Page 36 of Line Change

I look at the tunnel where Fraser disappeared, then follow the team off the ice.

I thought we’d found something close to normal after his party. The apology got us through the next practices without either of us avoiding the other. We did our jobs and went home. It was working, as long as I ignored how close we came to kissing on his porch.

I’m attracted to Nolan Fraser.

Denying it has gotten stupid after I followed him into a hotel room and almost kissed him in his home. He’s the first man I’ve ever wanted, and I picked one who’s determined to drag Seattle out of the playoff race with his bare hands.

I’m not going to do anything about it. Sex made everything worse the first time. If we were still fucking, this fight wouldn’t end in the locker room. I’d have to stand here furious with him while remembering what he looks like naked. The thought puts him back on his knees in front of me, his mouth hot around my cock and his tattoos moving under my hands.

No. I am not doing this after a loss.

Thinking about fucking him leads straight back to the balcony and the way he lifted his chin when I looked at his mouth. I can call Arizona road-trip insanity and almost believe it. That excuse falls apart when I remember how badly I wanted to kiss him at home in Seattle.

Going onto the balcony was a mistake. I should’ve apologized and left. Staying gave me time to look at his mouth, and now I know I wanted to kiss him.

The locker room is quiet when I walk in. All I hear is tape ripping and gear dropping. Nobody has anything useful to say about another game we should’ve won.

Fraser is sitting in his stall, already showered and halfway dressed. He’s in his suit pants, and his white shirt hangs open while he works the buttons from the bottom. The tattoo across his chest disappears one button at a time. I bend over my skate laces before he gets to the next one.

Bobby sits down heavily and starts pulling at the tape around his socks. Fraser stops buttoning his shirt. “You good?”

“Ask me tomorrow.” Bobby gives him a tired look. “You didn’t have to do all that.”

Fraser’s mouth tightens. “Yeah. I did.”

“No, you didn’t.” I yank loose the knot in my skate. “The ref had his arm up. The hit was getting called.”

Fraser turns his head. “Thanks, Pope. I was there.”

“Then you should’ve known better.”

He goes back to his buttons, which pisses me off more than if he’d started shouting. “I’ll keep that in mind next time somebody tries to put Bobby through the glass.”

“I got boarded,” Bobby says. “Can we not make this my fault?”

“It’s not your fault.” Fraser and I say it at the same time.

Bobby closes his eyes. “Great. Glad we agree on something.”

I pull off one skate and let it drop beneath my stall. “You handed them a power play and took yourself out of the game. We needed you on the ice.”

“Bobby needed somebody to have his back.”

I wanted to hit the guy too. Bobby was down, so I stayed with him. “He had five teammates on the ice and a referee calling the penalty.”

Fraser leaves the next button undone and stands. “Are you always this much of a hall monitor, or is that a special thing you do for me?”

His shirt is still open. I shove myself off the bench. “You’re an undisciplined asshole.”

The hint of a smile leaves his face. “And you’re not my fucking captain.”

Caleb looks over from his stall. Half the room has gone quiet, but I don’t stop. “I don’t need a letter to tell you when you’ve screwed the whole team.”

“We had plenty of time to score.”

“You weren’t there for any of it.”

He steps toward me and stops close enough that I can see a drop of water caught in the curl above his ear. His shirt is still open at the throat, the tattoo disappearing beneath white fabric. The open collar is inches from my mouth, and I want to lean in.