Goal Lines & First Times (CU Hockey Book 3) Read online

  Goal Lines & First Times

  CU Hockey book 3

  Eden Finley

  Saxon James

  Contents

  Disclaimers

  1. Cohen

  2. Seth

  3. Cohen

  August

  4. Seth

  September

  5. Cohen

  October

  6. Seth

  7. Cohen

  8. Seth

  November

  9. Seth

  10. Cohen

  December

  11. Seth

  12. Cohen

  13. Seth

  14. Cohen

  15. Seth

  16. Cohen

  17. Seth

  18. Cohen

  19. Seth

  20. Cohen

  21. Seth

  22. Cohen

  23. Seth

  24. Cohen

  25. Seth

  26. Cohen

  27. Seth

  28. Cohen

  29. Seth

  30. Cohen

  31. Seth

  32. Cohen

  33. Seth

  34. Cohen

  Thank You

  About Saxon James

  About Eden Finley

  GOAL LINES & FIRST TIMES

  Copyright © 2021 by Eden Finley & Saxon James

  Cover Illustration Copyright ©

  Story Styling Cover Designs

  Professional beta read by Les Court Services.

  https://www.lescourtauthorservices.com

  Edited by One Love Editing

  https://oneloveediting.com

  All rights reserved.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher.

  For information regarding permission, write to:

  Eden Finley - permissions - [email protected]

  or

  Saxon James - permissions - [email protected]

  Disclaimers

  Seth identifies as demisexual which is on the asexual spectrum. His experiences may differ from others who identify as ace or even demisexual. There are many different identities under the ace umbrella, and here are just a few of them.

  Asexual: Asexuality is the lack of sexual attraction to others, or low or absent desire for sexual activity.

  Graysexual: People who experience limited sexual attraction. They experience sexual attraction very rarely, or with very low intensity.

  Demisexual: People who only feel sexually attracted to someone when they have an emotional bond with the person.

  A college hockey player’s practice schedule is grueling, and in real life, these athletes practice like crazy, even during school breaks. The CU boys get to enjoy their holidays because … we said they could. If we’re putting them through the trauma of falling in love, the least we can do is let them have winter & spring break.

  1

  Cohen

  The ring, ring, ring echoes through my phone.

  Pick up, pick up.

  The summer evening outside the hockey facilities is humid compared to the temperature-controlled rink where I’ve just left my team. Today’s focus was supposed to be on these dumb challenges I set for my teammates, but that switched fast when I blurted out something that apparently raised more questions than it answered. Something I’m sure I won’t live down in a hurry.

  I was just trying to be supportive.

  I lift my shirt and wipe sweat off my brow while the phone continues to go unanswered.

  Come on, Logan, this is kind of a big deal.

  Finally, it clicks over, and the voice I grew up with, deeper and huskier than ever before, comes on the line.

  “Richard Cohen, as I live and breathe. It’s been a long time. How’s Vermont treating you?”

  “Are you gay?” I blurt.

  “Uh …”

  “Shit,” I hiss. “That’s fucking rude, I’m sorry.”

  “Where is this coming from?”

  I huff. “Funny story. My teammates were dared to kiss—”

  A loud laugh echoes in my ear. “Damn, I really missed out by not going to college, didn’t I?”

  I guess that gives me my answer, but I keep talking anyway. I need to know for sure before I walk back into that locker room. “So, yeah, they were being all weird about it, and I’m like ‘Hey, it’s no big deal, it’s just kissing. Everyone does it.’ Turns out, no one does it.”

  Logan snorts. “Oh, man. You didn’t tell them what we used to get up to, did you?”

  “That we made out? A lot? Yeah, no, I did. Because here I am thinking it was perfectly normal hetero behavior. Learn to kiss by kissing your best friend!” My voice is going all high-pitched and weird, but I can’t stop it.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa, it’s okay. Considering, I’m assuming, you’ve never kissed another dude since me, it’s safe to say you’re straight.”

  I hold my breath and wait for a clarification that doesn’t come. “But you’re not.”

  “No. I’m not. And yeah, kissing you might have helped me work that out, but it’s not like I was in love with you or anything sad and pathetic like that.”

  I burst out laughing. “Wow, thank you for making me feel better, Lo. Someone being in love with me is pathetic?”

  “That’s not what I mean, and you know it. We were so close and did everything together. I don’t want you to think it was only because I wanted in your pants. I didn’t, by the way. I mean, I totally would’ve boned you senior year if you offered, but that was for lack of options.”

  “This gets better and better.”

  “I … I actually can’t believe it has taken this long for it to come up.”

  “What can I say, I’m the definition of a dumb jock.”

  “Don’t do that,” Logan growls. “You know how I hated when you’d do that.”

  “It took me”—I count—“six, seven, eight. Eight years to realize the guy I used to make out with might be gay. I’m not smart.”

