeah. He’s really coming along. When he plays well, the guy’s unstoppable.” He lifted his chin. “I hear he’s got a chance at the Coyotes training camp this summer.” He stepped forward and tapped my chest with his knuckles.
My chest tingled and I held my breath, focusing on his lips. I was in so much trouble. How was I going to get through the games this weekend?
“Well, I’ve made it my mission to make sure he gets a shot at the NHL. His dad, Coach Dupont, is a great man and an excellent coach. I’ve studied his methods and plan to incorporate them into our practices.” His gaze fell to my mouth for a beat, then popped up. “And what about you? What are your plans after this season?”
I shrugged. “Well, I’ll either go to medical school or go free agent. Guess it depends on if I get any scouts coming around looking at me.” My stats were good this year, and hopefully, I could fit in somewhere.
“Medical school? Damn, that’s tough.” He looked me up and down, biting his lower lip. “I’m assuming you’ve got pretty good grades, eh?”
“I do.” I puffed out my chest. “All I’ve done the last four years is study and play hockey.” Unless it was a Friday or Saturday night and the guys were headed out to a bar.
He cocked his head, eyeing me. “Do you mind if I ask you about this squad thing? If you’re best friends with Archer, are you part of it?”
I widened my eyes. “Yes, I am.” Was he asking me if I was queer?
A wide smile broke out over his face. “That’s awesome, eh? You guys are one of the reasons I picked this job. I’m, uh, gay.” With a nod, he pressed his lips together. “I admire all of you for being out and owning your sexuality. It’s how change happens.”
My heart warmed. Not only was he hot as fuck, he was a nice guy and really cool. And I loved the way he talked. “Yeah, thanks. That’s why we worked so hard to all come here.”
“So, walk you out?” With a pivot, he stepped to his desk, grabbed his phone, and tucked it into his pocket, then slung a laptop bag over his shoulder.
I nodded. I was a lucky bastard tonight. I should stay late after practice more often. He’s a coach, Jonah. Off-limits.
As he reached the office door, he flicked off the lights from a switch on the wall and the room went dark. “After you.” He waved his arm.
“Okay.” I stepped down the hallway, and he caught up, strolling beside me. What was I supposed to say now? Awkward…
“What part of Minnesota are you from?” He glanced at me.
“Oh, the Twin Cities. I was born and raised there.” Raking my teeth over my lower lip, I snuck a peek at him. He had the slightest limp. Should I ask about it? No, but I could ask—“You played hockey, right?”
“I did.” His shoulders stiffened. “I played until I was eighteen. An injury took me out of the game.” Dipping his head, he shifted his bag on his shoulder. “It was my knee. Tore my ACL. Twice.” He pursed his lips.
“Shit, that’s terrible, man.” I held my hand up to touch his shoulder, then dropped it. Not a good idea, but fuck, I wanted to what, hug him? “I can’t imagine.”
“Yeah, it tore me up for a while, but I’m pretty happy coaching now.” He stopped at the glass doors to the outside, the sun setting over the parking lot and beyond the high-rises. “I’m happy to be here, Boehm.”
“Jonah, you can call me…Jonah.” I faced him, my heart pounding in my ears. Why did I have to say that? “We’re not on the ice.” Shit, I didn’t want him to go.
Cocking his head, he gave me a charming smile. “Okay, Jonah.” He swung the door open and stepped out, then held it for me.
I walked out, my chest tingling with nerves. I didn’t want to leave his side. I wanted to get to know him more. How could I do that? “You, uh, I’m guessing you don’t know many people around here yet, seeing as how you’ve just moved down.” I scratched my neck. Fuck, what was I about to do?
He freed the door and it closed, then he twisted his lips and eyed me. “Yeah, just the other coaches and this guy I…” Shaking his head, he scoffed. “Never mind.”
“Maybe we could get a drink sometime? I mean, you can’t be much older than me, and I could tell you about the area, you know, from a queer perspective.” My breath quickened and my palms grew sweaty. I was grasping at straws here. This was surely a terrible idea. But what the fuck?
