Chapter 1 #3
Carefully holding his phone so I don’t drop it, I frown. “Is this new?”
“Oh, yeah.” A laugh. “I fell on the other one and it broke. Thank God all my pictures saved to the cloud. I would have been devastated to lose all of those.”
The reminder of him falling from the horse tightens my already painfully constricted chest. It’s a little hard to breathe. Trying to distract myself, I do as he asked and look at the photo album he has pulled up .
Marcos with a baby horse. Marcos riding a full-sized horse. Marcos sitting in the grass. Marcos at a campfire. Marcos’ butt as he bends over something on the ground. I glance over at Nate who’s smiling sappily down at his phone, watching while I scroll.
“Is this an entire album of pictures of your boyfriend?” I ask.
“Yeah!”
“Are you in any of these?”
He frowns, evidently thinking hard. “There are a couple selfies in there. But the star of the show is Marcos. I mean”—he pulls the phone out of my hand and looks at the picture I’d landed on—“look at him! Babe. Total babe.”
“He is handsome,” I admit. He also looks serious, which is a bit of a surprise. Nate’s default state is a high-energy level of nonsense, but I suppose maybe that’s why he was so drawn to Marcos. Coach Mackenzie did say once that Nate needed a handler to keep him in line.
We reach the hockey complex and I see Vas striding toward us, coming from the opposite direction. He notices us and waves cheerfully, not yelling out the way Nate does. We wait for him.
“Hello, my friends,” he greets us once he’s close enough to talk normally. He pats Nate’s shoulder, which makes him flinch and makes me feel like I’m going to cry. I’m about ten seconds away from yanking his shirt up to show Vas what he’s hiding.
“Hey, buddy! How was your summer?” Nate asks cheerfully, holding the door open for us.
“Oh, it was very enjoyable, thank you for asking. And you?”
Nate fires up at once, repeating everything he told me about how great the past couple of months have been. I can’t help but smile at the animated way he’s talking, and the slightly perplexed way Vas is listening.
Coach isn’t in the locker room when we get there.
Instead of peeling off and sitting in front of our respective stalls, the three of us stick together and take a seat on the nearest open bench.
Most of the guys are here and chatting with each other, with a few new faces sitting quietly in the corner.
They’re probably freshmen this year; new enough that they aren’t comfortable joining in on the first day.
“And you, Micky?” I turn at the sound of Vas’ voice. He’s looking at me, leaned forward slightly to see me around Nate. “Did you enjoy your summer?”
“Yeah, it was good. I mostly worked a lot, and just hung out.”
“Hung out” in this case meaning sat in the bedroom I’d rented, avoiding my summer roommates and reading my way through a library’s worth of books. Vas smiles.
“That is nice. I am happy to see you again. We shall have a good season, yes?”
“Yeah, maybe,” I agree quietly, already feeling the first spikes of dread at the thought of the season ahead. We haven’t even stepped on the ice and I’m ready to quit.
Coach Mackenzie walks into the room, and is greeted jovially by some of the returning guys.
He smiles and raises a conciliatory hand, as though trying to keep the exuberance to a minimum.
I press back against the locker behind me, willing myself to be small and unnoticeable.
Coach isn’t mean , but he’s stern and his facial expressions are hard for me to read.
He always looks annoyed, and even though his words don’t often match that, I can’t help but be nervous because of it.
What if one day he really is annoyed or angry at me ?
A man I’ve never seen before follows Coach into the room, and my face immediately flushes hot.
He is pretty —curly brown hair that shines under the artificial light of the locker room, and big brown eyes that appear to exactly match the shade of his hair.
Even from here I can see the freckles on his nose and cheeks, the tasteful cousin to my own ridiculously over-freckled skin.
He stands a step behind Coach, hands tucked into his pockets as he scans the room slowly.
When his eyes meet mine, he smiles in a friendly way.
Blushing, I look away and once more will myself to disappear into the wall. Jesus, the man just caught me staring at him like a creep.
“All right, boys, settle down,” Coach Mackenzie says, lips twitching as though he wants to smile at whatever it was Nate just said. “Thank you for coming in on short notice, and a day early—I’ve got a few announcements I wanted to cover with you before we really get going tomorrow.”
I chance a quick peek at the brown-haired man.
He’s still standing silently next to Coach, eyes on the side of his face as he listens just as intently as the rest of us.
He’s so tan, made more apparent by the white SCU polo shirt he’s wearing.
Next to him, Coach looks frightfully pale.
I wonder what he was doing all summer, to get that sort of tan.
I wonder if it’s only his arms and face, or if the rest of him…
God! Stop it! I look down at my feet and try to think of things that might make my blush calm down. My body is so hot, I’m going to start sweating in a minute. First Nate and now this guy—are they trying to fucking kill me?
“There are a few new additions to staffing this season that I’d like to make you aware of.
Nigel St. James, whom many of you will remember from his help last season, has agreed to a more permanent supporting position with the team.
” Several people gasp, and one of the freshmen sitting in the corner mutters fuck yeah .
Coach doesn’t bother to hold back the smile this time.
“He will be working with our forward lines.”
“Lawson, too?” someone yells from the back of the room.
“Yes. On occasion, he will be here as well, but not on a scheduled basis, so do not get your hopes up.”
Nate snorts and nudges me, likely trying to share the excitement. Anthony Lawson came to practice a few times last season, and although it was fine, I really preferred working with Carter Morgan over the summer. The closer in age people are to me, the safer they are.
“Desmond Gates will also be joining us as an assistant coach.”
