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“Forty-five! Forty-five! Forty-five!”
I heard McGarrity bellowing at me, but the defender was on me before I could avoid the hit. I had seen him in my peripheral vision and managed to get a shoulder turned to counter some of the inertia from the massive check. The side of my head bounced off the glass, and my hip slammed into the boards. It pissed me off to no end and rattled my fillings, but no way was I letting the big Swede know that.
“Your sister hits harder than that,” I grunted as I adjusted my helmet. It was a weak chirp, but I was a little woozy. Lars Dolffmann must not get chirped often because he got so damn mad over that terrible zing that he grabbed me by the head and started shaking me like a rag doll. The strap on my helmet came undone, and I skated around him, leaving the big dolt standing in the corner with a pretty gold and blue helmet.
“Cover your head,” I heard Coach Hart shouting as I streaked past, my sight locked on the action down in the Binghamton end of the ice.
I did come off to get a skid lid though. No point in ending up like Victor, standing behind the bench due to head injuries when he still had so much youth and talent. I might not like the guy, but I could admit that he was poised to do something special in the game. Pity his mouth and his brain landed him in a suit and tie. Not me. I was doing my best to stop being so confrontational with the coaching staff. It was damn hard at times, but I wanted to succeed. I needed the cash so that I could keep Kimmy and Charlie safe and warm. So, I took a lot of shit from Kalinski with a smile...or probably it was more like a sneer.
When our line was back out, things sort of snapped together. Like Lego pieces. The game winning goal started with Dan—nothing new there—and his tenacity in the corners. He was a good foot shorter than most on the ice, but he was a fucking terrier when he wanted that puck. And he always wanted the puck. He was the lone forward in the corner, surrounded by two Broncos wingers and a D-man the size of a bull rhino. And yet, somehow, through all those legs, sticks, and skates, he managed to back pass the puck to me just as I shoved the Broncos center to his ass and got my stick on the ice. The deflection was five-hole perfection. I spun around, looking for my teammates, and Dan threw himself at me. I lifted him from the ice then found myself surrounded by Cougars.
That lone goal carried through three whole periods. Everyone made sure to go pat Mitch on his funky Snagglepuss helmet. Guess he figured if August had done the cartoon thing, he was going to as well. The Pepto-Bismol colored mountain lion looked pretty odd, but then again, we were talking about a goalie...
Life was feeling good all through the post-game interviews and showers. Lots of high spirits and laughter, the sounds of a team who were rolling over all the competition. Then, the high times kind of evaporated. I was the last out of the showers as I had been the most sought after by the press. Not trying to sound egotistical but facts are facts. The glut around my cubicle after games was always thicker than around the other guys, Arou maybe the possible exception.
So, as I padded through the dressing room, towel around my waist, I got to see and hear everyone else pulling on coats while discussing what they were going to do with the two-day break between games. Most were spending it with the wife and kids. One couple was spending with the husband and kid. And me? Well, I was probably going to go home and worry about parole hearings and if I’d need to relocate my sister and niece again.
“You made the paper.” Buttonwood handed me a newspaper before he walked off.
“Thanks.”
He waved a hand in the air then disappeared through the door. I sat down and opened the folded paper to see a picture of Mateo and me talking at the awards dinner. That smoldering ember of attraction glowed a little brighter seeing his handsome face. I didn’t read the article because it didn’t matter to me. If the writer liked me or not was inconsequential. I didn’t play for the press corps. I played for me and for my girls.
I did rummage around in the pocket of my suit jacket for my cell. Right there in my contacts was Mateo’s number. Maybe I could set up a gamer night with the sexy baseballer and his artistic boyfriend. Sure, it would be a little awkward, but maybe if I saw them together, I’d stop lusting after Mateo.
Mat was all about a Fields of Death night, and we set it up for tomorrow evening. I volunteered to stop for beer and pizza. Mat said that would get me a fat old kiss then chuckled, leaving me half-aroused and feeling a lot lighter than I had just ten minutes ago. Now at least I had something to tell the guys when we all returned to this somewhat stinky dressing room Friday morning.
* * *
I arrived at the small apartment complex Mat and Noah called home the following night around seven. The sky was thick with low, gray clouds. I gathered up the two pizzas, three six-packs of Miller, and my controller then climbed to the second floor of the brick building. There were only eight apartments in this building. Mat opened the door before I had to kick it.
“Man, you come bearing the best gifts.” Mateo smiled as he flung the door open and took the beer from the top of the pizza boxes. “Come on in. You just beat the snow.”
“Snow?” I stepped inside and toed off my sneakers, leaving them on the small rug where several pairs of shoes rested.
“Yeah, they’re calling for eight to ten inches tonight. Don’t you listen to the radio?” Mat said over his shoulder. “Just toss your coat into the closet there and come in.”