With a lift of his brows and an open-mouthed grin, he stared at me for a beat. “I, uh, I don’t know. Let me think about that.” He slapped my shoulder. “I do want to get to know all of you, but it’s probably better in a team setting. Don’t you think?”
“Oh yeah, my bad.” Fucking stupid, Jonah . I freed a stuttered chuckle. I’d never hung out and shot the shit over a drink with a coach in my life. There was a reason for that. Coach Gibson was being professional. I was acting like a schoolgirl with a crush. Okay, I was a schoolgirl with a crush.
“I’m probably older than you think.” He gazed off into the parking lot for a moment, then focused on me. “I’m twenty-eight. A lot of people assume I’m your age.” A sharp laugh erupted from him. “Hopefully, it’s based on how I look and not how I act.” He winked at me.
“No, it’s how you look.” I swayed on my feet, sweeping my gaze over him. And he looked pretty fucking delicious right now. “Anyway, I’ll let you go.” Before I lost my mind and pleaded with him to have a drink with me.
“Yeah, see you tomorrow at the game.” He took a step away from me and then turned around. “It was nice chatting with you. I…enjoy your company.” He bit the side of his lower lip, then strode off.
I muttered, “Holy shit.” What was that? He didn’t actually say no . He said he’d think about it. Was there hope? I watched the sway of his perfect ass in his joggers as he walked down the steps to the parking lot. I was not going to tell a soul about this. There would be no end to the amount of teasing.
With a deep inhale, I made my way down the stairs and to my car.
After dinner back at the house, everyone studied, some in their bedrooms and me and Myles at the dinette. Myles tapped a mechanical pencil to the side of his shoulder-length, blond hair while he read the screen on his laptop. “How’s the hamstring, Jonah?” His gaze rose to mine.
I looked up from my organic chemistry assignment. It wasn’t like I could focus on it anyway after my conversation with Coach Gibson. “It’s good. I spent some extra time on the rollers.” Which, if I had gone to have a drink with Gibson, what would I have told my teammates? Would I have lied to them about it?
He shut his laptop and leaned forward. “So, I heard some things about the new coach.”
Straightening my spine, I said, “Yeah? From who? ”
“My cousin plays in the junior leagues in Canada.” He wiggled his brows. “Turns out Coach Gibson was set to go to the NHL when he injured his knee. He’s a bit of a legend up there.”
“Seriously?” I closed my laptop, my pulse picking up speed. “Tell me more.” Because I had to know it all now. I was obsessed.
He brushed his finger along the edge of his laptop. “He had surgery and was supposed to be out for the season, but then he got into some accident and reinjured it. Couldn’t play ever again.”
Narrowing my eyes at him, I said, “What sort of an accident?” God, how terrible to have your dream taken away like that.
“Don’t know. But I heard he was pretty fucked up after, like started partying a lot. He was found more than once passed out in his own puke.” He twisted his lips. “Doesn’t seem like that sort of guy now, though.”
I swallowed hard. What an idiot I’d been. I’d asked him out for a drink, and he was probably in recovery. No wonder he’d said no. Okay, that and maybe it wasn’t a good idea to hang out if it wasn’t a team event. I chewed my thumbnail. But at a team event? I could hang out with him, no questions asked. I glanced at Myles, peering at me. Except every one of these guys would fuck with me.
“What’s going on in your head?” He tapped his fingers on his laptop. “You do have a crush on him, don’t you?”
With a scoff, I said, “Oh, hell no.”
“Jonah? A crush?” Archer strolled out of the hallway, then dropped into a chair next to mine and planted his hand on my shoulder. “We must be talking about my new coach.” He gave me a wry smile.
“We are.” Myles curled the corner of his mouth.
“What’s up with that? I heard you have a thing for him?” Archer squeezed my shoulder, then released it. “Not that I blame you. Coach Hot Stuff is fucking gorgeous.”