  “Are … are you mad?”

  “Not mad. But why didn’t you ever tell me?”

  I can practically hear him shrug. “Dunno. Was worried you might’ve thought I was in love with you or trying to trick you into kissing me? Then you left to play for the juniors and … I guess there wasn’t really any point.”

  “Is that why we kinda drifted apart?”

  We were inseparable when we were kids. He lived a few doors down from my house in Bar Harbor. We’re opposites in almost every way on the outside—he’s strong and bulky, I’m sleek and agile. He’s the blond-haired, blue-eyed good-looking one, and I was the mousy-brown-haired awkward one with a giant nose. All I can say is, I thanked a God I’m not entirely sure exists when I finally grew into my face. The only similarity between us might be that we both have beards now since I’ve grown mine out. Unless he’s shaved his. I wouldn’t know. It’s been too long since the last time we saw each other.

  As opposite as Logan and I were physically, it was as if we shared the same soul on the inside. We only ever differed on one thing—hockey. He hated it. I’ve always loved it.

  But even though I thought we had this amazing bond, for me, it never went past friendship—even when we were making out. At least, that’s how I’ve always seen it.

  Maybe it was more than friendship, but I was too much of a dumbass to see that.

  It’s not like I’ve had many girlfriends. I have hookups, mostly. College hockey players are a wanted commodity. Hell, back when I was playing for the juniors, we had a pool of puck bunnies hoping to score a future NHL st
ar early.

  Joke’s on you, ladies, I never ended up making it that far.

  “We drifted apart because you moved away. Your focus was hockey, and then when the draft thing didn’t work out, you moved to freaking Vermont. You don’t come home over the summers because of hockey camp, and my family do their annual vacation at Christmas. You’re still my best friend, but we’ve both got our own lives now.”

  I nod even though he can’t see me.

  “Tell you what, next time you’re coming home, tell me. I’ll make plans for you. And you can meet my partner.”

  “Y-you have a partner? Shouldn’t a best friend know that?”

  “Yes, but telling you that would mean coming out to you, and I guess I’ve been avoiding doing that since we used to make out and dry hump each other.”

  An image of us on the couch in my basement floods my memory. Logan on top of me. Both of us kissing.

  Huh. I guess I’d forgotten about the grinding part.

  I mean, it’s not like we got off or anything.

  Oh, shit.

  I do remember jerking off after Logan ran home. Probably to do the same.

  I just thought it was friction. I was a teenage boy, and something rubbed against my dick. I would’ve jerked off after a strong breeze, for fuck’s sake.

  “Rich?” Logan’s grown-up voice cuts through the din.

  “Uh, I have to go. But, umm, I’m glad we’ve cleared that up. And yes, I want to meet your partner.”

  “Are you coming home at all this summer?”

  “Probably at the end for a couple of weeks.”

  “I’ll see you then.”

  “Yeah. See you.” I end the call and stare at my phone.

  I need to get back inside, but I’m not sure I can after that.

  It’s honestly like someone has hit me over the head with a confusion stick, and I’m suddenly questioning if my whole adult life has been a lie.

  No, not a lie. I know I like women.

  Maybe it’s more like I’ve had this piece of me shoved down and covered by the easiness of doing what I know, and now it’s been brought up, I can’t believe how blind I was to it.

  That can’t be right though.

  It’s been eight years.

  Eight.

  I’m twenty-four, having started my freshman year at twenty-one after I aged out of the junior hockey league. I’m too old to have new revelations about myself, aren’t I?

  Or, maybe I really am a dumbass. Logan hates when I call myself that, but if the skate fits.

  I finally compose myself to go back into the locker room, but I almost trip over my feet when I see my teammates Jacobs and Beck lip-locked and pressed against each other.

  See? Not a big deal.

  They’re both straight and kissing.

  Yeah, for a dare, not because they’re bored.

  Oh. Right. That.

  Beck parts his lips and pushes his tongue inside Jacobs’s mouth. I swear I hear Jacobs groan, and damn, that’s hot.

  No, not hot. That’s … That’s …

  Aww, shit.

  2

  Seth

  She’s twenty minutes late.

  She picked the café. She picked the time. And I know if I text her to see if she’s okay, I’ll be accused of smothering her again.

  I can’t win.

  Having a girlfriend is a constant battle, and it seems with each new girl I meet, it’s harder and harder to find that … connection.

  My fingers drum out a rhythm on the wooden tabletop, and I glance at the door as Emma pushes through. Her red hair is its usual chaotic mess, and her cheeks are flushed—I’m assuming from having to hurry here. Even though I’m annoyed she’s late again, when she turns a smile on me, I return it.

  My shoulders relax, and I remind myself to take a breath and let it go. Emma is far from the first girlfriend I’ve had who’s been less interested in spending time with me than I am with her.

