Face Offs & Cheap Shots (CU Hockey Book 2)

The countless options on the hookup app I’m flicking through are all the same. No one is catching my eye. It’s like a Netflix menu. Maybe there’s too much to choose from. Or, more accurately, it’s like a buffet offering only potatoes.

I love potatoes. Yay carb loading. But … I don’t only want potatoes.

I seriously need out of my head. I haven’t had sex since summer break started, and I’m starting to think I’m in a relationship with my hand. The problem with that is I’m so scared of commitment I don’t want to get to the point I have to amputate it so we can break up.

It’s not that I’m in a slump. I could go out and hook up easily. I’m in an interest slump.

There’s only one mouth I’ve wanted since Jacobs kissed me.

That asshole unleashed something with his tongue, and as much as I want to hate it … I can’t.

I have no idea how to deal with that for two reasons. One, he hates me. And two, oh yeah, he’s a dude.

But mainly the hating thing.

I’ll be the first to admit in high school, I was one of those ignorant assholes who’d say things that would make me cringe now. I remember at our graduation, our principal actually said in his parting speech, “I had no idea the word gay had so many meanings.” It made us all laugh, but looking back on it, shit, what a bunch of fuckheads.

It wasn’t until my freshman year at CU where I met the great hockey god Foster Grant I realized how words can affect people.

He was a sophomore and could pull seniors in line. Because he had the talent and skill to back it up on the ice.

We all looked up to him from the beginning.

He never hid his sexuality, and he wouldn’t let any of us get away with giving him or anyone else on the team shit about it. No fag-bombs were dropped in our locker room because Grant took a stand.

And that’s how it should be.

Seeing him be open about who he was gave me a new appreciation for the notion that anyone can love anyone.

He said to me once that attraction isn’t a choice.

I might not have exactly understood that until recently.

Jacobs may hate me, but I love it when he snaps at me. And that scowl? At first I thought I liked it because I’m an attention whore and I didn’t care what form it came in. Now I’m wondering if I like it because it makes him look … gorgeous.

I groan and rub my hand over my face.

A commotion out in the hall catches my attention. When I open my door, Cohen’s standing there with a giant smile on his face.

“No. No more challenges. That last one was a close call.” I go to shut the door in his face when he grabs my arm and pulls me into the hall.

“Your new captain!” Cohen yells and holds up my hand.

New what?

The rest of the team and the campers cheer.

They fill the hallway in excited chatter, but I’m still so confused.

I glance around, looking for Jacobs to explain, but he’s not here. I even glance behind me to make sure they’re talking to the right person.

“Say, what now?” I ask.

“You did it!” Cohen shows me the photo of me trashing the bronze catamount.

“Wait, how did you …”

“Jacobs sent it last night after you both ditched coming to the bar.”

“Oh.” He sent it? Why? It’s not like I got to finish the job.

“Celebratory party!” Cohen yells.

Just as he announces that, the elevator doors open down the hall and in comes Rossi and Jacobs with a keg.

“In the dorms?” Do they want campus security reporting us?

I shake that thought free. Holy fuck, I’ve been spending too much time with Jacobs.

Clearly.

Everyone’s staring at me, expecting the Beck they always see.

So, I plaster on my cocky smile. “Keg stand anyone?”

“Captain first!” Cohen hoots.

Shit.

Because my dorm room is at the end of the hall and Cohen’s is opposite mine, we set the keg up in his room. We have two of the campers next to us, so they open their rooms too so the whole team can fit.

Jacobs goes into one of the other rooms, while the guys tap the keg.

Once it’s all ready, two of the guys help lift me and I drink my weight in beer.

When my feet hit the ground, I wait for the room to stop spinning before trying to slip away from the crowd. I’m still confused as fuck.

I want to get to Jacobs and ask him what the hell he was thinking. He handed me the job for no reason.

And as much as I want to be captain, I don’t want him to be able to shout technical foul once I get it.

Okay, and maybe, just maybe, part of me hopes he did it as some sort of gesture that things are changing between us. Like we could be friends. Or … more—

I shake my head. Not more than friends.

That would be ridiculous.

We’re both straight.

But that kiss …

I check the other open rooms, but Jacobs has disappeared.

Someone passes me a red Solo cup full of something—I have no idea what—and I drink it down without much thought.

I go back into Cohen’s room to find one of the campers doing a keg stand.

Nope. Not dealing with that.

Cohen grins. “Hey, Captain.”

Oh, shit. Why in the fuck did I think I was responsible enough to control a twenty-five-man roster of immature testosterone-filled hockey players?

More importantly, why did Jacobs hand it to me when he didn’t have to?

“I … I’ll be right back.” I stumble toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Cohen asks.

