Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Felix
Jared asked if I wanted them to pick me up for the game, but I said no. I figured that if it turns out to be a complete disaster, I won’t want to be stuck with them for an awkward ride home.
I think I need to work harder on the whole positive vibes thing.
Ignoring the people around me as they make their way into the arena, I take a couple of deep, measured breaths—from the diaphragm, the way my dad told me.
He had a lot of “helpful” tips for me when I started puberty that have turned out to be only kind of helpful.
Deep breathing is no match for rioting hormones.
It is, surprisingly, pretty good at dispelling negative thoughts, and the antsy-sick feeling in my stomach settles.
Until a hand lands on my shoulder and my anxiety shoots through the roof. The shriek that escapes me as I open my eyes and yank free is high-pitched enough to shatter glass.
“Oops,” Dáithí says. “Didn’t mean to scare you.” He sounds sincere, but he’s grinning, the jerk.
“I could learn to hate you,” I threaten. Now that I’m getting my breathing back under control, my sense of humor is asserting itself.
He laughs and claps me on the shoulder. “So you say, but nobody’s done it yet. I’m universally adored.” He glances over his shoulder. “Right, Eoin?”
I follow his gaze and see Eoin detaching himself from a group a few yards away.
There’s Jared, giving me a smile and a wave, and his boyfriend, who’s the freaking king of the elves.
I’ve met him twice before in passing and he seems nice in a hot daddy, “I bear the weight of the world on my shoulders” kind of way.
My eyes drift past the king to a man standing a little behind him, his back to us all, a phone held to his ear, and the tingle of hormonal heat begins to thrum through me.
I normally need to see a man’s face to find him attractive, but not when he’s got a back—and backside—like that, all long and lean and shapely in the right places.
And that hair… The dark mass of it has been pulled forward over his shoulder, but enough has escaped for me to see that it’s wavy and—
Wait.
Wait.
I know that hair. I’ve dreamed of that hair, of tangling my hands in it, of it falling around my face like a curtain while its owner plows me like a field. That’s Ari’s hair.
Which means…
I grab Dáithí’s forearm.
“Ow! What the fuck, Felix?”
“Is that Ari?” I hiss, still unable to take my eyes off his back. Please let me be wrong. Please let it be a stranger I can actually approach and invite back to my place for some hormone-satisfying, head-banging exercise.
Dáithí and Eoin both turn. “Of course that’s Ari. Why would you ask that? You know what Ari looks like.” Dáithí’s gaze meets mine and widens. “Oh.”
Heat races up my body and into my face, and I swallow hard.
“I’ve never seen him dressed so casually before,” I mumble, as though that’s an excuse.
It’s true—even when he came to training camp, Ari always wore business casual attire.
I’ve never seen him in anything more casual than slacks and a business shirt.
I’ve certainly never seen him in worn denim that hugs his ass and thighs like it was molded around them and a faded T-shirt that’s been washed one too many times and clings to his broad shoulders.
Not until now, anyway.
I clear my throat. This is bad—how am I going to get through a whole hockey game with him looking like that? How am I going to intelligently explain the game to him with him looking like that?
How am I going to survive him turning around and giving me the frontal view?
“This is fine,” Dáithí says reassuringly. “It’s going to be fine.”
“Huh? I don’t understand,” Eoin says. “What’s going to be fine?”
I hold back a whimper, shifting my weight in an attempt to take some pressure off my crotch. I need to adjust myself, but the last thing I want is Eoin to think I’m some kind of creep. I’m trying to make more friends, not lose the few I’ve managed to make already.
Dáithí raises a brow at me and tips his head toward his boyfriend. It takes me a second to understand that he’s asking for permission to tell him about my situation. That’s sweet.
“It’s not exactly a secret. Go for it.” Anything that might win me some sympathy and allies right now.
“Shifters have two puberties,” Dáithí explains quickly. “Felix is in the middle of the second one. It’s called reproductive puberty and it makes him emotionally volatile and horny.”
Well, that’s a nice, succinct way to explain it.
Eoin’s jaw drops, and he blinks a few times. “That sounds… inconvenient. Hold on, are you saying that Ari is making him horny?” He transfers his gaze to me. “Ari?”
Could this be any more humiliating? “Right now, yes,” I admit.
“But that doesn’t mean much. The day before yesterday was sunny, and I could smell someone’s sunscreen, and that reminded me of this guy I met on vacation once, and…
” I shrug, like getting hard and achy over the scent memory of a stranger I fucked one time years ago is common.
Oh no. Ari’s finished his phone call and is turning around.
“Is that why you play so aggressively?” Eoin asks in the tone of someone who’s just had a revelation, but I’m no longer listening. I was right about the frontal view of those jeans being the thing that might kill me.
The whining sound I make would be embarrassing, but I’m pretty much maxed out for the night already.
