Face Offs & Cheap Shots (CU Hockey Book 2)

Unlike Beck, I stick it out through the team’s ribbing before getting the hell out. There’s a lump in my throat and anger boiling in my gut over being drawn into that so easily.

You could have said no.

I shove the voice of reason away because right now, I don’t want to be reasonable. Right now, I want to ignore the kiss and the feel of Beck’s body against mine. Ignore the hunger that burned in my chest when he pushed back into the kiss, the way his tongue fought mine for dominance.

A thrill races down my spine, but I quickly shake it off.

It’s barely been a few months since I decided I’m totally and completely straight, and no way am I going to let a stupid kiss with an irritating asshole get in my head. Either head. My traitorous dick doesn’t agree. It’s still fucking hard.

I get back to my room and try to relax, but I swear I can still taste Beck on my tongue. Feel his chest pressed against mine.

I know I can wash the taste of him away by brushing my teeth. I know I can go out and hook up and replace the memory of his kiss by making out with someone else.

And yet … both of those things hold zero appeal.

Instead, my memories switch to Grant and the way I used to watch him on the ice. How every time I sent the puck sailing past the opposing goalie, excitement would race through me, because scoring meant getting attention from Grant. Out there, with the adrenaline running high, every emotion is put into overdrive, and it’s impossible to tell what’s real and what’s amplified by the endorphin rush.

I’d put it down to hero worship, but now I’m not so sure.

Because in the locker room, there was none of that high. It was a quiet moment, but so fucking intense my skin felt like it was going to zap right off my bones.

There was more charge in that kiss than a thousand hockey games, and that thought is terrifying.

The insecurities I’d thought I put to rest when Grant hooked up with Zach are starting to creep in again.

Zach is awesome, and I like him, but when he and Grant began dating, I couldn’t help the little seed of resentment I held toward both of them.

I didn’t know where it came from, and I didn’t understand it.

I felt something more than friendship toward Grant, but I wasn’t sure what it was.

The longer they dated, the less confused I became because it was obvious they belonged together. For it to disappear that easily, I’d chalked it up to an episode. Like, a phase.

But tonight, when Beck pulled away from our kiss, his blown pupils were from straight up lust, and the look made me want to grab him, shove him up against the wall, and kiss him again.

Then his panic kicked in.

Which reminded me exactly how I was supposed to be acting. How I was supposed to be feeling.

I groan into my hands and finally let myself admit that I liked it. I’d forgotten I was in a locker room with half the team watching because the only thought that filled my mind was how good another man felt against me.

My stupid brain didn’t even have the decency to forget who I was kissing.

The fact it was Beck should have been an instant boner killer.

It wasn’t.

It did the complete opposite.

Fuck this.

I’m not going to sit in my dorm room and wallow over this. I’m not even going to let myself think about it.

It was a stupid challenge that didn’t mean anything, and it sure as hell will never happen again.

Especially with someone like TJ Beckett.

I shudder. Even his name sounds rich, important, and pompous.

No more thinking about him!

I get up and change into loose shorts and a tank top, then head for the team gym. Coach gave me a set of keys for the summer so we can take the camp kids for early morning weight sessions.

Time to work out until I pass out.

Is that a healthy way to deal? Fuck no. But I don’t know a guy on our team who doesn’t face their problems in the exact same way.

It’s eerily quiet as I walk in and get started. The whirl of the treadmill, the heavy thump of my feet, and each labored breath are all I hear for a long time. Normally it’s enough to clear out my mind, but this time when everything else fades away, the kiss comes back in sharp focus.

His mouth. His big body pressed against mine …

I push harder and harder until I can barely see straight.

My tongue darts out to lick at my lips, and there’s that taste again. It’s not even anything specific, just warm breath and hard lips and a slight hint of something sweet.

My dick is being persistent, so I finally slow the treadmill to a stop and lean forward against it, struggling to breathe. My tank top is plastered to my back and chest, and I have to push down on the bulge growing between my legs.

And while I stand there, exhaustion setting in, desperately trying to keep from getting turned on, a slow sort of awareness starts to seep into my tired muscles.

Occasionally there comes a point in a game where you’re behind, and your body is aching, and your mind has broken, and you realize you have nothing left to give.

I’ve fought against this pull for so long, but tonight, that kiss, I’ve reached my breaking point.

What did that Katy Perry sing about again?

I kissed a guy.

And my dick really fucking liked it.

Beck doesn’t show up for Saturday’s practice—Coach said he was sick. Aside from a few questioning looks in my direction and a few snickers, the team lets it go. We don’t cross paths on Sunday either—our day off—even though I meet up with Cohen and Rossi at a bar off campus. When it comes to alcohol, Beck normally sniffs out anything going down, but Cohen says he hasn’t heard from him.

