Chapter 15
Dylon
“ F ive,” I count as my eyes fixate on a bead of sweat trickling down Lars’s temple as it disappears behind his ear. My tongue peeks out as if it will be allowed to taste it.
“Six,” I say and can hear Benz counting for Liska as the entire team works out in the weight room. Important information to remember—we aren’t alone.
“Seven.” Lars pumping iron is the best kind of torture. His crisp, clean scent mixes with his sweat, becoming sharper, more potent, and oddly sweeter. The compulsion to lick him is strong, but as a trained athlete, I’ve mastered my bad impulses. Mostly.
Road trips are one of my favorite parts of pro hockey, but this trip sucks balls. Losing two games in a row creates a fear of failure and dread. This is not how we expected the trip to go. Rows and rows of equipment are the same as in our practice facility but laid out slightly differently. The cushy rubber floors sometimes vary in color, but otherwise it’s the same old, same old.
“Eight.” Lars is the true chaos in my brain. In an effort to act normal, I’ve been a complete flake, talking about reading animal encyclopedias as a kid and working at my uncle’s bar at age twelve. No one cares, but it’s like I’ve become a cartoon character of myself, hiding my feelings for Lars by talking nonsense to convey “nothing to see here.”
“Nine,” I say, and Lars grunts, close to finishing his third set. My body reacts, and it’s the last straw in holding on to my sanity .
“Ten.” Our fingers touch as I help him guide the bar back in place. “Hey, team building exercise to break the losing streak curse. We’re switching workout partners.” The guys will not argue about snapping our losing streak. It’s only two games, but hell, I’m half hard, and if I spot Lars any longer, it’s going to get embarrassing.
Lars glances at my plumped-up dick and leaps off the bench. “Great idea. Grab someone from a different line.”
Benz sidles up next to me, and I up nod to the next piece of equipment. Some guys grumble about this being ridiculous.
“You guys wanna win or not?” Ace growls, and I appreciate him having my back.
I think my plan is genius until Lars leans over King, spotting him. Emotion spikes through my system like adrenaline, and I’m surprised by my jealousy. It’s what I felt the first time I saw them together. Back then, I couldn’t name it. It has no place in this room, on this team, or in my life, but tell that to the green-eyed, furious monster ready to tear them apart.
“You good?” Benz asks.
I shake my head to right my mind, but his raised eyebrow gives the impression I’ve answered the question. “Yeah. All good. Just trying to rid myself of negative thoughts with an actual shake,” I blurt out half the truth.
“We’re playing great hockey.” He lifts the bar, and I count.
“Yeah,” I sigh. “But all the lines aren’t gelling.” I don’t miss how his eyes cut over to Richardson. “Sometimes we have to count on people we wouldn’t give the time of day outside of the rink.”
“Everyone thinks a goalie is an island working by themselves, but we have to trust the D-line to be in position and have puck awareness. We can’t do that if we’re worried about our defenders.” He continues to lift.
The goal the other night is an example of what he’s talking about. “Does Liska trust the D?”
“Oh, yeah. I didn’t mean to imply he didn’t. I’m figuring things out and how the guys play.” He pauses with the bar over his head .
“You can come to any of us. Liska isn’t the most talkative guy, but he’s a team player.”
The rest of the workout is non-eventful, meaning my dick behaves. While we’re dressing, Lars leans down and picks up a plastic card that fell off the bench.
“Hey, you dropped your room key.” He holds it out, and I almost don’t catch the fact that he’s purposely giving me his key.
“What would I do without you?” I clutch it to my chest and bat my eyes so the guys assume I’m being extra, extra today.
“You’d be down at the desk, explaining why they need to re-key your room. Why don’t you get the app and do it on your phone?” Ace asks like a goddamn helpful asshole.
To change the subject, I blurt, “Did you know green tree frogs are vocal at night and sometimes sound like dogs barking?” The funniest part is no one is confused by my random thought. They’re used to it.
A few hours later, after scrubbing every orifice of my body, I grab the ice bucket and peek into the hall. Lars’s room is next to the ice machine, convenient to duck into if one of our teammates sees me.
