Chapter 18 James
Ishould not have come here. I definitely shouldn’t have worn these shorts, and I super extra triple shouldn’t have let my eyes navigate Cory’s wet body like Columbus did the Atlantic.
I already can’t stop thinking about slash jerking off in the shower, in bed, and regrettably behind my locked office door while thinking of him. If things keep going the way they are, I’m going to be severely dehydrated and have crippling RSI.
Oh, and no job.
Why did I listen to Faith? “You need to be part of the team.” She insisted. “I saw how much you enjoyed talking with Brady and Cory. Put yourself out there, get to know them. You can’t lock yourself up in the basement forever.”
With the thoughts of a certain young winger I’ve been having of late, isolated in a dungeon is exactly where I deserve to be.
I’m a staff member in a position of trust. Cory is a student.
This … whatever this fantasy is, it can’t happen.
Yet still, I find myself protective, maybe even jealous of the female hands reaching from windows, roaming his stomach, their eyes ogling those nipples pressed against the glass, wet and juicy.
I have been known to become obsessive, going through periods of fixation with songs, or a movie—Hairspray for example—and occasionally people.
Not to a weird stalker extent or anything, it all stays in my head.
But yeah. It can be problematic. Like it was with Brandon.
Distance from that relationship has left me wondering if I was truly in love, or if he was just another fixation. A costly one at that.
Watching Cory now, what I feel, feels different.
Physicality has a lot to do with my admiration. As do his hockey skills, because there’s nothing more attractive than a man confident in his abilities, and on the ice, Captain Cory is confidence-personified. But the overwhelming issue, the most complex complication is far more difficult to ignore.
I like that he’s figuring himself out and I’m willing to take chances in that process.
I like that he’s open to new things.
I like his tenacity.
I like his ridiculous wardrobe.
I like him.
Worse than that I care about him. After I took him home, sleep evaded me ‘til the wee hours. The plight of his family consumed my thoughts. Hockey is an expensive sport. One I gave away to spare my family the burden of cost, but I could only do that because I overheard my dad. Cory’s never been given that chance to do the same or even chip in, which in truth is both a blessing and a curse.
As much as it would have helped his family, I would hate to see him face a decision like I did.
Would hate to see the world deprived of his talent.
Perhaps the situation isn’t as dire as his sister made out. He seems happy enough today. Then again, I’ve the feeling even with the weight of the world on his shoulders, Cory would stand taller than ever, like the load was nothing more than a mere feather.
I like that, too.
“You going to stand around looking pretty or are you going to help?”
I jump, but can’t stop my smile from spreading. Maintaining my Mr. Grumpy persona around this team is becoming harder and harder.
“Morning, Brady.” Turning to greet him, I come face to face with not only Brady, but his partners Quinn and Troye.
“Plummy, you’ve met Quinny, but this is Troye.
” Troye commands my hand as Brady continues.
“James is Faith’s brother and the Bear’s new student physio.
” On the best of days meeting a colleague’s partner can be daunting, but I’ve got two for one, one being a NHL rookie, the other my boss’s daughter.
I hope the fuck Cory doesn’t come over here.
I don’t think I’m strong enough to take in that belly button under so much scrutiny.
So yeah, I perform the perfunctory handshake then freeze.
Thankfully, of the three people before me, Brady seems the most introverted and practically Miley Cyrus compared to me.
“Dad never shuts up about you and your magic hands, James. Apparently his shoulder hasn’t felt so good since he was a rookie.”
Under the gaze of six intensely focused eyes, I drop my head and nod. “It’s all in the stretching.”
“Don’t be so modest. Plummy.” I roll my eyes at Brady’s nick name. “He’s a muscle relaxation demon. I’ve never seen someone so flexible. Used to be a goalie, too.”
“Is that so? Always been a big fan of flexible goalies.” Smirks Troye before sending a heated look and wink, I’m almost embarrassed to witness Brady, who the innuendo seems lost on.
“Hey, we should see if Noah and Shane are on for a little three-on-three.” He beams. “Shit that would be great.”
