CHAPTER THREE
September
“Yes, Mom,” Graham said with a laugh as he got out of his car at the Harriers facility for creative day. “I know.”
Angela Pennington cleared her throat. “It’s just that this is a very important year for both of us, Graham.”
“I know,” Graham said as patiently as he could manage, shivering a little as he crossed the parking lot through the cool, damp early morning air. “And I’m glad you called.”
He just wished she hadn’t called quite this early in the morning.
The sky was still dark and with fall creeping closer, the nights had been cooler lately. The thin T-shirt he wore wasn’t quite warm enough. Although by the time he left later today, he’d probably be sweating.
“That consultant I spoke with stressed I can’t have anything showing up in the media that could interfere with my election for district attorney of Allegheny County. You know how political positions get. If there’s even a whiff of something—”
“You say that like I’ve ever done anything in the past to jeopardize that,” he pointed out with a laugh, waving distractedly at the security guard who let him in the building.
“I know,” she said with a small chuckle. “You’ve always been very mature and responsible. It’s just …”
Graham’s face went a little warm as he remembered the kiss last spring with Thad.
Okay, so maybe making out with dudes fifteen years older than him wasn’t a great look. Not when he was dating someone else. And, unfortunate as it might be, if the press or her opponents got wind of Thad’s history, they would probably try to turn it into something sordid.
But the kiss had only happened once, he thought as his mom kept talking, stressing the importance of hard work and following plans leading to success. And it definitely wasn’t going to happen again.
Graham nodded and mm-hmmed as he walked the halls of HCI, half-listening but mostly nodding and waving at people he recognized.
God, it was good to be back.
The skills camps and summer scrimmages were never the same as being back with the team.
“Look, Mom, I’ve gotta let you go,” he said gently as he stepped through the door of the conference room where they were doing the photo shoot, cutting off her pep talk.
This summer, they’d talked a lot about their ambitions.
He’d been worried he hadn’t done enough to drive the team toward the playoffs last season. She’d fretted about the district attorney position she was up for.
The job was important, something she’d worked toward her whole life, and he wanted to support her, but this morning she seemed to be forgetting he also had a job to do, and he didn’t want to be late for it.
“You’ve totally got this. I love you and we can talk about everything another time but it’s creative day and we’ve got promo shots to do and videos to record and … ”
His breath caught at the sight of Thad. Unfortunately, he hadn’t gotten any less attractive over the summer.
Graham had half-hoped he would. He’d spent the off-season focusing on Madison—they were back together again, a fact he suddenly felt weirdly ambivalent about—relaxing with his buddies, and training.
In short, everything in his life that had nothing to do with Thad.
And yet, as Graham walked into the room, he was hit by the full force of Thad’s charm. His good looks.
At the moment, Thad was talking to Tyson Short—the team’s PR director—about something and he laughed at whatever Tyson said, his eyes creasing at the corners.
He ran a hand through his thick dark hair and Graham’s gaze snagged on his toned forearms and the way the gesture made the hem of his olive-green shirt lift a little, showing off the firm curve of his ass under his jeans.
And Graham could admit, to himself at least, that it was more than detached appreciation for someone’s good looks.
When Graham looked at his teammate Rafael Moon who stood nearby, he saw a man with a big, hard body, dark hair, soft brown eyes, and bright smile. Graham could see why Rafe’s boyfriend Mickey found him so attractive.
But looking at Rafe didn’t make Graham’s gut tighten and his skin heat and his body buzz.
Looking at Rafe was like looking at gorgeous art in a museum. It was objectively beautiful, but that didn’t mean Graham wanted to fuck it.
But Thad …
Graham’s mind twisted away from the thought. No. You’re not going there, he reminded himself.
“Hey! Long time no see! How was the rest of your summer, dude?” Tanner said, bouncing up with a bright grin. “That skills camp we were at in Chicago was the fucking bomb, no? We are gonna tear it up this season!”
Graham had never met anyone who moved like Tanner did, like someone had installed little springs in his shoes. He was like that on the ice too, fast and explosive, not to mention being a pest.
Honestly, he was kind of a pest off the ice too, full of boundless energy, good humor, pranks, and constant nonsense.
“Hey, G-man?” Tanner said, poking him in the ribs. “You alive in there?”