I don’t know why it bothers me so much.

Even while training the camp kids on Monday, Beck is weird. He throws around his usual quips, but there’s no heart behind them. There’s none of that spark that I hate.

And I can’t even muster the energy to smile at that. Maybe it’s been something else getting under my skin this whole time, and it has nothing to do with his personality.

My traitorous eyes dip to his lips every time he talks the defensive kids through a play, and I’m constantly pulling my attention back to my side. I sternly remind myself I have a job to do, and while this existential crisis is a full-time position all on its own, like hell am I screwing things up here.

Especially because Beck seems to be taking it seriously. That might have been a bigger shock than liking kissing him. The shift happened late last week, and while he still dicks around—he wouldn’t be Beck if he didn’t—the kids look up to him and pay attention.

And he enjoys it. I don’t think I’ve seen such carefree and genuine smiles on him before. They’re always confident smirks.

We wrap up the session and send the kids for lunch before they have weight training this afternoon. I slowly skate over to the bag of hockey gear, picking up a stray puck on my way. Cohen and Simms have disappeared with the kids, and the only person left on the ice with me is Beck. He’s removing the goal from the posts since we’re done in here for the rest of today, so I skate over and start removing the other one.

“Think I need your help?” Beck calls, his cocky voice back in full force. He skates over and waits for me by the panels of the rink that open up to the equipment area.

“You clearly struggle to follow through on things. Chicken out. I figured helping was the safer option.” I eye him and if I’m not mistaken, interest flares on his face.

“Kissing me is a pure gift. I just decided you didn’t deserve it.”

I grunt. “Nothing to do with me being a guy, of course.”

“I’m not a close-minded prick. But if I did swing that way, you wouldn’t even be in my top ten.”

“Didn’t seem like that when you were kissing me.” I don’t know why I’m taunting him, but it’s not every day I have one up on Beck.

Except the look he suddenly wears leaves me feeling like he’s back in charge. “Funny, there I was playing gay chicken when someone groaned right into my mouth.”

“I didn’t groan.”

“No one blames you. There are few who can resist when my mouth is on them.”

“Maybe you were hoping to hear it and imagined it.”

“Should we go ask the team?” he suggests, hooking his thumb back over his shoulder. “Pretty sure Cohen was paying close attention.”

I skate a tiny bit closer, so we’re toe to toe. “You seem pretty desperate to prove I was into it. Doubting your skills?”

His easy smile graces his face. “Oh you know I’ve got skills, Topher.” He tilts his head. “It almost sounds like you’re taunting me into doing it again.”

“You’re right. I liked it. Wanna know why?” My response clearly takes him by surprise because when I dip my mouth down next to his ear, he doesn’t pull away. “You were finally fucking quiet.”

I’m not sure what I’m expecting, but his laughter isn’t it. And when he pinches my chin and turns my face back to his, bright blue eyes shining so close I swear I can see specks of silver in them, I’m the one who’s speechless. “Guess you know what to do next time I’m pissing you off.”

I jerk away from him, defaulting back to a scowl in order to hide the way his low voice stirred in my gut. “If I kissed you every time you annoyed me, my tongue would be permanently in your mouth.”

He rubs a large hand over his jaw, and I try not to track the movement as I put more distance between us. “Lucky there’s only one more challenge.”

“Then we’re done with this shit.”

“For good.”

We dump the equipment and make our way toward the exit.

I can’t help thinking of what’s to come. “You know … we’re tied two apiece. And we both know whatever’s next isn’t going to be good. If kissing was only number four, what will five be?”

“Doesn’t really matter. I’ll kick your ass either way.”

“I’m only saying,” I grit out through my teeth. “We could both decide to be done. Forfeit the last one. The challenges are bullshit and have no hold over who they vote for as captain. They’re screwing with us.”

“Fucking duh. It’s called fun. You heard of it?”

“You caught me,” I answer dryly. “I’m allergic to fun. Completely anaphylactic.”

“Everything makes so much sense now. If I make you laugh, will you break out in hives?”

“No, because to make me laugh, you’d have to be funny.”

“Ooh, snap.” He spins to face me when we get to the chute, and his grin looks like it could split his face in half. “Did you jerk off after we kissed? Because you seem a whole lot more relaxed now.”

Of course that’s where his brain has gone, and of course I’m not feeling ridiculously awkward, because of fucking course that’s not exactly what I did. My jaw tightens. “Look at that, not relaxed anymore.”

“Glad to hear it. I thought I was going to need an EpiPen.”

“Get out of my way, Beck.”

He steps to the side, but before I get around him, his arm flies out and catches my chest. This time, it’s his voice in my ear. “In case you didn’t catch on, I’m not forfeiting shit. Better pucker up, buttercup. I’m all in this time.”