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We hoot and cheer the whole way to the dressing room. We sound like a pack of wild coyotes. “Wooooo!” “Aieeee!” “Yeeah!”
The glow after a Game 7 victory is like nothing else. All that stress and anxiety beforehand is now our sweet reward, instead of our bitter disappointment. Our pads aren't heavy, sweat-logged burdens; no, instead, they're proof of the hard work put in, hard work that ultimately paid off. We smile from ear to ear, telling the same stories over and over without getting tired of them.
Callan had a huge game, and everyone lets him know it. He soaks up all the compliments, grinning and nodding, but I see in his eyes a streak of unease. And I know why.
We've still gotta face the media.
When the team lets the media in, we're still stripping out our game clothes. The reporters hurry over to Callan.
“Callan! Great game. Can you talk a little about the rumors online?”
“No. Sorry. No comment on any of that.”
Another reporter tries his own luck:“A man says he had a one night affair with you in Chicago, when you were still with the Jets ...”
“Look, I'm only going to talk about hockey.”
Callan fields question after question from the group of reporters. No matter how many different ways they ask, he has to give them the same answer. Until he finally gets sick of it.
“Do any of you actually want to ask me a question about the hockey game? Or are we just wasting everyone's time?” He's losing his temper. His nostrils flare.
They're quiet. But then one speaks. “Callan ...”
Callan shoots him a look, waiting.
“Callan, did these rumors have anything to do with the trade?”
“For God's sake. You guys are unbelievable,” Callan shakes his head. He tosses his towel into the locker stall and walks off for the showers. “I'm done here.”
The reporters watch him leave. Then they spread about the room to interview other players. I hear the questions from all over.
“Can you talk about your teammate and the rumors ...”
“How has the team taken the news?”
“Do you think the rumors will be a distraction going forward, or ...”
I step into the center of the room and grab everyone's attention.
“We're not going to address any of the rumors,” I say sternly. “We can talk hockey, or we can shut these doors.”
There's a silence. The media stares at me, bug-eyed.
“Now does anyone have a hockey-related question they'd like me to answer?” I ask.
Sometimes, reporters remind me of a group of cats: they want what they can't have. And they can't help themselves, even when they know there will be consequences.
A reporter meekly raises his hand, his eyes shifting from side to side.
I call on him. “Yes?”
“In tonight's game ... did the rumors come up on the ice?”
I point at the door. “Alright, everyone out.”
The media people groan and sullenly leave.
After they're gone, it's us again – the players – but the good vibes are gone. It's like someone let all the air out of the room.
“Such bullshit,” Tanner swears, angrily tossing his elbow pads into his stall. “They're goddamn vultures.”
“But he's gonna have to answer for it some time, though,” Donovan says. “Can't run from the questions for the rest of his life.”
There's an uncomfortable silence. No one wants to talk about it, really. Instead we make our way to the showers and clean up.
***
AFTER THE GAME, WE meet up at a restaurant to celebrate with dinner and drinks. Since we're on the road, everyone will come out – no 'but my wife!' or 'but my kids!' excuse will fly tonight.
The restaurant has a television showing the game between the Jets and the Kings. Whoever wins this game will be our opponent in the Cup Finals. I can tell Callan is on edge about it. He's trying to have a good time with everyone else, but whenever he happens to look up and see that game ... he looks a little shaken.
Either way it turns out, the match-up will be a bit of a lose-lose situation for us. If we face the Jets ... Callan's storyline will dominate the news. If we face the Kings ... we'll hear all about the re-match. The team that beat us for the Cup four years ago.
Once everyone's had a drink or two, they can't keep the questions bottled up any longer. The boys wanna know the same things the rest of the hockey world is dying to know.
“Dude, Jonesy, did you call your lawyer yet or what? That guy is still yapping, y'know ...”
“Yeh,” Callan grunts. “He said that I uh, I shouldn't make any comments about it though.”
“Well that's what they always say ... but you can tell us! Do you know this guy?”
He gets a little flushed in the cheeks. “I really can't talk about it, guys. That's what my lawyer said. Y'know. Because of legal reasons and shit.”
Conversations like that play out the rest of the night. Especially as we watch the Jets take a bigger lead over the Kings.
Donovan taps my shoulder while we watch the Jets cruise through the third period with a comfortable lead.
“Hey captain,” he says. “Can I talk with ya?”
“Sure.” We head outside, away from everybody else. “What's up, Don-o?”
“It's Jonesy.”
Of course it is, I think to myself. I fold my arms defensively. “And what about him?”
