Trouble : Boston Bolts Hockey

“How goes the husband search?”

Declan mentioned that Hailey is in a tough spot because of her controlling grandmother.

Her red hair, pulled into a messy ponytail, swishes as she angles closer and places her hand on my forearm. “Why? You offering to be my hockey coach in shining armor?” She bats her hazel eyes flirtatiously and gives me her biggest smile.

Hailey is gorgeous. She’s all curves and sex appeal. Only a few weeks ago, I was looking at her like I wouldn’t mind spending a few hours getting to know her body. Bet she’d be fun. We’d probably laugh and fuck the night away.

Now, though? I don’t feel an ounce of attraction. I can flirt and smile no matter my mood, of course, but in this moment, my mood is piss-poor, and there’s nothing she can do to change that. Not that I’ll ever let her or anyone else know that.

“You really can’t take ownership of the bar unless you’re married?”

Hailey deflates, shrinking a good couple of inches in front of my eyes. “Yeah, Grandmama is a bit controlling.”

“Grandmama?” A chuckle escapes me.

Throwing a rag over her shoulder, she shoots me a wink and walks away. “She hates that nickname.”

I can’t help but laugh again, despite my sour mood. Shaking my head, I pick up my drink and watch her disappear into the kitchen.

The weight of Declan’s and Melina’s stares is heavy, making it almost impossible not to turn around. My position puts me directly in their view. I chose this seat on purpose. They can see me, but I can’t see them. I’m regretting that decision immensely now as I wonder what they’re doing.

Is Melina talking Declan down? Urging him not to storm out of the restaurant in anger?

Is he stewing quietly, refusing to speak?

Is she cursing me for leaving her to deal with him?

Or are they too busy flirting to even notice I’m gone?

The last one hurts the most, if I’m being honest. My entire life, I’ve been the guy who leaves because I don’t want to be the one left behind.

And despite popular belief, I’m sure, I’m not too emotionally stunted to be oblivious to it. I am, however, too stunted to do anything to change it.

My dad died when I was twelve, leaving me with a hole in my heart so big, there’s no way it can ever fully heal. He was my biggest supporter. Both of my parents, really. While I wasn’t out as bisexual at that age, I have no doubt that my dad would have been just as supportive as my mother is. When we lost him, I threw myself into hockey. It was the only thing that eased the pain.

Several years later, when Declan and I had a threesome with a girl from college and Dec practically ghosted me, I poured all my energy into figuring out why he didn’t want me and how to right our friendship again.

Shortly thereafter, it became obvious that I’d never make it to the NHL, so I walked away from the dream before it could be taken from me.

There’s no sob story there. I just wasn’t good enough. Even in my early twenties, I was self-aware enough to see it. To spot my own weaknesses. It’s why I’m a good coach. With only thirty-two teams in the NHL and only two goalies on each team, it takes a lot more than a strong work ethic and decent talent to play.

I never had anywhere near the raw talent that Brooks Langfield does, but it’s a fucking honor to be his coach.

The point is, I walked away from the competition before I got rejected.

Before I lost yet another precious part of my life, like I lost my dad and then Declan.

In all the years since, I’ve made sure to never put myself in a position where I can be hurt like that again.

Until now.

And what I’ve found myself entangled in? It’s so much worse than just about any other scenario I can come up with. Because I haven’t gotten too close to just one person, but two. And I’ve stupidly allowed a dream I’ve had for decades to play out. I’ve begun to envision a future I so desperately want but had resigned myself to never having. A future that includes Declan.

How is it that a man who barely strings three words together at a time, who’s got the personality of a cactus, has me so bent out of shape that I’d take this damn risk again?

Hope. It’s the biggest risk of them all.

I promised myself I’d skate backward down a mountain before I’d fall for this again.

And yet here I am.

“You going to drink that or just glare at it all night?” Declan asks, his tone deep and rough.

My heart lurches, but I hide the reaction. Instead, I take a page out of his book and grunt, forcing myself not to look at him as he settles on the barstool beside me. I’ve got one leg propped up on my stool and my hat turned forward and dipped down low.

Once he’s settled, I remain silent. If I speak, then I can guarantee I’ll turn to him and ask why the fuck he has to be so difficult. Why he had to go and ruin a perfectly good day.

Why I’m not good enough.

“I’m not good at this,” he says, angling toward me, his voice low.

When I don’t reply, he hooks his fingers under the seat of my stool and drags it until I’m positioned between his thighs. Fuck. He’s so close, I can’t breathe.

“I’d really rather not do this in a bar, but if you need me to prove to you that I don’t give a fuck about your sexual orientation, then I’ll gladly make it obvious to everyone in this room that the last thing I am is turned off by your touch.”

Lungs seizing, I snap my gaze up to his face.

He runs his tongue over his bottom lip, keeping his focus fixed on me. For the space of half a dozen heartbeats, he doesn’t move, and when he finally does, it’s only to glance at my mouth. Then he’s back to locking eyes with me, his irises dark and swimming with a myriad of emotions.

“So what’ll it be?” he murmurs. His thighs bracket my chair, our bodies so close, the intimacy has to be obvious to anyone who can see us. He slides a hand—the one closest to the bar—from his thigh to mine and drags his thumb back and forth along the denim there. Fuck. The move is simple, discreet, but I feel like he’s stripped me naked and asked me to detail my every desire.

My throat is dry, my tongue too big for my mouth, but I force myself to speak. “What’ll what be?”

He leans in close, so close I can smell the clean scent of him, his voice a raspy whisper. “Is this about us or them? Because if you need me to show you that I don’t give a fuck about them, I will. But I’d rather keep this moment just for us.”

Tamping down on the hope bubbling up inside me, I lift my chin. “And what would this moment you keep referring to be?”

Declan’s lip lifts on one side, and he gives me the sexiest smirk I’ve ever seen, all ease and confidence and control. “The moment I first kiss you. I’d rather it be just for us. You, me, and Melina,” he says.

Fuck. The way he’s including her? And how he’s spelling it all out for me? I focus on his lips again, stomach flipping, and replay his words. Could it really be that simple? We just…kiss? And then what?

Fuck, the warning bells are all there: He doesn’t like men. He’s never shown an ounce of interest in me like that. I’ve had this massive crush on him since I was sixteen.

Maybe I should shy away, but there’s not a chance in hell I’ll miss out on this opportunity. Standing quickly, I clear my throat. “What are we waiting for? Let’s grab Mel and get the fuck out of here.”