“Yeah. Maybe.” While I force a smile, the entirety of my digestive system clenches.
A bit of three-on-three does sound fun. A lot if I’m honest. But it’s also a terrifying prospect for someone with my level of introversion.
It’s been years since I played, or since I’ve spent that amount of time with anyone other than family or colleagues.
Can I be personable for that long? Then there’s the … Hmm. Sweat forms on my brow as I self-consciously pat my soft belly. Maybe I could get there early and change before anyone else arrives.
“You okay, Doc?” A freezing cold palm belonging to the last person I need close right now, comes to rest on my forearm, fingers softly tracing a prominent vein. “You look like you’re going to be sick.”
I feel like it too. “I’m fine. Just skipped breakfast.”
“Oh, wait here.” With one last caress he jogs over to a pile of backpacks and bags that must belong to the team.
When he finds his, a deep red with a pattern similar to that of cobwebs, and jogs back a little awkwardly, body tilting to the right.
“I didn’t know if we’d get a chance to eat, so I packed some snacks.
” He unzips the bag, and the reason for his wonky run becomes clear.
Inside he has at least a dozen bananas, some protein bars, Gatorade and an assortment of nut snack-packs.
Inspecting the collection, Brady chuckles and elbows Troye.
“See what I mean about a natural leader?”
“I do,” he replied. “Knew you had it in ya, Cub. This is some A-grade, Noah-level shit.”
Adorable is the only word that could describe the blush coloring Cory’s cheeks as I pencil in another admirable quality, humility. “The NHL is going to gobble you up.” As Brady and Troye continue to heap praise up his ass, it’s clear he’s as comfortable with attention as I am.
“How is that? The NHL I mean. Even as good as you are, it must be quite the leap from college,” I ask Troye while taking a banana and Gatorade from Cory who beams like he just handed me my first born not a snack.
That glee, me asking a question, and how fiercely I need to provide a distraction for Cory all taking me by surprise.
I really wanted to ask how the team handled his queer, poly-relationship, but it’s probably too much for our first meeting.
Considering his reply, Troye’s eyes dart to Brady then Quinn, and it takes me a second to grasp why.
Brady too, was destined for the big time before repeat concussions last season stole it away.
That one look, and the smile and nod Brady offers in reply, conveys so much about their love.
It’s sweet, I think to myself. Kind of makes me sick.
“Fast,” he says eventually. “A scrimmage is as intense as a Bears game, and the pressure you feel the second you slip that jersey on takes some getting used to. Thankfully I’m fucking brilliant, so it’s nothing I can’t handle.”
Opening his own drink, Cory rolls his eyes. “So modest, too.”
“Don’t pretend you don’t love, and miss it, Cubs. But I’m sure having Brades and James around is consolation enough to soothe the wound.”
Wait. What?
As though he’s thinking the same, Cory looks between us, then over his shoulder, yelling, “What? Oh, yep. Coming,” to the no one who called him.
With my brain still computing, I’m unable to think, and escape that fast, ‘cause again …
What? Does Brady, ipso-facto Troye and the rest of Boston know the almost thing Cory and I had?
Has Cory got a thing for Brady? Are those shorts, that belly flash.
All that flittering around posing in the gym not for my benefit?
That would be a good thing, I remind myself. How it should be.
The light sheen of perspiration dotting my brow upgrades to a torrential downpour blinding me.
Brady, at least I think it’s Brady, edges closer, his blurred face scanning over mine. “Don’t listen to Troye, Plummy. Cory’s not interested in me.”
“Or me. He’s not interested in me,” I insist a little too earnestly. “Why would you think that? That seems highly improbable. Why? Has he said that?”
Even blurred vision can’t hide the, yeah right, expression Troye’s hitting me with. “Whatever you say, Plummy.”
It would be wise of me to shut the fuck up and leave it at that, so naturally. I don’t.
“I do say. I am a staff member. Cory is a student. Anything between us would be highly inappropriate.” Troye snorts, huffs and makes several other grunt-like noises.
