Chapter 3 #2
“Jesus Christ. Get up. We’ve got work to do.” Coach scoffed a laugh and shook his head.
I popped onto my skates and rose. “Where’s Crosby?” I looked around the rink and found him chatting with our goalie, Gagnon, at his net. Did he even understand what Gagnon was saying? His Quebec accent was so thick, he hardly made any sense to me. I skated to them. “Hey.”
They both looked at me. “Are you ready to be serious now?” Crosby smirked.
“Only if you are. Do the fucking drill the right way.” Though, in an actual game, I wouldn’t be able to predict the opponent’s movements.
“Did you shoot?” Gagnon asked, his dark gaze meeting mine from under his facemask.
“Shoot? We’re not doing puck drills right now.” I furrowed my brows. Did I even understand his words?
“No, camera. Did you shoot camera?” Gagnon dropped his stick and held his gloved hands to his face, mimicking holding a camera and pushing a button.
“Oh, yeah, we did that yesterday.” I pursed my lips. I’d head to the studio today and check on Ezra.
“I shoot today.” Gagnon gave me a wide smile, one of his front teeth missing.
“Cool. You’ll do great. Just maybe don’t smile, okay?
” With a snicker, I patted Gagnon’s helmet.
Would he wait out the season to get his teeth fixed?
It would drive me crazy having a tooth missing.
And how the hell did it happen while wearing a full face mask on his helmet?
He’d been like that since before training camp started.
“No smile?” He glanced at Crosby, who was chuckling.
“Don’t worry, the photographer wants us to look tough, so you’re not supposed to smile, anyway.” Crosby tagged my arm with the back of his hand. “Come on, let’s go. Coach is glaring at us.”
I peeked at Coach, hands planted on his hips and focused on us.
“Okay.” I tapped Gagnon on the arm. “Hey, I’m going to stop in at the studio today, so I’ll see you there.”
Gagnon nodded. “You need more shoot?”
“Yeah, I need more shoot.” Shaking my head, I chuckled softly and followed Crosby across the rink. I hadn’t told Crosby about my plans yet.
“Why are you visiting the studio today?” He stopped at our section of the ice, his gaze meeting mine.
“I spoke to my brother and his husband last night about what we saw. They think I should try to help Ezra.” As my pulse fluttered, I breathed in deeply. Ezra had filled my head constantly throughout the night. I think I’d even had dreams about him.
“You want me to go with you?” He tapped his stick on the ice. “I mean, I had plans to—”
“Naw, I don’t want to bombard the guy. It’s probably better if I go alone.” I glanced at Gagnon. “Besides, Gagnon will be there if I need backup. The guy’s a hulk.” And being our goalie, he wouldn’t let me take shit from anyone if Tate showed up again.
“Okay. Let me know how it goes, okay?” Crosby frowned, and it morphed into a sly grin. “Let’s see if you can keep up this time.” He twisted around, putting his back to me. “We’ve gotta be ready for our first game next week.”
After practice, I found out Gagnon would be the last guy on Ezra’s schedule today, so I planned on heading to the studio toward the end of his shoot. This way, he could be there in case shit went down with Tate, or I could have some alone time with Ezra.
I parked my older jeep in an angled spot in front of the studio entrance. The place was pretty nondescript. You wouldn’t know it was here if you weren’t told about it. There was a small sign above the door reading Turner Photography.
It was still in Scottsdale, but south of the arts district, where I’d had dinner last night, and filled with convenience stores, auto body shops and a freaking strip club across the street. Maybe me and the guys would check it out sometime.
With a chuckle and my pulse stuttering, I climbed out of my vehicle, strolled to the heavy metal door, and swung it open.
Ezra, on one knee, snapped shots of Philippe Gagnon while he basically stood there, his thick, bare muscles well oiled. He was clueless about posing for this shoot.
As my breath caught, I stepped inside. There was the man who’d been living rent free in my head for two days. Wait, had Ezra oiled Philippe’s back too? I’d done it for Evan. Burning ghosted across my chest. Shit, why did I care?
“Okay, I think I’ve got what I need.” Ezra stood, peering into the screen on his camera and pushing buttons.
“Good. It went well?” Philippe stepped away from the lights and his gaze wound to me. “Lucas, you’re too late to see me get shoot.”
“Yeah, sorry.” With a chuckle, I brushed my palm over the back of my hair.
Ezra twisted and stared at me. “Lucas. I wasn’t expecting you.” The edges of his lips twitched.
Was he happy to see me? “Yeah, I, uh, I wanted to see the photos you took of me yesterday. You know, the special ones?” I threw a glance at Philippe. Was he going to ask questions?
Philippe paid us no mind as he undressed out of his hockey gear.
