Power Play Clash (Desert Elite Hockey #2)

Chapter 1

ONE

ALEX (ALEXEY)

“Mr. Volkov, nice to see you here again.” The valet gave me a charming smile.

“Thank you.” As I stepped out of the car, he handed me a ticket. Obviously, the fine young man was a hockey fan.

“Will you be dining with Mr. Hopkins and Mr. Jarvis?” He lifted his brows. “I parked their car earlier.”

“I am. Training camp starts in a few days, and we’re catching up after the summer break.

” Narrowing my eyes, I trailed my gaze down his muscled frame.

He was pleasant to look at. But he knew hockey, so he was off-limits.

I’d met some guys in New York to hook up with who had no hockey knowledge and didn’t recognize me. This was my life…for now.

“Okay, well, you have a great time.” He jumped into my car. “And good luck this season.”

“Yes, thanks.” I strolled toward the massive wooden door of the restaurant and swung it open.

Two hostesses stood behind a black stand, both wearing enough makeup as if the place were a nightclub. Their eyes lit as they focused on me. “Hello, are you meeting someone or?”

“Yeah, I’m heading into the bar.” With a curt nod, I gave them a small wave. I wasn’t sure if they recognized me as a hockey player. They probably thought I was just another rich guy walking into the place. I mean, I had dressed in my best polo and jeans instead of my usual athletic wear.

As I strode past a stone wall and into the open bar, my gaze caught on Mason and Jett, chatting with beers under a round rustic chandelier.

Marble made up the bar, which glowed blue underneath.

The atmosphere here suggested established wealth, the kind found back East, not the recent wealth of Arizona.

“Alex, how are ya?” Mason, our star center, hopped from his slatted barstool and held his arm wide, his dark hair falling across his forehead, contrasting with his ice-blue eyes. “Long time no see,” he said, his New England accent on full display.

“Great.” I side-hugged him and then focused on Jett, our star right winger and Mason’s husband, with his typical laid-back Southern California vibe in shoulder-length brown hair, and green eyes. “You look refreshed. Did you spend some time at home?”

With a broad grin, Jett hopped off his stool and hugged me. “I did. I tried to teach Mason how to surf, but he needs to stick to winter sports.” He threw a smirk at Mason.

“Ah, come on, I wasn’t that bad.” Chuckling, Mason shook his head. “We just ordered a seafood tower. Can I get you a beer, Cap?”

“Of course.” I hitched onto a barstool beside Jett and planted my elbows on the bar top, glancing into the mirror behind the rows of liquor bottles lined up against the back wall.

With the time I’d spent outside enjoying the weather, my normally strawberry-blond hair had lightened with blond streaks, and I’d tamed it this morning with gel.

I’d let it grow out over the summer break, and the waves had gotten a little unruly, but I wouldn’t cut it for now.

“So, the Cup. Do you think we have a chance at a second win this year?” Mason sipped his beer and then ordered another for me from the bartender.

With a stuttered laugh, I said, “Only if the team remains healthy and management avoids stupid moves, like trading one of us.” Most of the trading had happened before the break, but heading into training camp meant more of it before the roster was finalized.

“Or Archer, or Lucas, and if they trade Ace, we’re done for.” Jett fingered the condensation on his beer glass. “Have you heard anything about trades?”

“Not a thing.” I was lucky. As captain of the team, management trusted my judgement with some of these calls.

It wasn’t typical for every team, but the Coyotes were different.

They cared about the players. Which explained the large number of queer players who’d flocked to the team.

Even one of our coaches was queer…but I wasn’t ready for public declarations.

My parents wouldn’t accept it. Russians just weren’t queer in their eyes.

Plus, I probably hadn’t met the right girl yet. It would happen.

Two young men stumbled into the bar, laughing and jostling each other.

“That’s why you love me so much.” A man said, his mop of curly brown hair falling past his ears and cut short in the back.

He planted a hard kiss on the mouth of the other man, a blond.

They wore Scottsdale rich-boy attire, with t-shirts under their linen sport jackets and knee-length shorts. And they were obviously queer.

Were they together? I eyed them and sipped my beer.

Mason’s brows ticked up, and a smirk formed on his lips. “Would you look at that?”

“Mason, keep your comments to yourself.” Jett scoffed.

The bartender set a three-tiered seafood tower onto the bar, filled with raw oysters, prawns, crab legs and lobster claws and tails, along with plates and silverware.

“Oh, the food is here.” My stomach grumbled as I swiveled toward the food. Whoever the young men were, they were none of my business.

“Come on, Chad, let’s order a shot at the bar.” The dark-haired man shoved the blond toward the other end of the bar.