Hanging my head, I huffed. “You know, I barely see you anymore since you’ve been with your boyfriend, Leo, and this is what you want to talk about?”
“Oh, come on. This is big, Jonah. I’ve never seen you look at a guy like you’ve been looking at Coach Gibson.” He leaned in close. “By the way, I’ve been catching him checking you out too.”
“No, he hasn’t.” With my cheeks heating and butterflies fluttering in my stomach, I hopped up from my chair. I couldn’t listen to this. They had no idea how much it fucked with me. “He’s probably just in awe of my skills on the ice.” I popped open the refrigerator and grabbed a Gatorade.
“He’s right, Jonah. I’ve noticed it too. It’s usually when you’re getting your ass handed to you by Coach Finley, though.” He snickered. “Probably feels sorry for you.”
“That’s enough,” I said, pointing my bottle at them, then twisted off the cap. “Let’s rewind this conversation a bit.” I sipped my drink.
“Okay, sure.” Archer sat back in his chair and straightened his legs out, then held the back of his head with his twined hands. “He’s probably not even queer?—”
“Is too. He’s gay.” Fuck me. With a scowl, I hung my head. Now I’d done it. Why could I never keep my mouth shut?
“And how do you know that?” Archer pitched forward, slapping his forearms on the table.
“Yeah? How?” Myles threw me a wide smirk.
“Guess your cousin didn’t know about it, huh?” I strolled around the kitchen island to stand next to Myles. Should I come out with it? Fuck, it was better than telling them I was stalking him on Instagram. “I had a brief conversation with him after practice today. I introduced myself and he walked me out of the building.” I lifted my chin while they both dropped their jaws. “He said he chose ASU because of us. He admires us for being out and owning it. Exact words.”
“Dayum. I’m even more impressed by him. I already thought he was an awesome coach, but now?” Shaking his head, Archer chuckled. “We have a lot to look up, huh, Myles? ”
“That we do.” Myles nodded his head.
“So what are you going to do?” Archer tilted his head, studying me.
“Nothing, why?” I took a few gulps of my Gatorade. I knew exactly where he was going with this, but I’d play dumb.
“Well, you like him, don’t you?” Archer asked, furrowing his brows.
I was not going to admit to that aloud. “Doesn’t matter. He’s a coach and I’m a player. I’m sure it’s against some school policy.” An ache crept over my heart. No, I’d be forced to worship the guy from afar for the rest of my college hockey career, which would end in a few months with this season.
“You’d both be consenting adults. At least you would be.” Myles sniggered.
“It’s not a good idea, so both of you, back off.” I swiped my laptop off the table and stepped toward the hallway leading to my bedroom. The only way to stop this conversation was to leave.
“Jonah, stop.” A chair groaned across the tile floor as Archer stood.
I halted and hung my head, tapping my bare toes to the floor. Now what?
Archer walked up next to me and grabbed my wrist, pulling me to face him. “I’m sorry. We don’t mean anything bad by this.” He wrinkled his forehead.
“I know.” Blowing out a breath, I slumped my shoulders. “It’s just…” I glanced at Myles, now face-deep in his open laptop. I could talk to Archer. He’d understand. “It’s not going to happen and all this talk sort of fucks with me.”
His eyes widened. “You really do like him.” He hooked an arm over my shoulders and tugged me into his side, then whispered in my ear, “It’s only a few months until the season ends. Then go for it.” He freed me and locked his gaze on mine. “I’m rooting for ya.”
“Thanks, man.” I patted his back. Except, if things went well, I might be moving away to play for an NHL team. The whole situation was fucked, no matter how I looked at it. I padded through the hallway and into my room. Maybe I should give up and go to bed early.
Friday night, we were beating Michigan one to zero in the middle of the second period and I sat on the bench with Coach Gibson standing right behind me. He’d worn a flashier gray suit with maroon pinstripes, which fit in well with our school colors. He was rocking a clean-shaven, slick-backed hair look that had my dick on high alert. The crowd was insane tonight. We were playing to a full house.
