Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
DIEGO
It feels damn good to walk into the arena with my heavy equipment bag slung over my shoulder, knowing I have a place on the team still, and that in just a few minutes I’m going to be back on the ice getting drilled with the rest of the team. It feels like coming home.
“No one should smile like that on the first day of practice. You know damn well that Gregors isn’t going to let us go home until one of the rookies pukes on the ice,” right wing forward, Ivan Dimitrov, says, falling into step beside me with a crooked smile that’s wide enough to let me see that he managed to lose one of his bottom teeth in the second half of the season.
I hesitate for half a second, part of me wanting to call him out just like I did with Pinsky.
Dimitrov and I have been close over the years.
We got drafted the same year and came up together with the Huskies.
I notice a flash of nervousness in his eyes and the tension in my shoulders relaxes.
He was just following Pinsky’s orders when he kept his mouth shut, and I’m guessing he ended up avoiding me for months after that for the same reason Kyle did.
They didn’t feel good about it, but they did what they thought was best for the team.
I reach over and clap his shoulder roughly.
“I’m just excited to get back on the ice, I’m not even going to bitch about the hour of speed drills he usually starts practice with.”
Dimitrov groans and I chuckle.
“How have you been?” he asks. “Sorry I didn’t call or visit more while you were recovering…”
I wave off the apology, making the game-time decision to let it go.
I’m not going to hold it against any of them.
It’s not worth it and it won’t change the past anyway.
Besides, maybe it was a blessing in disguise.
I wouldn’t have met Callan if my team hadn’t abandoned me, so it kind of feels like I owe them one.
He shoulders the door to the locker room open and I follow him inside.
“I’ve been good, man. Back in shape, still have my spot on the team, life is good.
” A stupid part of me wants to tell him that I met someone, maybe just to save my pride after the public humiliation Crystal and Brody put me through, but then he’d have follow-up questions.
He’d want to know where I met her, what’s she like, when will I bring her around.
My stomach roils. I’m not sure I can do it—straight-up lie or pretend Callan is someone else. So I keep my mouth shut.
It seems like Dimitrov’s waiting for me to say more. Maybe he can see the internal struggle on my face for that split second when I consider mentioning a new relationship. When I don’t, he punches my shoulder and grins again. “Well, it’s good to have you back.”
The locker room feels just as familiar as I know the ice will, voices and laughter echoing off the walls, a dozen guys in various states of undress changing into their gear. I nod to a few guys as I take my usual spot on the bench, dropping my bag and leaning my stick next to me.
“Hey, Moreau, is that a hickey?” Lavoie teases, winding up his shirt and snapping it at the other defenseman, who scowls at him. “You didn’t tell us you had a new boyfriend.”
I cringe inwardly and feel myself shrink a little.
Moreau huffs without comment, focusing his energy on pulling his pads on.
Come to think of it, I’ve never seen Moreau with a girl.
Not at any of the team celebrations and not on social media.
It doesn’t mean he’s gay—maybe he’s just private or not interested in dating—but I can’t help but wonder now.
I’m looking at everything differently than I used to.
I glance around as I change, wondering how many of the guys in here would have a problem with it if they knew I was bi.
I meet Pinsky’s eye briefly, curious about whether he’s going to call Lavoie out like we talked about, but it doesn’t seem like he even clocked that little dig.
Why would he? It’s such typical locker-room talk that I bet most of them don’t even notice it.
“Hey, Lavoie, thanks for the tip, by the way. I found a kick-ass personal trainer,” I say, pulling his attention away from Moreau and onto me.
“You’re kidding.” He chuckles. “I sent you there as a joke.”
I can’t help but remember the defiant way Callan responded to it when I said something similar the first time I walked into Sweat. I can still feel the ghost of the rough kiss he gave me before I left my apartment—our apartment—this morning, and it stokes something rebellious inside me.
“What was the joke?” I ask, echoing Callan’s words, conjuring the feigned innocence with a spark of challenge that he did.
Lavoie’s eyebrows pull together and he opens and closes his mouth a few times.
“I’m curious too,” Pinsky pipes up, finally catching on. Better late than never, I guess.
I wonder how he’s going to try to talk his way out of this one, but I don’t get the chance to find out.
The locker room door swings open again and Brody lumbers in with his heavy goalie pads in tow.
Everyone stops what they’re doing and openly stares, their eyes darting between the two of us in tense silence like we’re suddenly in an old Western and the obvious villain just walked into the saloon.
Brody stops and looks at me with that same arrogant smirk that’s irritated the shit out of me since the first day we met.
I wait to feel anything more than my usual dislike of him though.
I brace for a sick feeling to churn in my gut or for the blinding urge to avenge my ego to tempt me to cock my fist. I doubt anyone would begrudge me one good right hook to his jaw. None of it comes though.
I up-nod him in greeting, then sit back down on the bench to start lacing up my skates.
The tense silence lasts another few seconds before everyone seems to realize there isn’t going to be a fight, and they all return to getting dressed.
Chatter and laughter start back up too, and there’s a rising excitement in the air now.
I might have been away the longest, but we’re all eager to get back on the ice.