“Okay, we can handle this,” Eoin says, all business. “Felix, you can’t stay like this all night.” He pointedly doesn’t look at my crotch, but we know what’s happening down there. “What would you usually do in this situation?”
“Excuse myself and handle it,” I reply, deliberately turning his own word choice back on him. “The problem with that is the twenty thousand people here right now.” Privacy is at a premium at an arena on game night.
“What are the chances we can find you an empty bathroom?” Dáithí muses.
“Not good enough for me to risk being arrested.”
“Who’s being arrested?” the king asks, and I wonder why the ground won’t open up and swallow me whole.
“Nobody,” Dáithí says brightly. “We were talking about the logistics of streaking through the arena.”
What? I shoot him an incredulous look, and he gives a little shrug.
Fortunately, Jared laughs. “On our first hockey date, when Raeulfr was trying to distract me from the stuff happening on the ice, he pretended he saw a streaker.”
“Really?” Dáithí and I ask at the same time.
“Wasn’t that one of my games?” I add, desperate to keep my attention away from the tall, dark-haired, downright beautiful elf who’s just joined us. I can actually feel his presence under my skin. How the fuck am I going to get through this?
Jared grins. “Yeah. You went after one of your teammates, and I remember wondering why you weren’t getting a penalty.
Actually, I thought you should be suspended.
” He shakes his head, chuckling, but he’s the only one.
Eoin is looking at Ari, and the awkwardness that settles over the group is palpable.
Thankfully, it’s also enough to make my erection lose some of its vigor. Turns out it’s not easy to lust after a guy who thinks I’m deliberately, needlessly violent and reckless. I am those things, but it’s not deliberate. I actually can’t wait until the hormonal surges are over.
“Shall we go in?” the king suggests, and I could seriously kiss him.
“Good idea,” Eoin agrees. “We’ll need time to get some food. Ari, you’ve got the tickets, don’t you?”
“Yes,” he says, and I grit my teeth as the sound of his voice shivers down my spine.
This is fine. This intense sexual attraction is going to pass.
Next time I see him, he’ll be back in his business clothes, and I can put this whole night and his low-key sexy rocker look behind me.
If I’m really lucky, my puberty will end soon and moments like this won’t be a problem anymore.
Not more than they are for everyone else, anyway. At least lust won’t turn me into a wreck in public.
I stick to the back of the group as we head into the arena—the same one the Warhammers play in.
It’s a lot more crowded tonight than it is when we play, since there are many more humans than community members, and it’s early enough in the season that the fans are still hopeful and enthusiastic, even though the local team is… not good. Something we have in common.
I love the vibe of a packed house, though, and I make a point of trying to attend as many games as I can. The human league is far more developed and skilled than ours, and watching them play is a learning experience. That’s what I tell myself to justify the cost of the tickets, anyway.
We stop to get food—though not anywhere near as much as I’ll need to satisfy my appetite—and then go find our seats. Which are fucking phenomenal.
“We should come to games together more often,” I mutter, staring out at center ice from a dozen rows behind the penalty box.
There’s something to be said for sitting right by the boards, where you can see every drop of sweat and hear every insult, but I get enough of that when I’m actually playing.
These seats give me a perfect view of the ice without having to climb to nosebleed heights.
“Totally,” Jared says. Oops. I didn’t really mean for that to be heard. “We could make it a regular thing.”
I smile at him, still disbelieving that I’ve known him less than a year. I guess friendship doesn’t need a timeline. “That would be fun.”
“Jared,” the king says, and Jared moves down the row to sit beside his boyfriend. Everyone else is settled already, so I move to the only empty—oh, motherfucker.
Dáithí winces apologetically when I glare at him. His tiny shrug conveys helplessness and sympathy at the same time, but does absolutely nothing to solve my problem.
Bracing myself, I sink into the seat next to Ari and arrange my tacos and fries on my lap, studiously avoiding looking at him.
Walking through the concourse and keeping away from him helped to settle my arousal, so hopefully I’ll be able to get through the game if I ignore him.
While somehow also teaching him about hockey.
He leans across Dáithí to say something to Eoin, and when he straightens, the displacement of air carries his scent to me so strongly that I can’t ignore it.
My eyes drift closed as I soak it in. I’m a felid shifter, so my propensity to absorb smells is already strong, but I’m great at blocking out the awareness of those smells.
I have to be, with as much time as I spend in the dressing room with sweaty hockey players and their gear.
But there’s no blocking this out. My cat flexes inside me, wanting out, wanting to roll around in that delicious scent and—
“Are you okay?”
My eyelids snap open, and I reluctantly look over at Ari. His brows are drawn together as he studies me.
“Of course I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You were whimpering.”
Dammit. “You’re mistaken.”
A flurry of expressions chase across his face—surprise, irritation, and… disgust, maybe?—and then he shrugs and turns his attention back to his food. “Whatever you say.”
It’s going to be a long night.