Chapter 20 Tate
TWENTY
tate
I sit in a corner booth by myself, nursing a bottle of Stella Artois. I pick at the corners of the label, gritting my teeth as I watch Parker with the team.
Tonight we’re at The Penalty Box celebrating his first shutout. The kid’s been riding high since taking over my spot and watching the team toast his success while I drown my sorrows alone is about as fun as a root canal.
The place is a go-to for the team. We usually head here after local games to unwind.
And right now the dark wood paneling and dim lighting keep me somewhat anonymous, which suits me just fucking fine.
I don’t need any more press vultures breathing down my throat looking for reasons why Parker has taken over as Oakland’s starting goalie after I lost my shot in Seattle.
“You look thrilled to be here,” Masterson says, sliding into the booth across from me.
“Just tired.” I take another sip of my beer, watching Zane across the room. He’s leaning against the bar, talking to Carter. He looks relaxed, casual, like he didn’t have me coming apart on his couch less than twenty-four hours ago.
“Tired from what? You’ve been riding the bench for two weeks.”
“Thanks for the reminder, dick.”
Masterson shrugs. “Just saying. Maybe if you stopped brooding in corners and actually participated in team activities, Coach would remember you exist.”
He’s not wrong, but participating in team activities is complicated when the guy you can’t stop fantasizing about is standing fifteen feet away, looking good enough to eat in dark jeans and a button-down that shows off his broad shoulders.
“I’m participating,” I say. “I’m here, right?”
“You’re sitting alone in a booth, glaring at people.”
“I’m not glaring.”
“You’re definitely glaring. The question is, at who?” Masterson follows my gaze toward the bar, and I force myself to look away before he connects the dots.
Too late.
“Ah,” he says. “Coach Christensen.”
I start picking at the label again. “What about him?”
“Nothing. It’s just interesting.”
“What’s interesting?”
“The way you look at him. Like you want to either fight him or fuck him. But you aren’t…” He furrows his brow. “You know.”
“Of course I’m not.” Shit, shit, shit. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about or what you think you’re seeing, but it’s nothing,” I say.
“Whatever you say, bro.” Masterson grins, and I realize I’ve just made a huge mistake. Masterson is a lot of things - good defenseman, a better friend, and an absolute nightmare when he gets hold of gossip. “You don’t like him.”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t get too excited. I still need him to help me get my position back.”
“Gotcha. So, what, are you trying to kill him with your mind or something? I mean, you really started to shit the bed when he rolled into town.”
Dammit. I need to get out of this conversation before he figures out there’s more to it than professional tension.
“I’m getting another beer,” I say, standing up.
“Good idea. Get me one too.”
I flip him off and head toward the bar, weaving through clusters of teammates and their girlfriends. The music is louder here, some country band is playing, and I have to lean in close to get the bartender’s attention.
“Another Stella,” I tell him, then make the mistake of looking toward my right.
Zane’s there, close enough to touch.
“Having fun?” he asks, not looking at me.
“A blast.”
“You could try pretending to enjoy yourself. For the team’s sake.”
“I am enjoying myself.”
“You’re sulking in a corner.”
“I’m not sulking.”
He turns to look at me then, and the intensity in his eyes makes my breath catch. “What are you doing, Tate?”
“Getting a beer.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
The bartender slides my drink across the bar, and I wrap my fingers around the cold bottle. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“I want you to stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re remembering what I taste like.”
The words go straight to my cock, and I have to shift my weight to hide my reaction. A quick glance over my shoulder confirms that Masterson has moved on to another group.
“I’m not looking at you like anything,” I lie.
“Bullshit.”
Before I can respond, someone slides up to the bar next to me. Close. Too close.
“Excuse me,” a female voice says, and I turn to see a brunette in a tight dress smiling at me. “You’re Tate Barnes, right? From the Raptors?”
“Yeah.”
“I thought so. I’m Sarah.” She extends a hand, and I shake it because I’m not an asshole. “I’ve been watching you play for years. You’re amazing.”
“Thanks.”
“Can I buy you a drink? I’d love to talk hockey with you.” Her lips lift into a seductive smile.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Zane’s jaw tighten. His knuckles are white around his beer bottle.
“That’s nice of you, but I’m good,” I tell Sarah, holding up my full beer.
“Oh, come on,” she says, moving closer. Her hand lands on my forearm, long fingernails trailing along my skin. “One drink. I promise we’ll have fun talking.”
I really should make up an excuse and go back to the guys but I’m enjoying Zane’s reaction too much. His eyes are dark, focused on Sarah’s hand on my arm like he wants to break her fingers.
“Maybe later,” I tell her.
“I’ll hold you to that,” she says with a wink, then disappears back into the crowd, shaking her ass in the dress that barely covers it.
The silence between Zane and me stretches taut like a rubber band ready to snap.
“Fan of yours?” he asks, annoyance dripping from his words.
“Apparently.”
“She seems friendly.”
“Yeah.” I take a swig from the beer bottle.
“The kind of friendly that involves her hand on your arm,” he says.
There’s an edge to his voice now, barely controlled jealousy that makes something hot and reckless unwind in my chest.
“You got a problem with that?” I ask.
“Why would I have a problem with it?”
“I don’t know. You tell me.”
We’re playing with fire, having this conversation in public where anyone could overhear. But I can’t seem to stop myself, can’t resist pushing at his buttons. I want to hit them all, to drive him absolutely crazy.
“I need some air,” I say, putting my nearly full beer on the bar.
I head toward the back of the bar where the restrooms are. I need a few seconds to think.
The bathroom door swings shut behind me, muffling the noise from the bar. It’s a single-stall room with a lock. I reach for it but the door opens again before I get a chance to lock it.