We go into each other’s rooms all the time, except now it’s exciting and forbidden.
Voices carry through my door, and I wait until they fade and then wait a minute more. The hall is blessedly empty when I poke my head out. I’m almost to his room when the elevator dings, so I bolt into the alcove with the ice machine and fill the bucket.
Once I hear a door open and shut, I act like I’m a super spy sneaking around on a top-secret mission. A top-secret dick mission. An actual spy wouldn’t have a dopey grin but whatever.
The green light blinks as the lock disengages, but Grayson steps into the hall so I knock on Lars’s door like I can’t get in.
“‘Sup.” I turn away from him, probably sending up red flags.
Lars opens his unlocked door with confusion and gray sweatpants. He’s actively trying to kill me. His gaze runs over my face, stalling on my lips, and his snug sweats can’t hide his reaction. I lick the lips that are the object of his focus, thinking about touching the outline that runs down his leg.
Behind me, Gray asks, “You drinking or hurt?”
Lars startles at his voice, and I’ve lost my capacity to say words. All the blood in my head has traveled south of the border to the little head. That head has no sense of self-preservation and wants to say hi to Lars.
“What do you mean?” Lars clears his throat and shifts, but it does nothing to hide his bulge.
“The ice.” Gray points. “What’s it for?”
For fuck’s sake, the goddamn trainer has to catch me with ice. “My balls are chafed. You want to take a lookie-loo in the hall for me?” I give a version of the truth since my balls are bluer than a Smurf.
As Gray freezes a few feet from me, Ace steps out of his room, and we’ve got a fucking party cock-blocking me. What does a guy have to do to sneak into his best friend’s room to get off? I groan in frustration and Lars smirks.
“Listen, I’m not ruining your twin plans so go about your business. You’re off the clock, Gray.” I step toward Lars, who doesn’t get the memo and obstructs my entry into his room.
“Why?” Ace whines in a very uncaptain-like way. “Why does this happen?”
He doesn’t need to elaborate since when he stops next to Gray, they’re wearing the exact same thing down to their socks.
“I thought you said you weren’t bringing the hoodie,” Gray accuses.
Ace turns so we can see his back. “This isn’t the hoodie. Wait, are you wearing the hoodie?” He grabs the back collar of Gray’s unhooded sweatshirt. “This isn’t a hoodie.” He rolls his eyes.
Gray sheepishly shrugs. “Oops, my bad.”
Lars finally steps aside, and I enter his room, but before he closes the door, Gray and Ace follow me. This borders on fucking harassment and torture.
“You guys vatching film?” Liska asks from the doorway.
Lars’s shoulders drop in defeat. “Yes, come in.”
The room isn’t big enough for five hockey players. Gray might be the trainer, but only because he blew his knee out and can’t play. He’s as big as the rest of us. Patrik sits in the club chair, Gray pulls out the desk chair, and Ace sits on the unrumpled bed. I can choose to sit on a bed with Ace or Lars.
As his roommate, it would be normal for me to sit next to Lars. But since we had very different plans for these beds, I have to pick Ace for our sanity.
“Pull up the hit on Richardson,” Gray instructs. “Something’s off with that guy. Let me see how and where he got hit.”
“Something is vrong in his head,” Patrik grumbles.
“Agreed,” I say, annoyed by Richardson’s trash-talking of Lars as if he could outplay Lars.
We watch and Gray stands up next to the TV. “Can you go back and slow it down?” Lars uses his tablet to do as Gray asks. “See, right there. His leg collapses before he’s hit. Has anyone seen him use the leg press?” Gray’s in trainer mode.
“He’s not right,” Lars says, and it’s more than his leg issue.
“Hey, Lucky, tell us more animal facts about what a herd would do to a lame member,” Ace hollers like a smart ass.
“Fuck off.” I shove his shoulder, but my eyes won’t stop gawking at Lars.
This night is not at all what I had planned. I planned to blow Lars’s mind with the things I learned on the internet. Instead, I’m thinking of investing in tucking underwear to shove my bits away so they’re not on display when Lars’s penetrating blue eyes pin me with his stare. I use a pillow to hide my hard-on and pray the guys leave.