“Look, I know we just met but trust me, anything worth anything is inappropriate.”
A light misting of water lands on my shoulder, drawing my gaze to the latest car rolling up to be washed.
Evan is waving, guiding them into position as though he’s directing a 747 not a Jeep.
Cory’s beside him, bending forward at the waist, mouth open swallowing the water flooding in from the hose poised at his lips.
I know full-well this is for show. A literal thirst trap designed to fill the tip jar that’s been upgraded to a bucket.
And it’s working. His audience, a carload full of squealing college girls, are lapping it up.
As am I.
Lust shoots down my spine, pitching a tent in shorts. These shorts aren’t built to shelter. There’s a bucket beside me, so I snatch it up and hold it over my … situation.
“See what I mean.” Troye smirks. “Appropriateness is highly overrated.”
Disregarding the smirked looks he, Quinn and Brady send me each time I’m within a foots radius of Cory, I linger at the car wash like a bad smell of absolutely no use until the very last bumper is buffed.
“Thanks for helping out.” Rosy-cheeked and wet from head to toe, Cory looking like every wet dream I’ll have from here on in, has found his way to my side.
“Fairly certain you would have managed without me. I filled your bucket—I mean the buckets. I filled the … Shit.” Cory grins like I just handed him the Stanley Cup.
“And you looked so good doing it. I’m very impressed with your hose handling.” In another totally unwarranted thirst trap, he then runs his hand through his soaked hair, shakes the water from his hand and grabs his phone from his backpack, fingers flying over the screen.
“Hot date waiting?” I ask nosily.
“Pfft. Nope. Not really interested in dating right now.”
“No?”
Brow cocked, he grins again. “No. I’m ordering an Uber.”
That should be it. I should wish him a good day and walk away, but instead I find myself tapping his foot with my own and opening my damn mouth. “Want a ride home? Maybe we can grab some food.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, why not?” There’s a million why-not’s forming a cue in my mind, but as I seem to do so often around this man, I pay them no attention. “Better to use that money on filling your belly than someone else’s gas tank.”
Cory wets his lips and slides his phone into his pocket. “Since you’re so heavily invested in filling things today, let’s do it, Doc.”
Rolling my eyes, I nod in the direction of my car and get moving, the stupidity of this decision sinking in with each step.
Cory falls into step beside me, working hard to keep up with my longer strides.
“Why the uber?” I ask, choosing a safe subject.
“No electricity at home to charge the beast?” The second it’s out I regret it.
They’re having money issues, idiot. Way to taunt him.
“No power issues, just sister ones … well, technically car ones. Hers has been playing up since I drove it to Canada, so she took mine because it’s my fault, and she didn’t want to take my baby niece to daycare in an Uber.” I stop mid-step, causing Cory, who was so close, to slam into me.
“You have a baby niece?”
“I do. Well, technically she’s a toddler not a baby, but yeah. She’ll always be my Baby Billie.”
“Huh.” My feet decide to move again, but my brain is still stuck calculating. Cory’s twenty-one. At what age does a baby become a toddler?
“If that constipated face is you doing the math, she was nineteen.” I feel my cheeks heat
“Sorry, it’s none of my business.”
“It’s not, no. But it’s no secret either.
Cherry had been in love with the same boy since she was twelve.
Derek was a few years older than her, but his family left town when she was fifteen.
He moved back when she was old enough, and they got back together straight away.
They were really happy … until she told him she was pregnant. ”
We reach my car and he folds his surprisingly long legs into the passenger seat. Slumping his head against the seat he turns to face me.
“Didn’t take it well?”
“No he didn’t. Neither did his wife. The one he already had a kid with.” His clear outrage when he thought Dylan was my son, suddenly makes sense.
“Shit.”
“Yeah, shit.”
We drive in silence until Cory points out a small Italian place a block or two from his family home. “You won’t find better pasta anywhere in Boston.”
Great. A sit-down meal. I should be insisting on a quick drive-thru burger—In ‘n’ Out—in more ways than one.
“Italian sounds good.”