Zane steps inside, eyes blazing, and clicks the lock into place.
“What the fuck was that?” he demands.
“What was what?”
“Don’t play dumb. The flirting, the hand on your arm, the way you looked at me like you were trying to make me jealous.”
“Were you? Jealous?”
Instead of answering, he backs me against the wall, blocking any escape with his massive body. As if I’d ever try to get away from him. His hands frame my face, thumbs brushing along my cheekbones.
“You know I was,” he says, voice rough. “And you know exactly what you were doing.”
“Maybe I wanted to see what would happen.”
“This is what happens,” he says, and kisses me hard enough to bruise my lips.
It’s desperate and possessive and everything I’ve been fantasizing about since he told me things were too complicated last night. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, claiming, demanding, coiling with mine.
“She put her hands on you,” he says against my lips, grinding his cock against me. “Right in front of me, and I couldn’t do anything about it.”
“You’re doing something about it now.”
“I had no choice,” His hands slide down to my hips, pulling me against him. “I’m losing my fucking mind.”
“Good,” I tell him. “That makes two of us.”
He kisses me again, rougher this time, like he’s trying to mark me from the inside out. I can taste the beer on his tongue, can feel the heat of his body through his clothes, and I want more. I want everything.
“We shouldn’t be doing this here,” he says, but his hands are already fumbling with my belt.
“Then stop.”
“I can’t.” His voice is wrecked. “I can’t stop thinking about last night. I can’t stop wanting you.”
“Then don’t stop.”
I reach for his zipper when the door handle rattles. Both of us freeze, breathing hard, staring at each other. Panic claws at my chest.
“Occupied,” I call out, but the rattling continues.
“Hey, whoever’s in there, open up. I need to piss.”
The voice is familiar. Too familiar.
Fucking Liam Parker.
“Shit,” Zane breathes, moving away from me.
“Just a minute,” I call, trying to buy time while we both attempt to look like we weren’t just about to fuck in a bar bathroom.
But the rattling gets more insistent. I reach for the door and twist the handle, my pulse spiking at the look on Parker’s face as he takes in our rumpled clothes, our flushed faces, the way we’re both breathing like we’ve been running practice drills.
Seconds stretch into what feels like hours and nobody moves. Nobody speaks.
Then Parker steps inside and closes the door behind him, eyes wide with shock.
“Holy shit,” he mutters. “Seriously?”
“Parker,” I start to say, but he holds up a hand.
“No.” He runs a hand through his hair, looks anywhere but at us. “I came in here to piss, not to... Jesus Christ.”
The silence hangs heavy in the air. Parker’s still processing what he walked in on, and I can see the exact moment it all clicks into place.
“You two are... ” He gestures wildly, still refusing to make eye contact. “This is why you’ve been acting weird. Both of you.”
“Look, kid—” Zane begins.
“I’m not a kid,” Parker snaps, finally looking at us. “I’m a professional hockey player, same as you. And I know what I just saw.”
“What do you think you saw?” I ask, even though there’s no point pretending anymore.
“I saw my coach and teammate about to hook up in a bar bathroom.” His voice is blunt, matter-of-fact. “I saw two people who are going to destroy their careers if they keep being this reckless.”
“It’s not what you think,” Zane says.
“Really? ‘Cause It looks like you’re both so desperate to get your hands on each other that you’re willing to risk everything in a public bathroom where anyone could walk in.” Parker shakes his head. “Do you have any idea what this could do to both your careers if it gets out?”
“We know the risks,” I say.
“So you’re willing to throw everything away for this?
You’re both thinking with your dicks instead of your brains.
” Parker’s voice gets harder. “You think management’s going to accept it?
You think the media’s going to be understanding?
Coach fucking his player is a story that annihilates everyone involved.
And Tate, I didn’t even know that you were… ”
His voice trails off as if he doesn’t even believe it.
Parker’s accusation stings because he’s not wrong. We have been reckless and stupid, letting our attraction override our common sense.
But his last words chill me. “Nobody knows,” I say. “About me.”
And everything else he just said? He’s a hundred percent right, and we all know it. The league doesn’t have a great track record with relationships that blur professional lines, especially when one person has power over the other’s career.
“What do you want?” Zane asks.
“Just be smarter than this. Both of you.” Parker looks at us. “You need to figure out how to keep your hands off each other until you’re not coach and player anymore.”
“And if we can’t?” I ask.
“Then you’re going to get caught. Maybe not by me, maybe not tonight, but someone’s going to notice. Someone’s going to put the pieces together. And when that happens, it’s not just going to be your careers on the line.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean the team’s gonna get dragged into it, too. The organization gets dragged into it. Everyone who works here gets to deal with the fallout because you two couldn’t keep it professional.” Parker’s voice drops. “I’ve got a career to think about too. We all do.”
Fuck, he’s right. It’s not just about us anymore. It’s about everyone who could get hurt when this inevitably explodes.
“So what are you saying?” Zane asks.
“I’m saying be careful. Be smarter. And for Pete’s sake, stop acting like horny teenagers who can’t wait five minutes for privacy.
” Parker checks his appearance in the mirror, straightens his shirt.
“I never saw anything. But next time, there might not be someone who’s willing to keep their mouth shut. ”
He heads for the door, pauses with his hand on the handle.
“For what it’s worth, I hope you figure it out. But not like this. Not in ways that fuck up all you’ve both worked for.”
The door closes behind him with a quiet click, leaving Zane and me alone with the reality of how close we just came to losing everything.
“Damn,” I breathe.
“Yeah,” Zane agrees. “We’re fucked.”