“I've been thinking ... what if these rumors actually are true? I mean, think about it. He's not actually denying any of it. And have you watched that Jason guy's videos? It sure sounds like he's met Callan, the way he describes him. I mean he knows about the moles and shit on his body. He says all Callan has to do to disprove him is show he's wrong. But he ain't wrong, you and me both know that!”
“You mean you actually watched those videos?”
Donovan chuckles nervously. “Well I had to, to find out if it was true or not ... I mean, don't you care?”
“Honestly, I don't give a fuck, Don-o. I wanna win the Cup. That's all I care about.”
“Well so do I, but—”
“But what? Suppose he is gay. Would it really matter to you?”
His eyes narrow. “Do you know something, Vance?”
I swallow. “I know that if we let this shit get between us, and we throw Callan to the wolves, we don't stand a chance in the Finals.”
“I meant about him being ga—”
“I know what you meant, Don-o, but I'm not playing along.”
He takes a step back. “Uh. Ha. Alright, cap. Sure thing.”
We both head back into the restaurant. I check my watch. It's starting to get late and we've got an early flight tomorrow.
“I'm heading back to the hotel, boys. Don't stay out too late.”
I catch Callan's eye. I'm hoping he'll come with me.
“... I'm leaving too,” he says as he rises from his chair. “Later boys.”
***
“SHOULD I NOT HAVE COME with you?” Callan asks nervously in the cab. We're on our way back to the hotel. “Should I have waited? Some of the guys sure gave us a funny look as we left ... shit, I should've stayed behind.”
“I don't care,” I say gruffly. “I wanted you to come with me. Let 'em think whatever they want. Hell, it's not like they'd be wrong.”
“Tyler! Man, I never should've put you in this position in the first place. It's one thing for my career to go down the drain, but yours too? It's not right ...”
“No one's career is going anywhere. We're gonna be fine.”
“Tch. Yeah right.” He looks away. “You sound like I did when I was reckless as hell. I thought I could do whatever the hell I wanted and wouldn't ever get caught.”
“No one's getting caught.”
“You're in denial, dude. My career is already done. Tonight's game against the Sharks oughtta prove that. No one's gonna take me seriously.”
“Bullshit,” I grumble. “The Sharks tried to chirp you all night. And you shut 'em up by not saying a damn thing. You were a bull out there tonight. Hell, you're playing the best hockey you've ever played in your life. Can't you see it?”
“It's all adrenaline, Tyler. I'm playing on borrowed time. Trying to make the most out of what little I've got left.”
I shrug. Whatever. I know I can't convince him.
It's midnight when we make it back to the hotel. I walk in first. Cal is behind me, and he shuts the door. When he turns around, I'm already waiting for him, and we're face to face.
“Uh oh,” he mumbles. “Listen.”
“Nuh uh.” I step forward and put my hands on his waist. “I can't stop thinking about last night.”
“Well, me neither – but Vance ... you know we can't do this ...” He wraps his hands around my forearm and struggles to pry my hands off him.
I chuckle. He always calls me Vance when he's trying to put space between us, I've noticed.
“Yes we can, Jones.” I lean in and press my lips into his. He kisses me back ever so briefly, but then, with a yelp, pushes me away again.
“No! I can't!”
“Why the hell not?” I growl.
He wrestles me again. “You're ... straight, first of all ...”
“Bullshit,” I laugh again. “But it's funny that you're in more denial about me than I was. Maybe you'd like me to be straight ...”
“Well, yeah,” he stops fighting and gets a twinkle in his eye. There's that charm that's grown on me so goddamn bad. “It is something of a turn-on – seducing a straight man – I'll admit.”
“Ah-ha.” I shove Cal up against the door. A noise escapes him – oof! – and I step right into him. I bury my nose between his jaw and his neck; his scent fills me. I push my chest into his, my belly pushing against his with every breath. My hand slides between his legs.
“Then let's just say I'm straight as an arrow, Cal.”
He swallows. His cock is pumping up under my palm.
“You're a terrible actor,” he mutters.
“And you're getting hard.”
“So what.” His eyes flutter as I coax his dick to standing attention through his trousers. “Doesn't mean anything.”
I reach higher. Grab his belt buckle, unclasp it, and whip it off.
“Dude,” Cal protests. “Don't. You really shouldn't. I'm serious.”
“You keep saying that ...” I say as I unzip his trousers, flay them open, and look at the bulge in his boxers. There's a dab of wetness on his boxers, hovering over the head of his cock. He groans softly with pleasure. “But you don't look or sound like you want me to stop.”
“I'm trying to protect you, man. Don't get caught up in my mess. You're lucky it hasn't bit you in the ass yet ...”
I grab his arm, pull him over to the bed, and make him sit at the foot of it. Then I crouch between his legs.
“Dude, Vance!” he pants. “Seriously ... no ... don't ...”
