Chapter 23 #3
When I look back down at the ice, I’m surprised to see Asher at our bench.
Usually, he sits in a box, away from the already crowded area where players are hopping back and forth across the boards.
He’s leaning over the barrier separating him from the ice, talking to a guy from the opposing team.
They’re about the same height, though the guy, whose last name is Evans, I notice when he shifts enough for me to see the back of his jersey, has dirty blond hair.
In contrast to Asher’s, which is a dark mahogany and sometimes glints in the afternoon sun.
I can tell that Evans–a stupid last name, in my humble opinion–thinks he’s the belle of the fucking ball.
With his loud laugh that I just realized I can feel inside of my body the same way I experience when I hear nails scraping down a chalkboard.
They look comfortable together, familiar in a way that I can’t put my finger on.
If I didn’t know that I was Asher’s first sexual experience, I’d be certain that those two have a past. And Asher’s laughing, a bright smile on his face that I love seeing.
And I like seeing it now, too, only, I can’t ignore the flair of jealousy that rockets through my veins.
Because I know what attraction looks like, and I believe with every fiber of my being that Evans would love to take Asher home tonight, whether either of them realizes it or not.
Seriously, who is this guy? And why are they so buddy-buddy?
The worst part is that I know I have a scowl on my face that I can’t seem to hide.
I want Asher to be happy, but something about how this guy is leaning close to him, like they’re sharing a private joke, has every molecule in my body on high alert.
Asher isn’t mine.
But you want him to be, a little voice echoes in the back of my mind.
I’m the one who keeps preaching boundaries. I’m the one who is taking a huge risk by even hooking up with him. I’m the one who has to accept that if some buff hockey player is going to flirt with him, then there’s nothing that I can do about it. Especially not here.
Still, it doesn’t quell the frustration and anger and jealousy that simmer in my belly, gnawing at me from the inside out. I’ve never wished injury on a player–and I won’t start now–but I wouldn’t hate to see him get laid out a few times. I wish I could do it myself.
I’ve been standing in the tunnel to our bench, staring at the two of them like an idiot. Honestly, I’d keep standing there except that I need to be closer to the guys to make any adjustments ahead of the start of the game.
For the first time in a long time, I wish that I could get back on the ice and skate circles around this idiot and really show him what a hockey player looks like. He’s not even warming up! Really irresponsible if you ask me.
I trudge to our bench and wonder whether Asher will be too distracted to notice me when I pass. I don’t know which option I want.
His face is all smiles as he gestures toward me. “Hey, Chase. Come here.”
I melt a little bit at the sound of his voice and the playful smile on his lips, but then I realize that they’re not for me.
Guess I’m not getting out of this one unscathed. What am I going to do? Tell him I’m too busy? Being a jerk would be weirder than just saying hello. I make my decision and head over to them. “Hi,” I say brightly, dropping my bag on the bench.
“This is Liam. He and I played together in juniors.” Asher’s eyes are the bright blue that I love, a look he only gets when he’s really excited about something.
“Nice to meet you, Liam.” I don’t extend my hand because he’s wearing gloves, and I’m grateful for that.
“Man, it’s so cool to meet you. I couldn’t believe it when Asher told me that you were his physical therapist. We had a poster of you in our bedroom.”
My eyebrow draws upward. Asher? Our bedroom? Well, aren’t these two even more familiar than I thought.
“I lived with Liam’s family for the first year that I played in the juniors,” Asher explains, oblivious to the turmoil simmering just below the surface of my skin.
“That’s cool,” I say to Liam. “It's always good to meet a fan.”
“Any tips for me? I know it was a while ago for you, but I’m going into the draft this summer.”
“That’s awesome, man. You didn’t tell me that,” Asher interjects.
“Fingers crossed but my coach thinks I have a pretty good shot.”
“You’ll get picked up.” Asher’s words are sincere, that goddamn smile still on his face.
All I feel is old and obsolete and… jealous. So fucking jealous. The potent mixture makes me wish that I could slam my body as hard as possible into something, just to feel anything else.
I’m saved from doing something incredibly stupid when Carter skates over and drifts to a stop next to me.
“Can I get some help with my tape?” he asks, already removing his glove.
I bandaged him earlier, but due to the constant wrist movements while holding a stick, it can sometimes take a few tries to find the right wrap.
I give Asher and Liam a quick nod and pick up my bag. “Duty calls.”