Chapter 4 #2
“You’re being reckless.” Tom crossed his admittedly impressive arms across his admittedly very firm chest.
Jax considered the effort of getting past him.
In a physical altercation, they would be pretty even.
Tom was taller, sure, but Jax was broader and stronger.
Tom was faster, but Jax was more wily. He could get through, but then his hair would be all fucked up again.
He’d still have to get a cab to a club and get tipsy enough to have no trouble chatting someone up but not so tipsy he’d have trouble following through.
Then he’d have to find a place to do it—after Edmonton, he would never bring another man to a team hotel, and Jax was too old to be fucking in bathrooms.
It all sounded like a lot of work.
“All right, fine.” He sprawled back on the bed. “Tell me about these drills.”
He could hear the soft tread of Tom’s feet on the carpet. “Well, I thought we could ask Morris for some more forward-heavy drills where the D-men need to stay on the ice but aren’t getting totally gassed.”
Jax peered up at him as he stood awkwardly at the end of the bed, hands folded together, looming like…well, like a crow.
“Sit down. You’re making me nervous.”
Tom eyed the chair by the table on the other side of the room.
Jax patted the bed. “Come on. I don’t bite. Unless you’re into that.”
Tom took the chair.
Wuss.
Jax heaved himself up to a seated position, leaning against the headboard. “So, your plan is to get Morris involved but not tell him why?”
“I know it’s dishonest and probably a bad idea, but I’d feel more comfortable if we could show him things are going well with what we suggested before we start criticizing the coaches, and—”
“No, no, it’s good. It’s sneaky. Didn’t expect it from you.”
Tom shrugged. The sharp points of his clavicles stood out in perfect relief against his smooth skin. “I guess I’m trying new things.”
“Good look on you.” Jax squirmed on the bedspread and pulled his wallet out from under his butt. It made sitting uncomfortable. While he was at it, he dug out the condoms and lube from the other pocket and tossed those on the nightstand as well.
A choking noise from the other side of the room let him know he’d gone too far.
Tom stood up again. “I should…go.”
“Really? That’s all you wanted to talk about?”
“I, um… Yes? No, wait. Will you help me ask Morris? Pretend it’s because we want to practice working on a line?”
“Sure.”
Actually, it wasn’t a half-bad idea, and not only because Jax wanted to be on the first line.
He deserved to be on the first line. Frankly, he should have been put there on day one.
None of the team’s other centers could hold a candle to him, and he didn’t understand why the coaches hadn’t done it yet.
Tom hesitated, halfway across the room. “You’re not going out now, though, right?”
“What, are you gonna guard the door to make sure?” Jax rolled to his side so he could see Tom better, propped up on an elbow. “People might talk, Thomas.”
Tom looked away immediately. “It’s just Tom.”
“You know,” Jax drawled, fluttering his eyelashes lasciviously. If he wasn’t getting laid, he might as well have fun in other ways. “I won’t be closeted forever. Someday, I’ll be out, and then everyone will wonder what you were doing in my hotel room, all alone so late at night.”
Tom opened his mouth, then closed it again, and then he was gone.
Jax had to stop flirting with known homophobes.
It was funny, but it was also very stupid.
Long after Tom left, past the point when he should have brushed his teeth and changed out of his tight clubbing clothes, Jax remained in bed, staring at the ceiling and remembering Tom’s built arms, long eyelashes, and flustered words.
He regretted the late night the following morning when he had to drag himself down to the team bus, bleary-eyed and groggy.
They had an early practice in Florida before flying up to St. Louis for an evening game, and the back of Jax’s neck prickled the entire time as Tom attempted unsubtly to catch his eye and remind him of the plan.
When they did approach Coach Morris, Tom couldn’t lift his gaze from the floor.
“You have no future in international espionage,” Jax muttered to him. “Chill, would you?”
“I’m not good at this.”
Tom’s talents only seemed to include being handsome, being awkward, and stating the obvious. And hockey. Always hockey. What am I going to do with him? Jax thought fondly, then reminded himself he didn’t want to do anything at all with Tom.