Stepping to me, Ezra said, “Sure. I edited them last night and I think they turned out pretty well.” He flicked his gaze up and down my body and then sank his teeth into his lower lip. “Come to my desk and I’ll show you.”
I followed him to his desk, my gaze landing on his round, swaying ass, covered in tight denim.
Did he work out? How did he get an ass like that? “Good. I think my mom will love them.” I sounded pathetic, didn’t I?
Philippe dressed in a team shirt and joggers and strolled toward us. “Can I see?” He lifted his brows.
“Uh, yeah.” Ezra dropped into the desk chair and clicked on his mouse. Images of my face came up on the big screen connected to his laptop. “You should be a model, Lucas.”
“Oh, so pretty.” Philippe snickered and pushed on my shoulder.
“Shut up.” With a soft snort, I slapped his chest, then gazed closer at the photo. This was how he saw me. I swallowed. It was probably the best photo anyone had ever taken of me. I looked…fucking good.
“Okay, I must go. I need supper.” Philippe patted my back. “Thank you, Ezra.”
“You’re welcome, Philippe. I’ll let you know when I have your photos edited.” Ezra stood and shook his hand.
“Later, Lucas.” Philippe gave me a side hug, ambled to the door and left.
I was alone with Ezra. The pattering of my heart filled my ears. Why was I so nervous around him? And more importantly, how could I bring up the topic I came for? “So, can you send me those photos?”
“Sure can, but would you like me to print them for you, too? I have a professional printer here.” He held his hand out to a behemoth of a machine against the wall, close to the desk. I’d missed seeing it yesterday.
“Yeah, that would probably be better.” I placed my hand flat on the desk. “Hey, Ezra, there’s something else I wanted to talk to you about.” I breathed through the butterflies in my stomach.
“Yes?” He stood and his gaze flicked to my lips for a beat, his throat dipping.
“I, um, I wanted to talk to you about Tate.” Shit, I’d just laid it all out there. Would he turn me away? I studied him.
His brows knitted, and any hint of a smile vanished. “What about Tate?” He turned, facing his desk, planting his hands on the surface. “Look, I’m not proud of what—”
“I want to help you.” Placing my hand on his shoulder, I twisted him to me. “I couldn’t get what happened yesterday out of my head and I’m not a person who can see that and not act.” Oh, fuck…he was going to tell me to go to hell.
Straightening his shoulders, he said, “You don’t even know me.” His gaze softened and his lips bowed at the corners. “Why would you want to help me?”
Okay, so he was open to it. “How about we grab a coffee and talk? Can we start there?” The beating of my heart thrummed in my temples.
He gaped for a beat, his brows twitching, and scanned the studio.
“Uh, yeah, sure. I suppose I can edit today’s photos later.
” With a purse of his lips, he picked up his phone, lying next to the keyboard on the desk.
“I should, um, should let Tate know.” He rubbed his forehead, gazing at the open screen on the phone.
“Fuck, no, I shouldn’t.” He huffed a breath.
“But if he comes looking for me…” His brows furrowed. “No, I can’t tell him.”
Jesus, he really was in an abusive relationship. I grabbed his forearm and lowered it along with the phone. “Ezra, let’s just go. You can tell him it’s my fault. Tell him I wanted to talk to you about. Shit, I don’t know.” What excuse could we give him? “How would he even know you’re not here?”
“He likes to stop by unannounced.” He fisted his free hand at his side. “Fuck it. I’ll figure something out. Let’s just go before he shows up.” He threw a shaky glance at the door.
“Let’s go then.” With a grin, I grabbed his hand and led him to the door, the warmth of his touch burning inside me. It felt good to help him. As I opened the door, he ripped his hand free.
“Uh, you’re not queer, are you?” He eyed me.
Choking out a laugh, I said, “No. I’m straight.” But then what were these weird feelings around him?
“Okay. I didn’t think so.” He followed toward the sunlit street and down a sidewalk. “The coffee shop I sent Evan to is right down here.”
“Okay.” I strolled beside him, taking in the way his long dark hair fluttered in the breeze, exposing his angled jawline and the hint of stubble. He wore a tighter shirt today, his lean legs taking graceful strides.
God damn, did he have any idea how amazing he looked? Why was he with a guy like Tate? Any gay man would surely love to have him. As we approached the glass doors to the coffee shop, I opened one. “After you.”
“Thanks.” He strode inside and to a counter at the back.
The décor resembled a French bistro, featuring white subway tiles, black counters, and metal, round-backed chairs around marble-topped tables.
A brown velvet couch rested along one wall with an oval coffee table in front of it.
We’d sit there. Only one couple occupied the place, seated at a table in the window.