Chapter Nineteen
SELWIN
More players arrive by the time I’m finished dressing, but there’s no sign of Finn. Hopefully I’ll be out on the ice before he hits the locker room. Then I remember that even with his uniform on, he’s got all my attention.
Man, get it together.
Makela suddenly sits down beside me and starts talking.
Last night he went to a bar in Soho, picked up a model named Lijia, and had sex at her place an hour later.
Okay, fine, whatever. But he doesn’t stop there and goes into a detailed description of how they fucked—reverse cowboy—and tells me she was up for anal too.
“Jesus Christ, Makela, I did not need to know that.” I roll my eyes. “You could’ve stopped at ‘we went back to her place and fucked’.”
“Joo,” he says in Finnish, which means “yeah,” and then shrugs. “Sex was only okay.”
“Just okay? Then why brag about it?”
“Is normal in my country to discuss everything. You should get this, you’re half Dutch. You and me, we make talk like this, and we get to know each other.”
He smiles innocently and I shake my head.
“Small talk usually doesn’t involve your preferred sexual positions.”
“What, are you shy?”
No, I don’t want him to keep going because the more he talks about sex, the more I’m thinking about Finn.
“That’s not the point,” I mutter. “I’m not in the mood. Please, can we change this conversation?”
“I’ve heard that you were not so quiet about sex in past,” he whispers.
I give him a glare.
“Don’t listen to rumours.”
“Yes, I know this.” He looks away. “Sorry.”
I sigh, feeling bad.
“It’s okay,” I insist and nudge his arm. “You’re not entirely wrong, but things are different now.”
Maybe I’m too sensitive. Back in Chicago, I wouldn’t hesitate to tell my teammates about my hookups—of course, it was only about the women I slept with—and it was the same for them. It’s not like it’s unusual among a group of pro athletes, or any group of guys for that matter.
“One more thing.” He nudges my arm in return. “I made her come three times.”
I lean down and get busy lacing my skates so I can leave this convo, and this room, as quick as possible.
“Didn’t need to know that either,” I say with a shake of my head.
“So uptight, Kirkland. In Finland this is normal discussion.”
“At work?”
“With friends.”
“We play together. I don’t think we qualify as buddies yet.”
Makela puts a hand to his chest and throws back his head dramatically.
“Kirkland, how can you say that. We are becoming friends, yes?”
Other teammates like Sorensen and Druin wander over, listening to our conversation.
“Friends? Sure,” I reply. “Until you almost stabbed me with that steak knife at dinner in Toronto.”
“I did not stab you, was only a tap,” he replies with a glint in his eye. “But not like I tapped that woman’s ass.”
Sorensen and Druin start to laugh. I shouldn’t find Makela amusing, but in a weird way, he’s entertaining. He has zero filter and reminds me of my youngest brother Atticus, who has no control over his mouth and never will.
“Shut up already,” I quip and finish tying my skates. “No wonder Karson can’t stand you.”
I notice Makela’s hands clenching tight and he gives me a scowl that makes me pause.
“Your brother is a big-headed, lying, fake asshole.”
Makela’s reaction seems a little over the top but maybe he’s dramatic that way. At least I’ve discovered one way to get him to switch topics.
“Got it, you have beef with Karson. Not my problem.”
“You have no idea what he is capable of.”
I toll my eyes. “You’re just jealous because you and your teammates got the bronze and Karson’s team won the gold. Get over it.”
“That was years ago. Like I care,” he huffs. “I’m the better player.”
I get up and grab my stick.
“Whatever you say,” I laugh and make my way to the exit.
I’m walking out the door when I spot Finn and stop short. My eyes immediately do what they’re not supposed to—they lock on his heart-shaped lips, pink and swollen.
Finn looks freshly kissed, and you’re the reason why.
My heart takes off at a wild clip as we stand there and stare, neither of us moving or speaking a word. I feel like a caged animal ready to pounce on him. If I don’t leave soon, it might happen. Whatever this primal urge is, it’s not letting up, and I need to keep it under wraps.
It’s just fucking.
Calm down and lock that shit up tight.
I quickly nod at Finn, then rush into the hallway like I’m racing for my life.
Finn
Sel stalks past me, and when our eyes connect, the electricity is undeniable. Every minute of the last night comes flashing back. My pulse thrums like crazy, but I need to calm down so I don’t walk into the locker room with a boner.
We both pause for a split second and then he’s moving past me. Still, I can’t help but look back to watch him walk away. All suited up in his gear, the man’s fine as fuck.
Fine and mine.
No, I shouldn’t assume that. I’m thinking too far ahead and it’s always my damn heart that leads.
Yes, Sel wants to have sex again, but that’s it, and only until someone else catches his eye.