Graham realized his call with his mom had ended a while ago and he was standing there with his phone in his hand staring at Thad.
Who, thankfully, was turned away and focused on his camera. But someone might notice.
Probably not Tanner, but someone.
“Yeah,” Graham said, forcing a smile onto his face as he tucked his phone into his pocket and focused on Tanner.
And yeah, he wasn’t bad-looking either with his springy brown curls and constant smile, his eyes twinkling like he was up to something.
Which, knowing him, he probably was. “Summer was good. After the skills camp ended, I went back to Traverse City for a little while, then visited my parents and sister. And I told you, don’t call me G-man. ”
Tanner shrugged. “Well, it’s better than cracker, right?”
Graham shuddered. Okay, the graham cracker pun was objectively kind of funny but no. Talk about bad optics. He could not have his teammates calling him cracker.
Not with all its other connotations.
“Marginally better, I guess,” he admitted.
“Dude. You’re no fun,” Tanner said with a pout. “Hey, speaking of fun, are you going to the thing tonight?”
“The thing?” he asked blankly.
“Yeah, the thing at the O’Sheas. The ‘welcome back to Boston’ thing.”
“Oh, yeah, I’ll be there.”
“Glad to hear it.” A hand landed on Graham’s shoulder, and he jumped.
Graham turned to see his captain, Connor. Speaking of an O’Shea …
“Hey, man,” Graham said, hugging him.
“Hey.” Connor pounded him on the back. “Glad to have you here.”
He said that like he and Mickey and Graham hadn’t gone out to lunch yesterday for a leadership meeting with Gavin, their general manager, and Finn, their vice president of hockey operations.
Graham had been an alternate captain all last season, but Mickey hadn’t been made one until after it was over and Finn hadn’t come on board with the organization until last winter.
Other than the trippy reminder of how much Gavin and Thad resembled each other, it had been good to sit down with the guys and strategize about their plans for the season.
Discuss what they expected to happen, and how they were going to make sure the team was even tighter than they had been last year.
Mickey added a different perspective too, rounding out what Connor and Graham had already been building on, and Graham was pleased to have him on board. The same with Finn.
Though Connor had reminded them that all plans for team events should be run by his boyfriend, Jesse, the team’s goaltender and—Connor had used finger quotes—self-appointed “fun committee.”
“Where he fuckin’ comes up with this shit,” Connor had said with a shake of his head, his Boston accent thick and his affection for Jesse even thicker.
But weird goalie shit aside, they all had a lot to look forward to this season.
Even if Graham didn’t know how to get out of his head about seeing Thad again. It had been bad enough spending time with his twin brother yesterday.
A piercing whistle broke through the babble of voices coming from guys milling around the conference room and made them fall silent.
“Okay,” Tyson Short called out. “This is the plan for today, guys. You’ll be divided into groups. Group A will begin with headshots. Group B will be filming short videos, Group C will be on the ice for photos and videos. Group D will be doing interviews …”
Graham tried to focus on Tyson’s voice as he talked them through the plan, but it was pretty much the same every year and Thad stood beside him, looking annoyingly good.
His jeans molded around his muscular quads, a white T-shirt clung to his sculpted pecs, and an olive-green button-up set off his dark hair and hazel eyes. He had a black Harriers cap on—something he wore often—and his expression was serious as he listened to Tyson.
He reached up to scratch at his short beard and Graham shivered, remembering the way it had felt when it had brushed against his lips.
As if he could read Graham’s thoughts, Thad glanced over. He didn’t look away, didn’t react except to give Graham a brief, subtle nod, but for some stupid reason, it made Graham’s heart beat a little faster.
He tried to think of Madison in his condo last night, wearing nothing but panties and an oversized T-shirt of his, braless and absurdly hot by any standards as they cooked dinner together.
But his brain also conjured up an image of a shirtless Thad in half-buttoned jeans, the elastic of boxer briefs peeking up over the waistband as he stirred something on the stove. It wasn’t something he’d ever done before but Graham was surprised by how much he wanted it.
And now, all Graham could think about was spinning him around, turning that hat backwards and kissing him deeply. He knew Thad would kiss him back, would touch him, and—
A sharp elbow dug into Graham’s ribs, and he blinked, the fantasy dissolving as he turned to look at Tanner.
“Dude, you coming, G-man?”