But I pull at the leg of his trousers until I snatch the pants right off him. Then his boxers, too. His veiny cock is thick and hard and stands straight up. I have to laugh at the sight.
“Listen to you. You're really gonna tell me you don't want this right now?”
“I ... I can't, Vance ... we shouldn't do this anymore.”
I shrug. “I guess you'll just have to stop me then, won't you?”
And then I do what I've been thinking about. Ever since that night I caught Cal in the shower. I shuffle forward, nestling myself between his muscled, blonde-haired thighs.
Not gonna lie – Cal's dick is big. And his thickness sways from side to side with an intimidating heft that makes me doubt whether I can actually do this or not. But I grab him by the balls to steady him – too hard at first, maybe, because his head throws back and he yelps.
“Oops, sorry,” I say, loosening my fist on his balls.
“Fuckin' death grip, man!” he says. “Be careful ... Shit.”
“Sorry. Sorry.” I rub his balls a heck of a lot more gentler in my palm. And right away, the pain melts from his face and he blows out a big gust of air.
“Oh, fuck ...” he sighs, his thighs spreading wider for me.
I start sizing him up again. I stick the tip of my tongue out and lean closer. I can feel his heat against my tongue, but I'm still a little intimidated.
I take a peek up at Cal. His head is tilted askew, and he watches me with a sort of tortured interest.
“Yeah, Ty, yeah,” he whispers. He runs his hand through my hair. He grabs a fistful of my hair and gently pulls me closer to him.
I grin. I'm glad he's decided he wants it after all.
And cautiously, tenderly, I touch my tongue against the base of his shaft.
“Ooh,” he coos.
I drag my tongue up the side of his cock.
“Ahhh,” he groans.
And then I drag my tongue up the other side.
“Arrghh.”
The underside of his cock is throbbing. I can feel the pulses through my tongue. I can taste his excitement.
“Fuck!”
Whoa. The sounds he make are so – encouraging. He's in heaven, and every lick I lavish him with makes him weaker. Like swinging an axe at a tree trunk – every stroke brings the inevitable closer, and soon the big damn thing will topple over. His head rolls back, his hips push up toward me. He wants me so bad and I know it.
Before long I've licked him all over. His cock is dribbling with my saliva, and he's begging for my mouth.
“Please please please,” he pants quietly. “Please, please Ty, please suck me!”
I hover over his big, swollen tip with my open, sweltering mouth. And I stop just before taking him in with a devilish grin. “I thought we shouldn't do this, though? Maybe you were right, eh?”
Cal thrusts helplessly upward at my mouth. I jump back. “Please, Ty! Don't make me beg for it, man!”
“Heh. Okay.”
I wrap my lips around his manhood. It's warm and solid and his presence fills my mouth. His taste is the essence of, well, him – his manly, salty scent. But somehow more pure.
“Ooooooh!” he groans, his voice rising, as I seal my lips on his cock.
And then I push forward, ever so slowly, torturing him with the pleasures of my mouth. His hot girth slides along the slick, studded texture of my tongue. I want to taste him, totally. I want him to feel my every last taste bud.
I feel his pulse in my mouth. Thump, thump, thump. His veins throb against my cheeks as he slides deeper.
“Yeah yeah, oh man, fuck!” Cal pants in a high-pitched groan. He's lost control of his pelvis. His hips buckle and thrust without him wanting to, pumping helplessly against the seal of my lips.
I suck my cheeks in and slurp off him. When his head is the last thing in my mouth, I won't let it go without a fight – and I suck that thing hard. Until it pumps up, doubling in size, turning almost purple.
I pull all the way back. And Cal's cock swings out of my mouth.
“Oh no!” he yelps. And I go slack-jawed as I watch giant, arcing threads of his semen bust out of him, one after another.
Spurt spurt spurt.
It happens so fast, I wasn't ready for it. Long streaks shoot over my shoulder, blast against his chest. It goes everywhere. I hurry and throw myself back over his tip. Jets of wet liquid hit the roof of my mouth and pool on my tongue.
My first taste of cum? Whoa. It's salty but sweet at the same time. But I don't waste any time in swallowing it down.
His load's already down my throat, but Callan isn't done orgasming. He's still trembling and gasping for air. I lay next to him and watch. It's a sight to behold.
He needs a few minutes to catch his breath. Then he looks at me and grins.
“Tyler. That ... was incredible.”
“Yeah? Good. It's harder than I thought it'd be.”
“Looks easier when you're the one getting blown, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“I can still taste you.” I climb on top of him and give him a hot, deep kiss. “Can you taste your cum on my mouth?”
“God, yeah ...” He shivers. With a hand around the back of my head, he pulls me back in. “And I want more.”