Page 30

“I told you⁠—”

“I don’t want your excuses. I want answers.” He paused and cocked his head, studying the other man as an idea occurred. It was a possibility—one he didn’t like. “Unless you already know and are protecting this man from me.”

“I don’t. I’m not.” He heaved a sigh. “Honestly, I don’t know who is responsible.” Wisely, Verreault didn’t look away, knowing that dropping his eyes would imply guilt. Though Nico still had his doubts.

“If I suspect you are lying, I will edge you until you cry and spill all your secrets.”

“Believe what you want. But do it somewhere else because I’ve got to get some sleep.”

Verreault stood, then winced before clearing his expression. The reaction was brief, but Nico caught it. He was beginning to think he caught everything related to this man. “What is wrong? Are you hurt?”

“Got checked into the boards. It’s nothing.”

“Number thirty-two on Minnesota, no?”

Nico had noticed the hit, fuming that someone dared to be so rough with Verreault. That was Nico’s job. Or, it would be, if Nico wanted. Even the commentators had talked about it, how the other player threw an elbow. A dirty hit, they called it. This term meant something else in Nico’s world, but he was coming to understand it wasn’t good in Verreault’s, either.

“How . . . ? I mean, yes. It was from that hit.” Verreault appeared confused, his eyebrows pinching in what was becoming a familiar look. “Did you watch the game?”

Fists clenched, Nico said nothing. He knew people in America. He could easily make a phone call and see that number thirty-two suffered a little. Nothing big, not a serious injury, but something annoying and painful.

“Whatever you are thinking,” Bennett said as he walked toward his refrigerator. “Don’t.”

“How do you know what I am thinking?” Unable to help himself, Nico trailed the other man to the kitchen.

Bennett cracked open a can of sparkling water and leaned against the far counter. The position emphasized the width of his shoulders, the hint of muscles under his hoodie. “I don’t exactly, but it’s the same look you had when you decided to edge me to death.”

“Yet you are still alive.”

“Barely.”

“You liked it.”

“I hated it.”

Nico threw back his head and laughed. “That is a lie.”

As Bennett sipped from the can, he watched Nico warily. The air around them grew heavy with expectation, like they were both waiting for the other to say or do something, and a battle began raging in Nico’s head. His fingers twitched with the need to pin Verreault to the counter, to hold him down and hear those little sounds the captain made when he couldn’t help himself. They were not quite whimpers and not quite moans and Nico could drink that sound in like the finest wine.

But he couldn’t.

All of that was a terrible idea, and Nico was here only to make sure Bennett remembered his assignment, nothing more. There could be no more kisses or edging or feeling Verreault’s tight ass squeezing his dick to perfection. This was now a business transaction, not a personal one. Any further dick squeezing was off the table. Che peccato. A shame.

Lamenting his squeeze-free future, Nico watched as Verreault crossed his feet at the ankles, which drew attention to his long legs and—minchia! His package in those black lightweight athletic pants . . . Verreault might as well be wearing gray sweatpants for how closely the soft cloth outlined his dick. Yes, Nico knew about gray sweatpants. He both had access to the internet and liked men, for fuck’s sake. Of course he’d seen these types of pics.

And right now, Verreault looked fucking good. Fit. Dangerous. Lickable and hot. Nico could feel himself start to sweat, his heart kicking hard as if restarting from a long break. So many things he’d like to do right now. And all of them started with taking off those stupid, unfashionable, indecent joggers.

“Marzano. Get your eyes off my junk.”

The words penetrated his lust spiral and Nico shifted to rake his gaze over Verreault’s flat, trim stomach, up his wide chest. The sculpted shoulders. None of this struck Nico as less attractive than the last time they’d been alone together, unfortunately. If anything, he found it even more tempting, like a treat you’d already enjoyed and knew would be sweet on your tongue. Finally, he met Bennett’s slightly panicked, very determined stare, like Verreault was a mountain climber who was hanging on by his fingers, yet blamed the mountain. Nico would accept none of the blame. He hadn’t done anything wrong. Tonight, at least.

But he needed to stop it. This was the exact opposite of his agenda.

Putting a heavy dose of judgment in his voice, he said, “I cannot believe you wear those pants in public. They are hideous.”

“They are comfortable. Especially on late flights.”

“I can see the outline of your dick.”