Chapter Eleven
FINN
ON THE ROAD (NOVEMBER)
I’m not a fan of flying, but with a win under my belt, my spirits are high, even if I’m a bit distracted.
I’ve got an aisle seat with Kuznetsov, and for the first hour of the flight, I talk his ear off nonstop.
I’m nervous and it shows. Kuz is a good sport about it, though, and he lets me pepper him with questions about the teams we’re about to face.
And hey, I feel it’s only fair to inundate him with my yapping if he’s going to be snoring and disturbing my sleep all week.
My buddies Sorensen and Makela sit behind me, with Tullmore and Druin across the aisle.
Sorensen’s telling a story about a summer music festival and how, on the last day, the hottest one, he got stuck in a portable toilet for three hours, the stench so bad he was screaming his head off.
I laugh along with the rest of the guys, but I’m only half paying attention to the details.
The flight’s been smooth so far and I should be unwinding, joining in on the conversation around me, but my thoughts—and my eyes—keep drifting to where Sel sits, two rows ahead of me, headphones on, staring out the window.
Of course, at that exact moment, Sel turns around and catches my gaze.
Shit.
Offering a nod, I quickly turn my attention to the blank screen in front of me, feigning interest in a movie I haven’t selected yet.
Even though I’ve thought about texting Sel at least fifty times a day, I haven’t, not since our win.
The press latched onto Sel’s “date” with Taylor, just like Hugo said they would, and it’s gaining a lot of local media buzz.
Sel’s also the topic of another conversation—his on-ice chemistry with me.
Apparently, we made quite an impression on the press and the fans, and the “d-man bromance” tag isn’t going away.
While it’s meant to be a joke, it feels like a spotlight I can’t escape.
Part of me likes it, the other part is scared.
There’s a lot of pressure on us, and what if we can’t live up to the fans’ expectations?
Hours later, welcomed by sunshine and smoggy air, we touch down in LA.
The weather makes me want to head for the beach, not the rink, and it’s a shame we’ll be spending most of our time indoors.
The bus ride from the airport is spent mostly sitting in traffic on the highway.
Eventually, we take the off ramp and hit the busy city streets lined with palm trees.
When we finally arrive at the hotel, my jaw hangs open. Our home away from home is sleek and modern, and fancier than any place I’ve ever stayed. We have the rest of the day to ourselves, so I decide to kick away the time-zone shift with a workout.
The gym is located on the top floor of the hotel, all glass windows that look out over a massive outdoor pool. Someone’s already swimming laps and the water shimmers in the late day sun. The view of the city beyond is almost too distracting, which is probably why there’s no one here.
I pick a treadmill positioned in the middle of the row and start a brisk walk to get warmed up.
Five minutes in, it’s time to increase the speed and start jogging.
Twenty minutes later, I’m running at a fast clip. It’s only then that I notice the person doing laps in the pool has stopped swimming and I can see their face.
Only, it’s not just someone.
It’s Sel.
He hauls himself out of the pool in one graceful move—I could never—rivulets of water dripping down his cut body, and suddenly I can’t breathe.
Did I run too fast? Am I dehydrated?
Probably both. I lower my speed and reach for my water to cool down. It turns out to be the wrong move, because as soon as I lower the bottle, my eyes lock on Sel’s scrap of a bathing suit. It’s a blue-and-white-striped speedo that hides absolutely nothing.
I can clearly see the outline of his cock and balls.
He’s massive, in every way.
Inhaling sharply, I start to choke. I’m grateful that I manage to spew the water over myself and not on the glass wall in front of me, but to be on the safe side, I grab onto the siderails to stay steady.
Jesus Christ, Sel might as well be naked out there.
Whatever, nakedness is no big deal.
Tell that to my legs, which are now jelly. I sure as fuck don’t want to slip and get injured, so I decide now’s the time to slow down the machine. Falling on my face wouldn’t be a great start to this road trip.
It’s a guy in a bathing suit for fuck’s sake. No biggie.
Wrong choice of word, because Sel’s fucking huge… and I need to stop staring at him.
Too bad my body doesn’t get the hint.
My gaze stays locked on his form as he pads over to a lounge chair, grabs a towel, and dries himself off.
And the surprises keep coming when he turns around.
That tiny wet bathing suit barely clings to the curves of his round ass.
I should look away, but I can’t. And every second that passes has my blood running hotter, until my shorts are shockingly tight.
What the fuck?
Full-blown panic kicks in when I see him grab his bag and head my way.