We step out of the locker room, jostling each other’s shoulders and doing the Husky Howl that the fans like to do when we’re winning, and it feels like it used to, like last year never happened.
Can I live like this? Can I learn to keep my mouth shut and bite my tongue in the locker room?
Can I hide such a big part of my life from them indefinitely?
Do I have a choice?
CALLAN
“Damn, I had no idea the scenery around here was so good, I’m definitely going to have to get a membership.”
I catch the guy’s eye in the mirror and shoot him a wink as I pump out the last few reps of my bicep curl set.
He’s got nothing on Diego, but I’m happy to tally up a few more sign-ups in my column before the end of the month.
Maybe I should make a jockstrap circuit a weekly event.
The rest of the guys wouldn’t stand a chance.
“Andre might make jockstraps the official Sweat uniform when he sees all the new memberships we’ve gotten in the last hour,” Silas says with a booming chuckle. “I’m tempted to strip down just so you can’t claim them all for yourself.”
“Hey, man, come up with your own thing.” I strike a pose for a couple of guys who stop to snap a picture of me. “Be sure to tag the gym when you post that,” I call after them.
“You’re right, I don’t think this gym is big enough to fit a second inflated ego,” Silas deadpans.
I chuckle and open my mouth to throw another playful jab back at him, but whatever it was going to be, I forget it the second I spot Diego in the mirror, coming through the door.
I set my weight down and turn around. It takes him a few seconds to spot me, and when he does, his eyes go wide and his expression flickers comically between turned on and horrified.
“Glad you made it. I was going to have to send you pics to prove I held up my end of the bet otherwise.” I flex and wink at him just like I did with those guys earlier, and Diego finally hauls in a breath like he just remembered he needs to breathe.
He shakes his head and marches forward, snagging me by the arm and dragging me towards the locker room. I let him tow me along without complaint, following him through the door and over into our corner, the same one I shoved him into for a little privacy a few weeks ago.
“How was the first day of practice?” I ask.
Diego looks me up and down and shakes his head again.
“Dude, you’ve gotta put some clothes on.” His voice is low and husky, his hand resting on my hip, his fingers hooked around the waistband of my jock.
“You don’t like it?” I tease, sliding my hand between us to cup my cock through the fabric.
“You know I like it.” He smirks. “And I don’t need anyone else liking it.”
“Aw, are you jealous?” I brush my lips along the stubbled edge of his jaw and grin. “I was just holding up my end of the bet. You wouldn’t believe how many membership enrollments we’ve gotten since I stripped down.”
Diego lets out a quiet growl and moves closer to me, pressing his chest against mine, boxing me in between the lockers and the wall.
“I didn’t think about it when we made the bet, but I hate anyone else seeing you like this.
Put your clothes back on,” he says again, then catches my lips in a rough, possessive kiss that heats my skin instantly and makes my toes curl.
I run my fingertips along his jaw and slide my other hand under his shirt.
“I think I like you a little bit jealous.”
He chuckles and kisses me hard one more time before he lets me go. He follows me over to my locker and sits down on the bench while I pull my clothes out and get dressed.
“Practice was good. Great, actually,” he says answering my question from earlier. “It felt fucking amazing to get back on the ice.”
A new smile spreads across my lips, and I look over my shoulder at him.
“I can’t wait to see you in action once the season starts.”
“Why wait that long? Come watch a practice.”
I frown. “You sure that’s a good idea? Aren’t they restricted?”
He shrugs. “They are, but we’re allowed to invite people if we want to. You’ve been my personal trainer for months now. That seems pretty legit, doesn’t it?”
“I guess,” I say hesitantly. I step into my shorts and then turn around to face him fully. “I just don’t want you to have to answer any uncomfortable questions.”
A spark of defiance flashes in his eyes and his expression hardens a little.
“I don’t care. I want you to come. How about next week?”
I move to stand over him, right between his spread thighs, forcing him to tilt his head back to keep eye contact. I run my fingers through his hair and lean down to bring my lips close to his again.
“If that’s what you want, I’m there, Fergie.”
“It’s what I want,” he says, even more confidently this time.
“Alright. Now, I’ve gotta get back out there, I have a client coming in five minutes. You going to stay for a workout and distract me the whole time?”
Diego smirks again, then chuckles. “Tempting, but Coach kicked our asses today. I think I’m going to go home and soak in the tub for a bit.”
I groan and brush my lips against his in a not-quite kiss.
“You’re killing me, Fergie. Now I’m going to spend this whole session picturing you at home, all wet and soapy.”
“I guess that’ll be an incentive for you to haul ass home when you’re done.”
“Count on it.” I press my lips to his one last time before letting him go.
I reach down to adjust my erection before we leave the locker room together.
My client is already waiting for me when we step out, and a few of the guys who were ogling me before give me another once-over and look mildly disappointed that I’ve put my clothes back on.
Diego stops to chat with Butch and Silas, and I do my best to focus on my client, trying not to let my gaze wander back to my man leaning against the desk, smiling and laughing and looking exactly like he belongs.
Diego catches my eye a few times and smiles back at me every time, making my chest flutter with a sappy, warm, mushy feeling that I’m starting to suspect might be love.