Only, selfishly, I hope no one does. I want him all to myself.
Now that I notice how hot Sel looks, no matter what he’s wearing, I can’t unsee it.
I still prefer him naked. Or half naked.
Hmmm, I need to see him in his jersey—or even better, in mine—and nothing else…
“Yo, Finn!” Kuznetsov calls out, pulling me out of my naughty daydream.
I amble over and my fellow d-man pulls me into a hug.
“Thought you were gonna miss practice.”
I chuckle. “No way. My first rideshare cancelled and I had to wait a while for another, but I made it.”
“Buy a fucking car, my friend. I’m sure you can afford it by now.”
“On my to-do list.”
“Alright. If you need anyone to go with, hit me up. Cars are my thing.”
“Cool, thanks.”
I quickly head to my stall, grab my stuff, and gear up.
Looking around, I notice most of the guys are already heading out.
When I’m done, I glance up at Biscuit and give my stuffed cougar a tap, even if it’s only practice day.
I need good mojo if I’m going to pretend that Sel and I are platonic teammates like we were at the beginning of training.
When I hit the rink, I spot Sel talking with Range and Lee, and soon the rest of the d-team is called to one end of the ice. The same thing happens with the forwards, and Sorensen and Druin get one-on-one time with their coach.
After a half hour of drills, where I’m on my best professional behavior, the roster meets up for a mock game.
This time, Sel’s playing for one side and I’m on the other.
I guess Range wants to shift things up, so I’m paired with Kuznetsov, Sorensen, Berg, Makela, and St. Clare.
Sel’s team gets Druin, Brady, Tullmore, Ranken, and Jarvinen.
Sel and I are competitors at this moment, enemies if you will, and I remind myself to act accordingly.
The game gets surprisingly intense within minutes when Brady, nearing Makela on a breakaway, rams our forward with a vicious hit that drops Mats to the ice.
Range blows his whistle while Makela gets up and shakes it off.
Our star forward is enraged, swearing at Brady in Finnish and English.
“What the fuck was that?” Range shouts, pointing at Brady.
“This is a practice, you idiot!” Makela screams, his anger turning to shoving as he pushes Brady back. “You want to injure your teammate by hitting that hard?”
“No more!” Range demands. “Brady, you hit any teammate that violently ever again, you won’t be playing, you read me? Save your aggression for the opposition. Your warnings are racking up.”
Brady grunts and spits on the ice.
“And Makela, no shoving a colleague either,” Range adds. “Both of you calm down and get back to work.”
Range skates off and I figure that’s the end of it.
“I should be allowed to defend myself,” Makela hisses.
Brady scoffs. “Don’t be such a wimp. It’s part of the game, we get hit all the time.”
“Not by one of our own.” I turn to Brady. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Stay out of it,” Brady warns and gets in my face.
“Okay, guys, cool it,” Sel pipes up. “We don’t want to give Range a reason to stop practice and kick us all out.”
“Shut up, Kirkland,” Brady sneers.
“You’re acting like a jealous toddler, Brady” I huff. “You need a time out. Ten of them.”
“You little shit—”
“Baran, you’re not helping,” Sel snaps, his dark eyes blazing. “Get back to your position.”
Is he serious? I give him a look that says “what the fuck?”.
Until he raises one eyebrow. Ah.
“You’re not my coach or my captain, so don’t tell me what to do,” I hit back and skate off.
Wow, me, the guy who usually hates arguing, clapped back.
Yeah, I know that extra tension between me and Sel at the end was for show, but hey, I think I’m getting the hang of it.
Too bad the “arguing,” even if it is fake, gets me horny.
I didn’t know I’d ever find that kind of thing a turn on, but damn, role play with Sel is hot.
I still have real anger channeled at Brady, because he is an asshole for hitting Makela like that, but at the same time, I want to laugh out loud because it’s the first time Sel and I have argued in front of the team.
Some of the other players look at me like they don’t know what’s happening.
Coach blows his whistle, and motions for us to get back into the game. There are no more hits or arguing, but Makela gives Brady the evil eye and I don’t blame him.
Two hours later and practice is done, so it’s time to hit the gym for a cooldown. I do an hour on the bike, take a shower, change, grab my backpack, and head back out into the hallway toward the locker room when I spot Cody walking my way.
“How was practice, Finn?”
“Tense. Brady hit Makela hard for no reason and they got into it.”
“Hockey’s full of drama, even on the same team, and especially at this level,” Cody chuckles. “Hey, you interested in a massage? Berg cancelled on me, so I’ve got a slot open.”
“Right now?”
“Yep, I was headed to the locker room to see if anyone else wanted it.”