Chapter Fifteen #3
“We’ll finish this later,” Karson insists as he squeezes my arm.
The Rush are the first to arrive, and my eyes search for Finn without fail.
Like the rest of the guys, he’s dressed casually for dinner in dark jeans, a white button down, and a forest-green bomber jacket.
His hair’s starting to grow out, and I grin when I notice the cowlick is still untamed.
The closer he gets, the longer I stare, my gaze catching on the red scruff on his face.
He’d look hot as hell with a beard, but all I can think is I hope it doesn’t cover his dimples.
I quickly look away and reach for my glass of water, my hand shaking. Is it ever going to be steady again?
Half the Toronto Sentinels arrive a short while later, and soon the dining room is packed with two dozen hungry hockey players.
It makes for an interesting gathering, and I’m grateful for the distraction.
Finn says a brief hello to me, then sits on the other side of Karson and the two of them start talking like long lost buddies.
Everyone finally settles down and we get to the important part of the evening: ordering and eating.
I get up and circulate, moving to sit at the opposite end of the table. It doesn’t help because the longer Finn and Karson talk and laugh, the more irritated I become. For the first time ever, I’m envious of my baby brother.
It’s stupid, but there it is.
Makela sits on my right and is well into scarfing down his second steak when he taps my hand with the tip of his knife.
“Um, careful. I need my hand tomorrow,” I offer.
“Are you going to finish your ribeye?” Makela asks.
“Eventually.”
I haven’t got much appetite. For food.
“You need to fill up. We will kick Karson’s smug ass, and hard. I will not be happy unless I see his pain.”
“Then why don’t you poke him with your knife and not me?”
Makela glances down the table and shrugs.
“Maybe during dessert.”
I shake my head.
“Jealous of his success?”
“Me? No fucking way,” he scoffs. “I’m a better player, a better person. In every way.”
This guy’s ego…
“His stats speak for themselves,” I counter.
“Not this year. Things will change. You will see.”
I hear the familiar rumble of Finn’s laughter across the room, and my eyes can’t help but track him.
When those twin dimples of his make an appearance, it takes every ounce of my control to stay in my seat.
My frustration doesn’t last long, though, because Sorensen launches a roll across the table, and it smacks me in the forehead.
“The fuck?” I blurt out and lob the roll back at the goalie.
“Sorry,” Sorensen offers with a cheeky grin. “I was aiming for Makela.”
“It’s clear why you’re in net; you can’t aim for shit,” I quip.
Sorensen grabs another roll, but Berg gives him a look.
“Boys, come on, show a little respect for where we are.”
“Yeah!” Karson calls out. “Save the dirty moves for the real game.”
“You’d know all about that, KitKat,” Makela snarks.
“KitKat?” Sorensen interrupts. “I thought your nickname was Whiplash?”
Karson lets out a grin.
“It is, in the NHL. At the Olympics, however, I got the name KitKat. There was a photo of me before the final, eating a chocolate bar. Someone in the press found it amusing and insisted I give it credit for the win.”
“Is true about the chocolate,” Makela grumbles.
“Fuck off, Bronze Medal.” Karson offers him two middle fingers. “At least KitKat is better than Mercury.”
“No fucking way,” Makela preens with a smirk. “Fans love it. They think I’m a Roman god. Of course, unlike you, I actually have a body like one.”
My colleagues groan in unison. Karson reaches for a roll and nails Makela in the chest.
“Does everyone here have a cool nickname except me?” Finn announces.
Karson points at me. “Celery doesn’t.”
My face heats as the guys laugh.
“Celery?” Finn chuckles and shakes his head at me.
“No family nicknames allowed,” I insist. “Ignore my brother, he’s a gigantic dickhead.”
“I agree with Selwin,” Makela adds.
“And you already have a great nickname.” I glance across the table and allow my gaze to linger on Finn for more than thirty seconds. “Finntastic.”
Finn waves me off. “That’s a silly college one. I need a new one for my professional career. Something different. Cool.”
“Finnomenal?” Berg suggests.
“Finnatic,” Sorensen adds.
“No to that one, Sorensen.”
“Finnmeister!” Karson suggests.
Finn sighs. “Something that doesn’t have my first name in it, please.”
Kuznetsov puts up his hand. “What about ‘The Brick’?”
Finn shakes his head and looks at me for a long moment.
“Sel’s right. I’m good with my original one.”
Hours later, with everyone gone, Karson pays the bill and walks me back to the hotel. The closer we get to my destination, the thinner the crowds of people. When we turn a final corner, there’s no one in sight. Karson taps my arm, and I pause.
“I saw the way you looked at Finn tonight,” Karson says gently.
Shit, does that mean other people…
He shakes his head.
“It’s only because I know you like I know myself,” he continues. “Are you still going to deny there’s nothing going on?”
My eyes suddenly sting. I don’t like it, but I can’t help it.
“It’s all me. I shouldn’t even think about him that way, never mind tell anyone. Finn sees me as his buddy, a mentor.”
I’m so full of shit, and judging by Karson’s eye roll, he knows it too.
“I’m being ridiculous, Kar. It’s nothing but a silly infatuation that will go away. The last thing I need right now is to let my dick take over. Not with a teammate.”
“Did something happen between you two?”
I should deny it. Instead, I release the words out loud.
“We kissed,” I confess, the memory seared into my brain. “It was… it was—”
And, my words are gone again.
I’ve kissed a lot of men and women but none of them had me all up in my feels like Finn. And I don’t dare think about why.
Karson whistles. “So, it’s like that? It’s not all you?”
“Yes. No,” I insist. “I don’t know. He’s confused.”
“Why?”
I lower my voice. “He’s only had a girlfriend. I think he’s mistaking our closeness for something more.”
“Did he say that?”
“No,” I admit. “No, in fact, the opposite. He seemed more confident about what happened between us than I did.”
“Knocked you for a loop?”
I can’t help but grin. “And then some.”
“Sounds like he knows how he feels. And I know you, bro. You wouldn’t cross that line just to get off. Finn means more to you than fucking. I’m right, aren’t I?”
I want to deny it, but my silence says it all.