  “Hey, Seth.” She bypasses kissing me and drops into the chair opposite. “Have you ordered yet?”

  “Not yet. I was waiting for you to arrive. I’ll do it now. You want your usual?”

  “Please.”

  I learned quickly that when Emma says she’ll be somewhere, she actually means at least fifteen to twenty minutes after the time she gives, so I no longer order anything before she arrives.

  It’s who she is.

  And in relationships, you’re supposed to let those little things go.

  Our coffee order is made, and I make my way back to the table.

  “So, busy day?” I probe.

  “Not really. I had to stop by the lab to check some fungi samples, then some friends and I went to play roller derby.”

  I don’t think I’ll ever not find that the most random hobby for someone destined to be developing lifesaving drugs one day. “It sounds a lot more interesting than my day. I finished moving everything into my apartment with my parents’ help.”

  She watches me over the top of her coffee, and she takes a slow sip.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Seth …”

  Uh-oh. My gut drops as helpless desperation starts to claw at me.

  Her tone says it all.

  Emma reaches across the table and covers my hand with hers. Her skin is soft, and her large doe eyes have turned pitying.

  No.

  No, no.

  “You’re breaking up with me, aren’t you?” My voice breaks a little. My twin brother likes to joke that I’m a serial monogamist, but that stops being cute when you consider what serial means and how literally I’m sticking to that definition.

  Follows a characteristic, predictable pattern of behavior.

  Might as well replace it with the name Seth Grant.

  Emma sucks in a long breath, and I jerk my hand back from her touch. Her catching me off guard is totally on me. Every relationship, every time, when it hits that two- to three-month mark, it’s like my girlfriends can’t escape fast enough.

  I’m already exhausted at the thought of having to start over again with someone new.

  “You really didn’t see this coming?”

  I scoff before I can stop myself. “Well, you didn’t exactly keep me updated.”

  “Are you kidding?” Her level tone makes the whole situation that much more messed up.

  “Does it sound like I’m joking?”

  She purses her lips, doing that thing where she waits for me to stop being unreasonable. And yeah, it’s probably a red flag that I know exactly what that look means.

  The fight leaves me, and I sag in my chair. “What the hell is wrong with me?”

  “Are you actually asking, or is that a rhetorical question?”

  It was rhetorical because I’m not a masochist, but … ugh. Maybe I actually need to know. “My feelings are saying rhetorical, but the scientist in me is curious.”

  “Feelings are your first problem.”

  “What?”

  “You’re needy, Seth.”

  My chest gives a pathetic little throb. Emma and I might have only been together two months, but hearing that still hurts. Probably because it’s not the first time I’ve heard it.

  Emma, Sarah, Gabby … Hell, even my best friend told me a year ago that he moved schools to get away from me. If that doesn’t build up your confidence, I don’t know what will.

  Logically I know when they say needy, what they really mean is someone who texts every day and wants to spend a lot of time together, but every time I’ve heard it, it’s like they’re telling me I’m stalker levels of creepy and I should be put on a predator watch list somewhere. Oh God, am I that creepy? I can’t be … right? It’s not like I message to keep tabs on them or anything. I genuinely want to spend time with them.

  “You wanted to know,” she reminds me.

  “What exactly do you mean by needy?” Please don’t say creepy. Please don’t say creepy.

  Emma looks at me like I’ve grown another eye. “I’m busy wit
h a massive research project, and I swear it’s like every day I get a hundred text messages from you. You always want to hang out, or talk—”

  “To my girlfriend? I’m a monster!”

  “But when we’re together”—she drops her voice—“you rarely want to have sex.”

  I swear my cheeks get so hot I might pass out. “Sex isn’t everything.”

  “No, but it’s something. I mean, what guy doesn’t want to fuck?”

  Shame builds hot in my stomach as she tells me what I’ve told myself a hundred times. I swallow past the lump in my throat and meet her eyes.

  Emma’s expression softens. “Hey …” Urg. Sympathy. “Sorry, that was a bit far. I just don’t get it. I mean … are you sure you’re not gay?”

  What! “What?”

  “Well … your brother is bi, your best friend is gay, and a whole lot of your friends identify as LGBTQ in some way or another.”

  “And?”

  “And it’s a fact that queer people tend to gravitate toward each other even before they figure themselves out. It’s like built-in self-preservation mode. You make each other feel safe. I’m sure there are studies you can look up.”

  “I’m. Not. Gay,” I manage to grit out between my teeth. I don’t know whether I’m more pissed off about that, or her calling me needy. Because while I don’t give a shit who’s gay, I’m sick of people assuming I am. Past girlfriends who I haven’t been sexually attracted to—like Emma—random people I meet, and even my parents have all made assumptions about my sexuality.