Oh shit, oh shit!
I take several deep breaths and will myself to shake off whatever this is.
Grabbing my towel, I shove one corner in the front waistband of my shorts and let the rest drape over my crotch.
Obviously jet lag is having a weird effect on my body.
All I need is food and sleep and then I’m sure I’ll be fine.
No more rogue erections. I’m so anxious that I want to laugh out loud at my situation, but it’s not funny.
Sel steps into the gym with one towel wrapped tightly around his hips and another around his neck. He stops short and smiles when he sees me.
“Hey, you.”
“Hey back!” I shout, and my voice is way too loud. Jesus. “How’s it hanging? I mean, how’s it going?”
Sel’s grin deepens, and my heart starts to race like I’m finishing a marathon, not a quick jog. My face burns, and I want to bury it in my towel, but it’s busy shielding my stupid dick.
“Eh.” He shrugs. “Mind if I join you?”
“What?” I squeak.
“Do you mind if I run alongside you? Jet lag is kicking my butt, and I need a partner for motivation,” he admits. “I’m close to crawling under the sheets and calling it a day, but I know I’ll wake up in a few hours and then I’ll be up all night.”
“Oh, yeah, sure, of course,” I reply, my voice hoarse. “I’m game for that.”
“I’ll go change.”
Thank fuck.
Within a few minutes, Sel’s back, wearing black nylon shorts, a matching tank top, and teal running shoes.
Does he ever not look good? I’m not sure why I’m noticing his body, since I’ve been in locker rooms all my life.
And why does my cock have a sudden interest in what’s going on here?
I’ve never looked at a man that way before.
“What a gorgeous view.”
I glance at him, and he’s looking at me, not the city.
“It is. I wasn’t sure I was going to get through my workout either,” I admit. “It’s pretty distracting, right?”
I want to swallow down my words. Instead, I force myself to look away. Say something.
“How was your date?”
God, Finn, anything but that.
“It was okay. He’s nice enough, but it was business.”
I’m relieved and I don’t want to question why. And now there’s only one thing for me to do.
“Are you gonna stand there or are you gonna run?” I tease as I press the speed button on my machine. “Crank it up, old timer.”
“Hey!”
“And after that, a round of weights.”
“Do you know you can be as demanding as Coach?” he chuckles.
“It’s a talent I hide well.”
We finish a 3K run and then hit the machines—legs first, then upper body.
The longer we’re together, the easier the conversation, until I forget about my earlier reaction.
“I hope you don’t mind me saying, Sel, but that tattoo is sick.”
I point to the blue wolf face that covers his right bicep. The depth of the colors, the detail in the fine lines… the image is art and holy shit, it must’ve taken ages.
“What’s the story behind it?”
“I got it done shortly after I signed my first NHL contract. When I was a kid and started playing hockey, my mom nicknamed me kleine wolf. It’s Dutch for little wolf. Apparently I was fierce and determined, even then,” he chuckles. “The tattoo seemed to fit.”
“It does.”
He’s got another one too, a wing of a bird, that covers the same forearm. Does he have more? Maybe that bathing suit covers one? Not that the suit covers much, in which case… fuck, I do not need to go there.
“Love the feathers on your forearm too,” I add.
“Thanks, I got that one this summer.”
“You plan on getting more?”
“I’m open to it,” he nods. “I don’t see any tatts on you. Ever consider it?”
I nod.
“In college. A lot of my teammates at Sutton got cougar tattoos. But I’m not a big fan of needles.
I think I’m ready now, but I want to take my time about it.
I’d probably get something on my leg or back, you know, where I don’t have to see the needle up close.
” I laugh. “I’d rather visit a few tattooists first, to see what style calls to me.
It’s gotta be something special. I don’t want to wake up with regret. ”
Sel bites his lower lip and nods.
When our workout comes to an end, I’m ready for sunshine and a shitload of food.
Sel suggests we head out for a bite, so when I get back to my room, I text our teammates in the group chat to join us.
My phones buzzes like mad but it turns out everyone else is a no; they’ve either made other plans or decided to order in so they can rest. I shower and dress in black jeans and a white button down, and when I’m almost ready, I text Sel to let him know it’ll just the two of us.
Sel: R u sure you still want to go?
Finn: Fuck yes, it’s my first time in LA! I’m not going to waste it looking at my hotel walls LOL.
I’m not going to cancel because I have some silly bro crush happening. If it is a crush. Even so, it’ll pass.
Sel: K, meet you out front in ten.