Page 35 of Line Change

Rain blows beneath the edge of the porch roof, and Pope cups his hand around the joint. He’s close enough that I can smell the smoke on his breath. I look at his lips.

We didn’t kiss in Arizona. His mouth was all over the rest of me, and I can still feel the scrape of his teeth against my ribs. I want to know what he tastes like.

“It’s your life.” I reach for the joint. Our fingers overlap on the damp paper. Pope’s grip loosens, but his gaze stays on my face.

“What?” He steps close enough that the toes of our shoes touch. “You offering yourself up as tribute?”

My cock goes hard. I straighten into him until our chests almost touch.

“Is that what you want me to do?”

Pope’s mouth opens, but nothing comes out. He’s looking at the tattoo on my neck now, and I can still feel where he licked me in Arizona. I curl my fingers into my palm to keep them off the collar of his sweater.

His eyes drop to my lips. I tilt my chin up and wait.

Then Pope blinks and steps back so quickly his coat slips down his arm. “I think I should head home.” He catches it, pulls out his phone, and opens a ride app. “Thanks for the party.”

My throat is dry. “Yeah. Anytime.”

He turns and goes inside. I stub out the joint, lock the door behind him, and leave the mess for morning.

When I get into bed, I still have a hard-on that won’t go away. All I can think about is what Pope would’ve done if I’d grabbed his sweater and kissed him.

11

BEN

My taste in men is fucking terrible.

Bobby turns toward the wall to play the puck with the game still tied late in the third. The opposing winger sees his back and finishes the hit anyway. Bobby goes face-first into the boards, and Fraser is on the guy before the whistle finishes blowing.

Every instinct I have says to grab the guy who hit him. Bobby stays down, so I drop beside him while gloves and sticks clatter behind me. He gets one knee under himself, swearing, which is better than lying still. Nara is already coming through the open gate. “Don’t move yet,” I tell him.

“I’m fine.” Bobby lifts his head, takes a breath, and winces. “Fuck.”

Behind us, Fraser drives the other player into the glass. The linesman grabs him around the middle, but Fraser gets an arm free and throws another punch.

“Fraser!” I shout, but he keeps swinging.

The second linesman gets between them. Fraser is still trying to reach around him while the other player shouts from behind the officials. Bobby starts to turn toward the noise, and Nara puts a hand on his shoulder to keep him where he is. “Leave it,” she says. “Look at me.”

Fraser finally stops fighting the linesman. His helmet is gone and his curls are stuck to his forehead. He looks down at Bobby, then at me.

Fraser’s shoulders drop when he sees Bobby sitting up. Then he looks at the man behind the officials and smiles.

Fucking idiot.

The official steers him toward the penalty box while the referees sort out the mess. It takes long enough that Bobby is on his feet before they finish. Nara walks him toward the bench for a proper look, and I follow until she tells me to get back on the ice.

Fraser stands inside the box, breathing hard. When the referee sends him off with a major and game misconduct, he pushes through the door at the other end without looking at me.

We come out of the penalties short-handed. I win the first draw and clear the puck, but they carry it straight back in. A pass cuts across the slot, our goalie makes the first save, and the rebound goes in before we can get a stick on it.

Bobby comes back after Nara clears him, sore and angry but skating normally. Gunderson puts another winger on our line, and our timing is shit. On our best chance, I send the puck toward the place Fraser normally appears. His replacement arrives late, and it slides untouched through the crease.

I swear and get back on defense. We spend the rest of the game trying to recover the goal Fraser handed them, but none of our shots go in.

The final horn goes with us down by one.