“Julian, watch yourself.” Chad slapped his hands on the bar top and swung his gaze to mine. “Oh, did you notice the hot men over there? Muscles for days.” He swept his tongue across his lips.

Julian’s gaze cut to mine and lingered. “Yeah, but we’re not here for that. We’re at Ocean Club. Wait until we get to the Velvet Spur.”

Mason’s brows rose even higher, wrinkling his forehead.

“Nope. Mouth shut.” Jett pressed his index finger across Mason’s lips.

“B-but…they’re looking at you. Nobody looks at my husband and gets away with it.” Mason’s smirk turned devilish.

I pulled a crab leg from the tower. “Mason, listen to your husband. We don’t need any fights off the ice, especially before the damn season starts.” Mason was notorious for fighting. Hell, he’d practically taken on the entire Dallas team when they went after Jett a few years ago.

“Listen to your captain. It’s a direct order, right?” Jett flicked a glance my way and under his breath said, “Tell him.”

With a soft snort, I said, “It’s a direct order.

Now stand down.” My gaze meandered to the two young men.

The smaller one, Julian, was quite attractive.

Polished on the outside with a hint of a messy bad boy underneath.

Obviously, he knew nothing about hockey, since neither one of them had recognized us.

Too bad I couldn’t sneak into the damn gay bar they were heading to and find him later. But that would certainly blow my cover.

“I want a shot of your finest tequila. None of that fucking Patron shit. I want something better. You have something better, right?” Julian lifted his chin and peeked at me.

I averted my gaze. I shouldn’t let him catch me ogling him. It wasn’t a good look. I cracked my crab leg open, pulling the succulent meat from the shell. Hell yes, it was always such a satisfying feeling to pull it apart in one chunk.

“I have El Tesoro, would you like that?” The bartender eyed them.

“No, something better. Don’t you have something more expensive?” With a smirk, Julian slapped his hand on the bar

“Julian, we’re doing shots, not sipping it.” Chad rolled his eyes.

“But we’re celebrating the end of my freedom, remember?” As he quirked the corner of his lips, Julian’s gaze returned to me, bouncing along my body, and he bit his lower lip.

Damn, he was interested in me. I could feel it. Imagine dominating the little prick and wiping that smug grin off his face? As heat burned low in my belly, I sipped some beer.

“Hey.” Jett bumped his elbow into my side. “What do you think about Sampson? Do you think they might trade him?”

I blinked. Oh, hockey. “I don’t know. He was a great goalie before we picked up Ace. But I’ve heard Gagnon’s matured a lot with the Firebirds.” I dunked the crab meat into some drawn butter and ate it.

“Fine, we’ll take the damn El Tesoro.” Julian pouted and then twisted to face us. “Hey, is that seafood thing any good?” He flailed a finger at us.

“It’s excellent. Maybe you should get one to eat with your fancy tequila.” I released a sharp laugh. “It’s not a great idea to do shots and not eat.”

“What are you, my father?” Julian straightened his shoulders.

“Just making an observation.” I pulled a raw oyster from the tower. This guy was a total shitbag, no matter if he were exactly my type.

Mason’s face came close to mine. “Do I still have to stand down?” A wicked gleam showed in his eyes.

“Yes, you do. Eat your damn seafood and stay out of it.” Jett set a few prawns on Mason’s plate.

The bartender placed the tequila shots on the bar top.

“Can we get what they’re having? My dad says I need to eat something.” Arching a brow, Julian swung his gaze to me and planted a hand on his hip. “And God knows, I always do what he wants.” He clicked his tongue.

My dick took notice. Damn, that was suggestive in a good way. I wasn’t into the daddy thing, but with him, I might rethink it. “That’s smart. Dads have experience, and you should obey them.”

Mason snickered and drank his beer. “Damn, dude.”

“Come on, at least your job isn’t in tech like mine. Boring.” Chad plucked his shot from the bar top and downed it.

Julian narrowed his eyes at me. “Yeah, whatever.” With a sigh, Julian gulped his shot and set the glass on the bar top. “What do you want to drink next?” He turned toward his friend.

“Might as well stick with tequila. How about a margarita?” Chad hopped onto a bar stool.

Apparently, they were staying for a while. Great. I dunked a prawn in cocktail sauce and tossed it into my mouth.

“If they bring Gagnon on this year, do you think they’ll play him tandem with Ace, or would he just be backup?” Jett ate a raw oyster.

As expected, Jett always focused on hockey. He was more like me and not easily distracted, unlike his husband. With a shrug, I said, “I think he’d be backup for now.”

“Ace isn’t going anywhere, and frankly, I think its bad karma for you to even say it.” Mason tsked and drank his beer.