“Uh, the female swim team are here for the summer. I’m gonna go to their dorms and drop some invites.”

Yeah, that’s so not where I’m going. I ignore their excitement over the thought of girls arriving and head down one level to Jacobs’s room.

The sliver of light coming from under the door lets me know he’s in there, but when I knock, he doesn’t answer.

“I know you’re in there, Topher,” I taunt.

“Go back to your party … Captain.” His voice is adorably small and muffled.

“Open up, jackass.” I pound on the door harder.

He finally opens the door and scowls. “What?”

“Me what? I think I should be asking you that.” I push my way inside, and he doesn’t stop me.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

I spin. “Bullshit. Why’d you give me the win?”

He folds his arms. “I didn’t. You did the challenge. You win.”

“But we both know you deserve to be captain more than me.”

His eyes flash with surprise, but it’s covered quickly.

“Like right now, they’re all upstairs getting drunk. Giving the underage guys beer. And all I can think is, holy shit, if I’m captain, it’s my job to stop this. Not participate in it.”

Jacobs tries not to laugh. “What, you think you were going to get a shiny C on your jersey and that’s the job done?”

Yes! “Well, no. Not exactly. This isn’t the point.”

“What is the point? Why are you even down here?”

Why am I really down here? My gaze roams over him, from his wide chest to that damn single vein running down his impressive arm.

I shake it off and step closer. “You know why I’m down here.” To call him out. That’s why. Nothing else.

Jacobs’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t budge. “I really don’t.”

“I want to know the real reason why you sent the photo.”

Jacobs hesitates, his eyes giving away everything I want to see. “You won fair and square.”

“I didn’t finish the challenge.”

He averts his gaze. “You trashed it enough. You win.”

I move in again, and this time he shuffles back a bit.

His hand trembles, and I might be tipsy, but I know it’s shaking because of me. Because I’m here and getting in his face.

What I don’t know is if he wants to reach for me or punch me.

Maybe both.

Either way, it sends a jolt of that adrenaline I crave racing through me.

I take a risk and hope it’s the former. “Why did you hand me the thing you so desperately want even though you didn’t have to?”

His feet keep retreating, but I don’t let up.

“Why, Jacobs?”

His back hits the door, and my hand flies out to rest beside his head so I’m boxing him in.

His Adam’s apple bounces. “What are you doing?”

“Answer me.” My chest presses against his.

“I …” He squirms and tries to slip away from me, but I grab his waist, holding him in place.

“Tell me,” I whisper.

He shudders as my breath lands on his cheek. “I can’t.”

When he shifts again, I can feel him. He’s hard. I have to force myself to avoid looking down. I’m mesmerized by the thought that he’s hard for me.

“Fuck this.” I close the gap and touch my lips to his.

Just like the forced kiss in the locker room, it starts out slow, but the second my tongue licks into his mouth, he opens for me and pushes back.

No wait, he’s actually pushing back. He shoves me off him. “What the hell are you doing?”

I blink. What am I doing?

So many things run through my head that I could say.

It seemed like a good idea.

I liked kissing you and wanted to do it again.

What comes out is not as clear. Or rational. “You’re not a potato.”

You’re not a potato? What the fuck?

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You hate me.” Jacobs wipes his mouth, and I’m only mildly offended.

“Uh, nope. You hate me. I have nothing against you. Although, all of me was just against you, so there’s that.”

Jacobs doesn’t find it as funny as I do. “What is your deal? Seriously. You drive me crazy. You like when I’m mad. You purposefully go out of your way to piss me off. Then you kiss me?”

“I like when you scowl at me. It’s … kinda hot.”

“And now you’re mocking me. Fuck you.”

“Hmm, well, tempting, but you won’t even let me kiss you.”

He grunts in frustration. “I hate you.”

“Mm, talk dirty to me.”

Jacobs stares at me, wide-eyed and unblinking.

“I liked kissing you, okay! It was hot, and it made me hard, and I swear I’ve jerked off so much to the thought of it, I was worried my dick would fall off. I wanted to see if it was a fluke.”

Jacobs breaks his gaze and glances around his room.

I risk taking another step closer. “You liked it too. The same goes for when I boxed you in just now. You want to fight it but can’t.” Suddenly, we’re back in the spot we were before, only this time, he’s not trying to get away. “And, just so you know? You don’t have to like me to kiss me back. I won’t tell anyone.”

I let my lips linger right near his. If he wants to take this, he needs to do it himself. I don’t want him waking up tomorrow and telling people this was all me.

I kissed him.

I cornered him.

“Jacobs, I—”

“Fucking shut up, Beck.” His mouth slams against mine, and I stumble back, but I don’t get far.

Because his big hands are there to hold me and pull me against him, and I pray to God he doesn’t let go.