14. Kingston #2
Their starter goalie, Jonas Cobb, was a badass—and he easily smacked the shot away using the handle of his stick. It was a little too high and probably wouldn’t have gone in the net, but Cobb was a showoff.
Evans was visibly frustrated as both teams took a split second to switch their players out for the end of their shifts, and Kingston followed him to the bench.
“That was a good shot,” said Kingston, stopping to take a swig from his water bottle. “You’ll get the next one in.”
Evans didn’t say anything. He was too busy staring darkly at the rink, like he was deciding between scoring a goal or murdering someone.
Skin prickling with excitement, Kingston studied him, needing to understand why the thought of Evans losing control did so much for him. He wanted that unhinged gaze on him under different circumstances, when there were fewer people around and—
“Is there something on my face?” Evans asked, grabbing a towel to wipe his sweaty but clean face. “You’re staring at me.”
Yeah, because he was having a bisexual crisis for no goddamn reason.
The teams were evenly matched, and as the score climbed toward the five-goal mark needed for victory, the play grew increasingly brutal; rookies and veterans alike battled tooth and nail for every inch of ice.
Kingston finally got a taste of what his role as an enforcer would be like because every time Banner and Carr were playing, they got swarmed by the veterans, and he had to step in.
Pushing, shoving, and deflecting guys bigger than him had always been an enjoyable part of the game for him. Kingston thrived on making hard checks that made others think twice about fucking with his teammates. He thrived on the fear in their eyes when they saw him charging in their direction, too.
It was fun. This game was fun, even if they were exhausted, angry, and struggling to get pucks into the net. Carr was a tough bastard with a wicked slapshot, and Banner had the same puck-handling skills and speed as Jett Fraser.
The two of them were the Citadel’s star players—his star players to protect.
It was his literal fucking job, but he was still struggling to keep his eyes off Evans.
Evans wasn’t a star player, and he was a fourth-line prospect at best. It wasn’t Kingston’s problem to look out for him since the idiot was capable of handling himself, but that’s why his blood boiled with rage when he saw Evans get caught up in the corner boards with two veterans racing toward him.
The exact thing that Kingston told him to avoid.
“Motherfucker!”
Kingston pushed into a sprint, but he was on the opposite side of the ice with three opponents blocking his path. Everyone had their eyes on the puck as Evans caught it in the corner and turned to make a pass, but Kingston’s eyes were on Evans.
The hit Solis landed on Evans was hard enough to bounce the boards, but he was well-positioned, and he kept his head up, saving him from getting his teeth knocked out by a shoulder.
The power behind the check was brutal enough to knock Evans down, and he landed awkwardly, but he was already on his skates when Kingston flew in and threw his bodyweight into Solis.
It was a retaliation hit. Probably a boarding penalty because of how hard Kingston knocked the bigger guy into the glass at the wrong angle, but he was too furious to care.
The whistle blew, and Coach Sullivan ended the play. She was shouting at Kingston as she skated over, but Kingston wasn’t paying attention. He was locked onto Solis, who was winded but already trying to stand.
“I knew the check would be fine!” Solis yelled, struggling back onto his feet. “This is a practice game, Sloan! Chill the fuck out!”
No fighting erupted since there was no need, and the energy around the gathered players was a mix of electrified and frustrated. Kingston had proved he could knock bigger guys around, but Solis was well-liked on their team, and Kingston was…getting there.
“You do that during a real game, and I’ll scratch you, Sloan.
” Sullivan pushed into the circle of panting, sweating hockey players and fixed a glare on him.
“We want you to rough opponents up, but not when your stick is too high, and the puck is nowhere near your target. If you rack up the penalty minutes making dirty hits when it’s not needed, you’re gone. ”
Kingston lowered his gaze and said nothing. He didn’t trust his mouth right now, and his teeth were clenched so hard he doubted he could get the words out anyway.
“Evans, Sloan, you’re out for the last five minutes,” Coach ordered. “Gear down and get the hell out of here. Evans, have the medical team clear you before you leave the building.”
The whistle blew again, and the players dispersed for the next puck drop. Kingston glanced at Evans and caught a glimpse of his furious expression before he turned and skated toward the gate with a growl.