My stomach drops as Coach Mackenzie gestures toward the man. Of course he’s the assistant coach hire. Of-fucking-course. I’m going to have to look at him all season, and try not to be awkward or blush or say something embarrassing about how handsome he is. Might as well kill me now.
“Thank you,” Desmond Gates murmurs in response to a chorus of greetings from the more friendly members of the team.
He’s got a hint of an accent, but the words were spoken too softly for me to get a good read on it.
Again, because I can’t seem to look away, his eyes meet mine.
This time I manage to smile back, but I fear it looks more like a grimace.
He probably thinks I have a stomachache.
“Where are you from, Coach Gates?” Nate pipes up, never one to be shy. Clearly, he heard the accent, too.
“Moved here over the summer from Australia,” he answers, which is super great for me. Go ahead and give the sexiest man I’ve ever seen the sexiest accent. Why the fuck not? “And please, just Desmond or Des is fine.”
This news is met with a minor explosion of excitement, as everyone in the room ranks him higher on the badass scale. He smiles faintly at the sudden attention, and Coach Mackenzie just shakes his head.
“All right,” he says, cutting everyone off before they can pick up too much steam. “You can interview him later. One more thing to discuss before we let you go. We are in need of a new captain this season, and although we usually take a vote, I don’t imagine it is needed this year?”
“Vas, Vas, Vas,” Juno chants, banging his fist on the bench beside him. Vas looks over, brow furrowed as though he’s puzzled.
“Vas,” Cooper adds.
“Agreed,” Nate puts in, clapping a hand on Vas’ shoulder and giving him a little shake.
“I figured as much. Vasel, any objections to being in charge of these miscreants?” Coach asks him amid a round of laughter.
“Oh, but, sir, I am thinking there are better choices than me,” Vas says immediately, which only makes everyone laugh harder.
“There’s really not,” someone puts in, earning another round of agreement.
“Well,” Vas says, looking embarrassed. “Thank you. I will try my best.”
Coach Mackenzie is fighting a losing battle with another smile. Next to him, Desmond isn’t trying at all, but grinning down at his feet.
As he promised, the meeting wraps up after that. Nate nudges me with his elbow and struggles to his feet, very obviously favoring his side. I glance over at Coach Mackenzie, willing him to notice, but he’s talking to a pair of freshmen and facing the opposite way .
“Let’s go talk to him,” Nate says, nudging me again, this time with his foot. He back-nods toward Desmond. I shake my head.
“No, I’m okay. You go ahead.”
“Come on,” he prods, holding his hand out as though the reason I don’t want to go is that I can’t stand up on my own. Sighing, I accept my fate and follow him over to talk to our newest and hottest coach. Every inch of me burns.
“Hi, I’m Nate Basset,” Nate says in greeting, holding out his hand. “Defense.”
“Desmond Gates. Coaching staff,” Desmond replies, one brown eyebrow arched and amusement in the tilt of his mouth.
His eyes, which really are the exact same shade as his hair, track over to where I’m standing behind Nate.
The pair of them are about the same height, which means if I were to hug him, Desmond’s chin would sit perfectly over my shoulder.
Jesus, but why would I hug a coach? My face, which is probably the same temperature as the earth’s core at this point, heats further. I wipe my palms nervously on my legs.
“This is Micky,” Nate says, reaching around to put a hand on my shoulder and squeezing. “Jack McIntire, if you want the full mouthful.”
Oh, great, and now I’m thinking about full mouthfuls.
“Hey, bud. How ya going?” Desmond holds out his hand to shake mine, the same way he just did with Nate. I stare at that hand for what is probably far too long, and my anxiety takes this moment to remind me that I’m not making a good first impression at all.
“Nice to meet you,” I manage, grasping his hand.
Nate’s is still on my shoulder, likely because he can see exactly how uncomfortable I am right now.
He doesn’t let me flounder, but neatly takes hold of the conversation and draws Desmond’s attention back to him.
My skin tingles with awareness, long after his hand is no longer touching mine.
“All right, Micky Mouse, what the hell was that about?” Nate asks the moment we leave and walk outside.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing!” he repeats. “You were so red you were sending out heat waves. Do you know that guy or something?”
“No, I don’t know him.” But I’d like to , I add silently. “He’s just…didn’t you notice how…nice looking he is?”
“Nice looking.” Nate laughs, shaking his head and sending a fond look my direction. “So, you’ve got the hots for Desmond Gates, huh?”
“Say it louder, Nate, God.” I glance around at the completely empty section of campus we’re on. He raises his eyebrows at me. “Okay, yes, I have the hots for him. Happy?”
“He’s not bad looking, I guess. Nice accent, too. I love a good accent.”
I nod in agreement. I do too, particularly when that accent is paired with a long, lean body; curly hair, and big, chocolate-brown eyes.
“—not allowed, though,” Nate says, and I realize I missed everything he was saying, too busy thinking about the hot hockey coach.
“What?”
“I said he’s pretty young, too. He didn’t look that much older than us. Dating a coach isn’t allowed, though.”
“Well, I don’t want to date him. I just—I just want to look at him.”
Nate tips his head back and laughs as if this is the funniest thing he’s heard all day.
“Okay, fair. Can you imagine, though, what would happen if you did try and date him? Coach Mackenzie would kill him, I swear he would. He’s got that mama bear energy.”
“He would be pissed,” I agree, queasy even at the thought of it. “I just think he’s handsome, that’s all. It’s not like I was going to ask him out. I don’t do that.”
“That accent, though.” Nate sighs. “Marcos has an accent.”
I laugh, unsurprised the conversation has circled back around to the notorious Marcos. I wonder if he knows exactly what kind of hold he has over my friend.