“That’s it, Carlson, get the puck back.” Coach Gibson clapped his hands behind me.
Archer picked off the puck from Michigan’s winger and flew down the ice with it, Tyler following on the other side of the rink.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as a shiver fluttered down my spine and lodged in my balls. This was torturous, having him stand right behind me. I could barely keep my head in the game. Coach Gibson’s face flashed through my mind, his hair a mess of curls, his mouth opening in a long moan. I swiped sweat off my cheek. Fucking hell. I had to quit obsessing over the guy’s Instagram, and I had to stop fantasizing about sucking his dick, or what it looked like, or if he was a top or bottom…or vers?
Davis skated off the ice and hopped over the boards in front of me, a smirk on his face under the shield.
A slap hit my shoulder. “I said go, Boehm. Listen up,” Coach Finley shouted behind me.
Jesus Christ. I’d missed his call. I hopped up, hightailed it over the wall, and let my skates hit the ice, then raced toward Michigan’s defensive zone .
Archer slapped the puck to Tyler, who turned and shot the puck at me.
“Fuck.” I set my stick to the ice, but the puck slipped by.
Michigan’s D-man grabbed it. “Too slow.” With a cackle, he worked it down the ice toward Ace.
Ace crouched, fixating on the puck with the intensity of a leopard stalking an antelope.
“Dude, you okay?” Archer skated by me, then picked up speed.
No. No, I’m not okay. I followed Archer down the ice and scrabbled with Michigan’s D-man by the end boards.
Tyler appeared out of nowhere and slipped the puck away from us both. “Gotcha.”
A player in a white jersey flew at me and rammed me to the boards, throwing me off my skates. My back hit the ice, then my helmet and flashes of light lit up behind my eyes. “Fuck!” That was a dirty hit. I’d already lost the goddamned puck. “Asshole!” I scrambled to get up, and the rink spun a moment. I bent forward, slapping my hands on my knee pads, attempting to clear my head.
“You hurt?” Ace called out, straightening.
The referee blew a whistle and sent the Michigan center who’d boarded me into the sin bin.
“I’m fine.” I skated off toward the guys fighting over the puck in Michigan’s D-zone when movement caught my eye.
Coach Finley signaled for me to get off the ice.
“Jesus fucking Christ.” I huffed and lumbered to the board, then skated through the gate and plopped down on the bench.
“You took quite a hit. We’re going to run a concussion assessment.” Coach Finley waved Mindy, our team trainer, over.
“I’m fine. Just got a little dazed.” I scowled. Fuck, now I looked like a complete idiot in front of Coach Gibson. I got what, fifteen seconds on the ice, and now this?
“It was a hard hit, Boehm.” Coach Gibson leaned over and patted my shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll show ’em who’s boss next time.” He flashed me a sly grin, then glanced at Coach Finley and backed up.
My heart flickered. Why did he do that? I removed my helmet and glanced back at him, his focus now on the game.
Mindy crouched in front of me and asked a series of questions, then smiled at me. “All good here, Coach Finley.”
Thank fuck, I passed it. I was fine, really. Only my ego was bruised. I glared across the ice and the players running the puck to the asshole who’d checked me, still watching the play from the sin bin. Dude was going down the next time I got out there.
After a sorry-ass game where we lost two to one, we showered, got a good talking to by Coach on how we handled the game, and packed our duffels for home. As I slid my joggers up my legs, I glanced up.
Coach Gibson stood at the end of the stalls, cupping his chin in his hand, his gaze locked on me. With a shake of his head, he ambled to the hallway.
Had he been watching me dress? My cock twitched. Jesus, that was hot and going to feed a few fantasies tonight after I studied and pulled my head out of my ass. I had to do better at our second game against Michigan tomorrow. I’d show Coach Gibson what I was made of.