Scowling, Kingston followed him, letting out a growl of his own. If Evans was mad at him, then he could shove it. Kingston wouldn’t put up with being yelled at for doing his damn job.
They passed off their sticks, gloves and helmets, and they weren’t in the locker room before Evans started pulling his jersey off, muttering angrily to himself.
“Speak up, jackass,” Kingston snapped. “If you want to tell me off, then turn around and say it to my face.”
And just like he requested, Evans whirled around, and those blue, green, brown, fucking rainbow eyes landed on him, narrowing.
“Every time you get yelled at, I get in trouble,” said Evans. “I didn’t do anything except take a clean hit and get back up. Why is Solis allowed to stay out when he got hit by your fat head harder than me?”
Kingston was so blindsided by the insult that he huffed, fighting a grin. “You’re so dumb. Sullivan is trying to keep things equal between us so we don’t fight, duh. I keep saying we’re a packaged fucking deal. We may as well sign the marriage certificate and buy rings to make it official.”
The joke would have landed differently had Kingston not been crushing on the moron standing in front of him. He regretted saying it the moment the words escaped his mouth, but Evans was unbothered by the suggestion.
“It’s not working. We’re still fighting,” said Evans. “You piss me off, and I make you want to punch things, including teammates.”
Kingston shrugged. “I told you not to get caught near the boards. You’re accident-prone, and you never keep your head up.”
Evans opened his arms wide and looked around the room, like he was revealing a grand surprise. “Newsflash, Sloan—we’re playing hockey. I’m going to end up in puck battles and get checked, and you’re going to crush everyone for touching your teammates. Why are you being so weird about this?”
Kingston’s reply got caught in his throat because Evans was right, the bastard.
“Why are you getting so worked up about me getting hurt?” Evans asked, dropping his arms with a sigh. “I don’t need your permission to play the way I want. I don’t need your protection, either. I’m not your fucking girlfriend.”
Heat rushed through Kingston, like steel striking flint. It burned through him, consuming every thought other than the one that had been pushing him to the brink of insanity all day.
Kiss him.
Kingston’s hand closed around Evans’s throat as he drove him back toward the nearest stall, not bothering to check if anyone was watching.
Evans fought him the whole way, breath hitching as his back hit the wall—then the door slammed shut, cutting off the world, and Kingston’s mouth crashed onto his.
Evans froze for half a second in shock, and then shoved back, palms braced against Kingston’s chest. His teeth caught Kingston’s lip hard enough to draw a sharp breath from them both, and the copper taste of blood hit him as Kingston swept his tongue inside to taste.
Oh fuck, he needed this.
He was doomed.
The stall was too small, and every sound around them was magnified. The scrape of skates outside, the thud of a distant door, and their ragged breaths echoing before Kingston dove in to steal another kiss.
Evans wasn’t responding, mostly standing rigid with his mouth open, letting Kingston take what he wanted with no complaint. Evans stopped pushing Kingston away by the third kiss, and by the fourth, his tongue was brushing along his timidly, like he was scared Kingston might bite it off.
It was still a possibility. Kingston thought the kiss would bring him the clarity he’d been seeking for weeks, but if anything, he was more confused than before.
He didn’t know what he wanted from Evans, but he felt like he needed more from him.
More tongue, more moans, more rough hands gripping him like they wanted to hold him in place and claim him.
It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense because Kingston was straight, and he had never held hands with a guy, let alone kissed one.
It didn’t make sense that Kingston wanted to get Evans out of his gear, sink onto his knees and put his rival’s dick in his mouth, either, but that’s what his brain was telling him to do.
But Evans halted things before they progressed far enough for Kingston to try out his dick-sucking skills. Turning his head to the side, Evans broke the kiss and then leaned back, knocking his head against the wall.
“Are you out of your mind?” Evans hissed, fingers curling in Kingston’s jersey.
Kingston didn’t answer right away. His grip loosened, not releasing but no longer choking, his thumb settling at Evans’s pulse just to feel it race in sync with his own.
“You have been…” Kingston paused and swallowed. “You’ve been driving me fucking crazy. So yes, I’m out of my goddamn mind, Evans. Why else would I be kissing you?”
Evans swallowed, too. The movement rippled under Kingston’s hand, almost daring him to squeeze again. “You like guys?”