“Coach!” Jax pasted a brilliant smile across his face. “We wanted to ask you something.”
Coach Morris peered down at his tablet, brow furrowed at a video of the penalty kill at last night’s game.
Fair enough. East seemed to be a solid dude with good skills on the barbecue front, but a brick wall he was not, and their goalie had been left out to dry when the Wildcats obliterated the defense.
Morris grunted in answer.
“We were thinking…” Tom started and then seemed to lose his words.
“We were thinking we want try some 3-on-3 at practice today.”
Morris studied them. “Why?”
Tom opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
“Well, we lost yesterday, and we’d like not to lose today,” Jax said drolly. “If we tighten up offensively…”
“The offense is not what I’m worried about right now.” Morris glanced at his tablet.
Miraculously, out of nowhere, Tom came out with, “The best defense is a good offense, though, my dad always used to say.”
Sensing an opening, Jax slung an arm around Tom’s shoulder. “And look, between us, you’ve got Tom here, and you’ve got me. If you put us together, you won’t find much better offense in the league.”
Morris’s mouth twisted. “I’m aware. I thought I’d keep you two separate to even out some of the deficit in the D-zone.”
“True,” Jax said slowly. “But you’re not going to fix the D-zone by tonight, and if we know a lot of goals will go in, the best we can do is to score more ourselves.”
Eyeing them speculatively, Morris said, “I guess I’ll give you a shot.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Jax watched Morris have a word with Trout.
Trout was older, a man from whatever generation wore baseball caps with gas station brands on them and had a thick mustache but no other facial hair.
He looked less than thrilled with the plans for the day’s practice, but that could have just been his face.
Either way, practice went well. Jax had spent an embarrassing amount of time admiring Tom’s game, so he had no trouble finding him on the ice.
They got an easy four goals past Vladimir Dmitriyev, the starting goalie, and when Morris pulled him to let the backup get a chance, they scored more.
The D-men took their turn in the 3-on-3, of course, but unlike the last few practices, they weren’t taxed more than anyone else.
They still couldn’t put up enough of a fight against Tom and Jax to stop them.
This left East in a good enough mood to start up the locker room tunes on the plane already, which was his God-given right as the only Black man on the team.
Jax wished he would play something other than early-2000s club shit, but it got the people going.
When the third song in a row that predated Jax’s birth came on, he peered over at East, trying to figure out if he was catering to the masses or if his taste really had stalled out in 2010.
East wore a plaid button-up under his plain black suit.
Stalled out, then. Good to know.
Jax balled up his sweater, sending a silent apology to Louis Vuitton as he did it, and closed his eyes, trying to catch up on rest. But the plane was too loud, and every now and again the sound of Tom’s low, reluctant laugh broke through the noise.
Instead of falling asleep, Jax spent the flight imagining how his face must look.
He managed to nap at the hotel for a scant hour before the game, unbothered by thoughts of Tom, so it didn’t mean anything that the idea of Tom’s smile had haunted him for a half day there.
Of course, then Jax ended up walking into the arena just behind Tom and caught a glimpse of his frightened woodland creature expression when the media team tried to film him. Jax knew instantly that would be making his internal repeating loop of “Tom looking cute” moments. When had that started?
He shuddered, shaking the thought loose from his brain, and set about getting changed and warming up.
By the time the first period started, the team was pumped up and ready to go.
Jax thrived on the pregame energy. Team sports, from peewee hockey to the highest available professional level, had one thing in common: when things went badly for someone, especially one of the team’s big stars, it could drag everyone down.
But when one or two of the guys were in a better mood than usual, they could buoy everyone up with them.
Jax loved being part of what made the whole group tick.
The longer he played with the Sea Lions, the more he realized they all craved that same hype.
Despite having some of the best stats in the league, Tom seemed to be under the impression that things were going badly, which made him quiet and withdrawn, making the team’s communal spaces quiet as well.
Between a captain with self-esteem issues and a coaching team in an identity crisis, the team’s up-and-down stats ceased to be a surprise.
Good thing he was there to save the day.