I peeked around the sharp corner into the living room as I pulled off my coat. Nothing fancy in the way of furnishings, but damn, the man sitting on a big pillow on the floor sure was beautiful. Short sandy blond hair, a startling pair of sky blue eyes, and cheek bones you could rest a beer bottle on, Noah sat looking at me, his long legs folded into a lotus, a pad of some sort on his lap. He was wearing a tank top and lounge pants. His feet were bare.
“Hey,” I said to break the spell he seemed to be in. His gaze darted to Mat coming back into the living room.
“Kind of hard to see the TV from there. Come in,” Mat said, waving at me before flopping down into a couch that had a massive sag in the middle. “Bring that controller. We’ll get you logged in, and then we’ll hit that pizza.”
I moseyed into the big room, giving the pictures on the walls a cursory glance and then eying the blond who was still staring at me openly. The closer I got, the better I could see the fine details of his face. Thick, dark lashes tipped with gold, a small mole on his shoulder right above a floral looking tattoo on his right bicep. His right ear was pierced, and a small tulip hung from his lobe. His tank top also had a bunch of flowers on it.
“Sander, this is my boyfriend, Noah Coombs. Babe, this is Sander March. I told you about him? The hockey player.” Mat spoke while firing up the PS4.
“You were both losers,” Noah commented, his gaze finally leaving me to return to the large sketchpad resting on his lap. Now that I was closer, I saw that he had a pencil. Mat had said he was a comic artist. Maybe he was creating a new comic.
“Yeah, pretty much,” I replied, picturing these two striking men pressed up against each other, bared to my eyes, cocks hard and weepy, kissing and caressing each other. My dick liked that image. A lot. I sat down fast, and leaned up to hide the half hard prick in my jeans. Flustered, I grasped at something to say. “You drawing a new comic?”
I heard Mat suck in a sharp breath through his teeth. Fuck.
“It’s not a comic, it’s a manga.” Noah replied, got to his bare feet, and walked into the kitchen, his sketchpad in his hand.
“Sorry,” I immediately said. “I just felt weird, and he was staring at me and...”
“It’s okay.” I gave Mat a doubtful look. “Seriously, it’s okay. He’s sensitive about it, but since you’re a new friend, he’ll let it slide quickly. Also, I should have warned you about how intense Noah can be at times.”
“Intense how?” The sound of glass plates being taken from a cupboard floated out of the kitchen.
“He’s an artist, and sometimes he gets...lost in the appreciation of beauty.”
I blinked a few times. “You’re saying that he stares at people like that all the time?”
“Only ones he finds artistically appealing.” Mat smiled gently. “That’s a compliment by the way. Don’t be surprised if your face turns up in one of his yaoi books.”
“Thanks, for the compliment. I think you guys are hot too.” The room felt a little too warm now, Mateo’s cologne a tad too appealing. “What’s yaoi?”
“It’s a Japanese genre of illustrated gay romance, basically.”
“Oh.” I turned my head to try to see into the kitchen. That would be kind of cool to be in a gay comic. Manga. Shit. I really needed to get that pounded into my head. When I looked back at Mat, he was holding out my controller, a soft sort of sensual smile playing on his lips. “Like how explicit are these yaoi books?”
“Oh, they can be pretty graphic, but his are tempered with lots of romance.”
“Huh, and this is for gay men?” I seriously had never heard of this before.
“Usually it’s written by women for women. I know, go figure, but sure, gay men buy them. Noah works under a pen name, since the whole for women by women thing. Tulip Ito.”
“That’s his pen name?”
“Yeah.” Mat glanced from me to something behind me. “Hey babe, I was just telling Sander about your books and your pen name. You cool with him?”
“Guess so.” Noah came around the sofa with two glass plates holding two slices of pizza each. “It’s manga,” he said, his voice low and smooth, as if he feared being too loud or something. “Not comics.”
“Right, totally got that. Thanks, man.” I took the dinner plate. Noah then disappeared into the kitchen, coming out later with his sketch pad, a plate of his own, and a beer. He never said another word to me or Mat, just walked behind the beater sofa and disappeared into a room that I assumed was the bedroom. Artists seemed to be just as quirky as goalies.
“He’s not mad.” Mat rose and came back with two beers. “He’s probably inspired. By tomorrow I bet he has a new storyline sketched out, and you’re one of the leading men. You should be honored.”
He handed me a cold Miller. “Oh yeah, I’m totally honored. Will he give me a big dick?”
“Is your real one small?” Mat winked then chuckled as I fumbled over how to reply. “I’m joking, dude, really. I’m sure your real dick is fucking beastly. Can we play now, or do you want to talk about your cock a little more?”
