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“Oh. I guess I was assuming we’d just eat at their place or yours.” I’m shocked he would even consider the idea of a public date. Particularly since three of us are pretty well-known and there is always the possibility of someone recognizing us.
“Our place.” Corwin corrects, quietly. “We could do that too, if you prefer. Troy said either way works for them.”
My heart rate picks up, and I have to tone down the excitement in my voice when I respond. “You’d really be okay going out on a date? In a public place? I think…well, I think it would be pretty apparent that we aren’t just a group of dudes out for dinner. Not when Troy and Sam can’t be in the same room without mooning at each other.”
He laughs at that, eyes crinkling in amusement before he sobers again. “I think if we go somewhere non-local, we might be okay. I’d like to try. If you want to, that is.”
“So would I.”I want to touch you in public, without wondering if it looks platonic enough. I want the freedom to kiss you anytime, anyplace. I want to marry you and invite the entire goddamn team to the ceremony.
“Okay.” He smiles at me, ignorant to the unbridled joy coursing through my system right now. “It’ll be fun.”
“Yeah.” I lean over to kiss him. “Yeah, it will. Thank you for asking me.”
“Oh, well, my other boyfriend wasn’t available. You know how it is.”
Corwin laughs as I place a hand on his chest and push him back onto the bed. I catch the sound in my mouth, kissing it away. It can’t go any further than this, but my body doesn’t understand discretion and I can feel my dick start to perk up at the feel of Corwin beneath me. Kissing my way down his neck, I curse the high collar of his shirt and the hotel full of teammates we’re currently in. With a sigh, I sit back, reaching a hand out to pull Corwin back to sitting. He’s still grinning when he gets there and leans forward to press his mouth back to mine.
“We’re going on a date.” He says, cheerfully.
“Yes, chéri, we are.”
???
My legs burn as I sit down on the bench, grabbing a bottle and spraying water onto my face. Beside me, Corwin is drinking as though he hasn’t tasted water in days. The game against New York isn’t going well, and at the bottom of the second we are down by four. I look out to where Lawson is tucked into his crease, and groan when another goal is scored. In my periphery, I see the assistant coach walk down to the end of the bench where Simmons, the backup goalie, is sitting.
As Lawson is pulled from the game and Simmons takes his place, the New York crowd goes wild. The fans seated behind the bench pound on the glass so hard I fear they might break it. Soon enough, it’s time for a shift change, and Corwin, Troy and I swing over the bench to take over the offensive line. Spurred on by the change in netminders, I check a defenseman into the boards, freeing the puck and sending it off in a blind pass. Troy is there, and thirty seconds later, we score.
By the end of the third, we trudge back to the locker room after having our asses handed to us, 2-6. Lawson had never returned to the bench after the second period, and when we get into the locker room, he’s seated on a bench with ice taped to his left shoulder and arm. Corwin’s already tight expression darkens.
It’s a silent crew that boards the team bus taking us back to the hotel; as I suspected he would, Corwin sits with Lawson. Seeing this, Troy chooses the seat next to mine, though he doesn’t speak. Dropping his head back, he closes his eyes and crosses his arms. I lean my head against the cold window, and close my own eyes.What a cluster fuck of a game. I wish we were at home and there was at least dinner, and sleeping with Corwin to look forward to, instead of crispy hotel sheets and bland room service food.
When I hear a knock on my door a couple of hours later, I open it expecting to see a tray of food waiting. Instead, it’s Corwin.
“Lawson is out.” He says, without preamble. I step back wordlessly, letting him in. “He had surgery on that shoulder a couple of years ago and sometimes it bothers him still. They’re pulling him for a few games for rest and rehab.”
Corwin flops down onto my bed and looks at me. His hair is partially dried and he’s wearing a faded hoodie from one of my old AHL teams that I gave to him. I sit next to him on the bed and slip a hand up the back, splaying my fingers across warm skin. When I rub my thumb in a circle, he sighs and leans into the touch.
“It was bothering him yesterday when we got in. Maybe since that game against Colorado.”
“He’s so damn stubborn.” Corwin huffs.
“Is he staying for the rest of the road trip?” I ask.
“Yeah. But he won’t dress out and they’re flying in a backup from the farm team. Simmons will be bumped to first.”
“He played well tonight.”
“He did.” Corwin nods, and then rubs a palm down his face. He looks as tired as I feel. “Jesus, I wish I could sleep here tonight.”
The pair of us look longingly at the bed we’re sitting on, and I run my hand up his spine, rucking up the back of the hoodie. Three more days until we go home. My phone rings, suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence of the room. Regretfully, I pull my arm from Corwin’s hoodie and walk over to the desk to check it. My agent’s name, Jack Porter, is flashing across the screen. My heart stutters, and I contemplate ignoring the call and letting it ring through to voicemail.
“Who is it?” Corwin asks, noting my reluctance.
“My agent.” I press the green answer button and close my eyes as I hold the phone up to my ear. “Hey, Jack.”
“St. James! Tough game tonight, huh?” Jack’s raspy smoker’s voice makes me smile, even though his surprise calls rarely portent good news.
“Yeah, it wasn’t great.” I peek back over my shoulder at Corwin, who points to the door and mouthsdo you want me to leave?I shake my head no, before moving toward the door myself and stepping into the hallway. “What time zone are you in?”