“Let’s play.” There was a slight hint of heat in my cheeks, and that hardly ever happened to me. Blushing was for innocents. My innocence ended when Kimmy married Wade.
“Cool.” The loading screen came up, and we both kind of forgot about dick sketchings for several hours. In split-screen mode, Mat and I roared through the game, wiping out enemy alien armies with ease. We then ramped up the difficulty, ate another slice of cold pizza, and dove into another round. Noah pattering past was what finally pulled us from the death and carnage we’d wrought. Mat glanced over his shoulder at his boyfriend. I did the same, pleased to see Noah had stripped down to boxers. His body was nice. A little leaner than Mateo’s, lithe I guess you’d call it. His ass was hidden in his baggy boxers.
“You getting your milk?” Mat asked, reaching for the remote to turn the volume down.
“Yeah,” Noah answered, returning from the kitchen with a tall glass of pink milk. “You should crash here. The roads are closed, and the governor is about to issue a state of emergency.”
Then Noah ambled back to the room he’d left.
“Damn, did it really snow that much?” I asked, pushing to my feet. My ass and legs were tingly from sitting so long. I looked at my phone. It was almost one-thirty in the morning. Mat pulled open some heavy drapes to reveal a sliding glass door. I joined him by the slider and gaped at the snow resting on the balcony. There had to be at least ten inches, and it was still coming down in near whiteout conditions. I couldn’t see my car in the lot, the snow was falling so heavily.
“He’s right. You better crash here. Let me get you a pillow and a blanket.” Mat clapped my shoulder then went off. I stood by the door, phone in hand, watching the fury of a winter storm. “Here you go. I better head to the bed. Noah likes to cuddle after he downs his strawberry milk. Thanks for being such a radical killing machine.”
He threw the bedding on the sofa and came over to me to rap knuckles.
“You’re a violent bastard yourself,” I said and gave him a smile.
“Night.” He turned after a long moment of mutual admiration, shuffling quickly into his bedroom. I turned from the door gently closing and continued to watch the manic flakes swirling around the streetlight.
When I’d had enough snow watching, I silently snuck over to the wall by the TV to check out the pictures at close range. They were in a collage frame. Every one was of Mat and Noah. One at a beach, another here on the couch, one out on the patio. In each picture, Noah was sitting on Mat’s lap, his amazing blue eyes glittering with devotion. And there was no denying Mat felt the same way about Noah. One small image was them on a baseball diamond, kissing at home base. Another was just Mateo, bat over his shoulder, smiling at the camera. Mat looked fucking hot in that pinstriped uniform. One was Noah holding books and grinning. I felt envy sputtering to life and turned from the happy couple and made my way to my bed for the night.
I turned off the light, stripped down to my briefs, and stretched out on the couch. The sag in the middle sucked. It threw my spine out of alignment, and no matter how I rolled, there it was, right in the middle of my back. After ten minutes, I shoved the coffee table aside, pulled the cushions to the floor, and laid down over them, blanket billowing out over me.
Silence fell now that I was settled and not flopping around. I could just hear Mat and Noah talking, but the words were muffled. A masculine laugh leeched through the thin wall. More dialog and then another laugh then a thud. A grunt followed the heavy bump, and soon, I lay there listening to them having sex while working hard to not sound like they were having sex. Someone was holding the headboard, because it never thumped into the wall again, but the frame was creaking, and someone was moaning softly with each squeak of metal against metal.
My hand was inside my briefs before I even realized it was there. Fingers tight around my rigid cock, I let my eyes close and worked on trying to figure out who was topping who just twenty feet away. In my mind’s eye, I had Mat on top just because, and Noah spread out under him, his legs around Mat’s waist. Maybe Mateo had his hand over Noah’s mouth, so he couldn’t cry out and disturb me out here yanking my dick. I wouldn’t have minded a yelp or cry of passion. It would have made the hand job that much better.
I had to spit on my palm a time or two as my hand worked my cock faster and faster. I came at the exact same time someone on the other side of the wall did. Balls contacting, spunk coating my hand, I shuddered and gasped, wishing it could be me in that bed with the two of them. God, the imagery of that made me whimper aloud. I bit down on the inside of my cheek to keep myself from making that noise again. As I milked myself dry, the other party shot his load, his low, deep growl primal and enticing.
The apartment went dead silent, only the low hum of the heater pushing dry hot air down into my face. I wiggled out from under the covers, peeled off my cum-coated underwear, wiped my hand and stomach clean, and then yanked my jeans up over my ass. I’d just laid back down when a door opened and then shut. I hid there on the cushions, blanket up to my ears, and stared at the molding around the floor until whoever it was went back to bed. Sleep fell over me quickly, and I had dreams filled with tulips begging me to pollinate them. No more pizza after midnight for me.