Power Plays & Straight A's Read online

  Maybe Jacobs is right and Zach is too much of a distraction.

  I’ve lived and breathed hockey since I can remember. My goal has always been the NHL, and I’ve worked hard to become the best player I can be. I’ve never met anyone who’s made me want more than that, who’s made me think I might need more than that.

  All I know is, right now, I want to keep spending time with Zach.

  Even if he regrets the kiss and just wants to be friends.

  My lips tingle at the memory of his mouth, and even though I might have fucked the entire team’s chances this year, I can’t help thinking it was still worth it.

  The weirdest protocol in hockey is the mandatory suit-wearing to and from games. Because we should look respectable before and after we make other men sweat and bleed all over the ice.

  Makes sense.

  After the team trainer cleans up my wound and puts a butterfly bandage over the small cut—even he admitted it was overkill—I head for the stands to where Seth and Zach should be.

  I get glares from people dressed in green and cheers from people dressed in blue.

  When I find their seats, my brother’s the only one there.

  “Where’s Zach?”

  “I thought he was with you.”

  That can’t be good.

  What’s worse is I’ve missed the first eight minutes of the second period, and UVM has scored twice.

  Seth eyes me and scoffs. “Nice suit.”

  He finds the suit thing as ridiculous as I do.

  “Shut up,” I mutter and take Zach’s seat.

  He ran out of the locker room and kept running, I guess.

  I don’t really want to think about why.

  “Are you even allowed to be out here?” Seth asks.

  “Who the fuck knows. I’ve been given a one-game suspension.”

  “No way. For fighting? How is what you did tonight any different than what you normally do?”

  “I went after Morris and didn’t give a shit if he had the puck or not. Coach warned us to avoid sloppy penalties, and I flat-out ignored him, so now I’m being punished.”

  My brother’s accusatory stare could probably melt the ice from here. “Why did you go after Morris?”

  I side-eye him. “You know why.”

  “That’s taking my request to look out for Zach a little too far.”

  CU gets a shot on goal, and I stand in anticipation, but the puck finds the goalie’s glove.

  Damn it.

  I grunt and sit back down. “I didn’t go after Morris for you. I did it for Zach. Because he doesn’t deserve to be treated like shit because of how he identifies.”

  Seth purses his lips. “I’m not sure that’s what it was.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I always got the impression something else happened between them. Like, maybe Morris asked him out or something.”

  “Zach said it wasn’t like that.” Right? Actually, I don’t think he answered that question at all.

  “No offense to my best friend, but his social skills are out of whack. When it comes to things like emotions, he’s clueless. He wouldn’t know if someone was hitting on him or being nice.” Another accusatory stare.

  I sigh and turn to him. “Okay, what’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I told you to look out for him, not mess with him.”

  “I’m not messing with him.”

  “Making him wear your jersey, beating up his bully …”

  “Oh for fuck’s sake.”

  “Tell me you’re not trying to sleep with him.”

  “I’m not trying to sleep with him. Well … I’m not only trying to sleep with him. I also wanna hang out with him.”

  “Foster …” God, my brother’s judgmental tone sounds just like Mom’s.

  “What?”

  “You don’t actually think that’s a good idea, do you?”

  I grind my teeth. “Why? Because he’s smart and I’m not? Because he’s kind of weird and odd but adorable at the same time?”

  “Because you sleep around, you’re bound for the NHL or at least the AHL next year, and you have people following you around like groupies.”

  “If you’re about to accuse me of not being able to stay faithful to someone, I’m gonna lose my shit.”

  Vermont scores.

  I kick the seat in front of me. “Fuck.”

  “I don’t want to see my friend hurt because my stupid brother is used to having short-term relationships. What do you think Zach will do when you break his heart? We may not be identical, but I look a lot like you. Don’t you think seeing me will be too hard for him?”

  “Oh, so this is actually about you, not your friend. Good to know.”

  “Zach’s almost as much of a brother to me as you are. He’s at our house for holidays and special occasions. What will happen when it all blows up in your face?”

  The truth is I have no idea.

  My goal this year was to focus on hockey. That was my only plan.

  Zach definitely doesn’t fit in with that, but it’s not like I’m proposing here. I want to spend time with him. And yeah, maybe kiss him again, but I don’t think that’s a big deal.

  Seth’s phone pings, and when he pulls it out to check it, I see Zach’s name lighting up the screen.

  I want to look to see if he messaged me too, but I can’t, not in front of Seth.

  “And now he’s freaking out,” Seth says.

  “Freaking out?” And he messaged Seth, not me?

  “Yeah.” He stands and squeezes past me. “I’m gonna go find him.”

  I nod and swallow hard.

  I stay and watch the rest of the game.

  When Vermont scores again in the third period and we’re still at zero, I realize there might not be any coming back from this.

  From the game or with Zach.

  14

  Zach

  I wait exactly long enough to give Seth back his jersey and assure him I’ve seen enough before I flee. He seems concerned, which isn’t wholly unexpected, but it’s not like I can tell him what really happened. He’d freak out and try to protect me. And with the greatest respect to Seth, this is one area of my life he doesn’t get a say in.

  As soon as I’m back in my room, I lock the door, switch on my desk lamp, and collapse onto my bed. My hands are shaking, and I’ve done everything in my power to prevent myself from reliving the moment with Foster, but now it comes back with a vengeance. My stomach won’t settle, and adrenaline is flooding my veins in a way that makes it difficult to sit still.

  It’s all just chemical, I remind myself.

  It doesn’t work.

  I’m not sure what possessed me to enter that locker room, but seeing the way his deep scowl gave way to surprise and then a soft smile, short-circuited my brain. Before I could control myself, I was on my knees, touching his face, and then …

  A burst of nerves surges through me. He kissed me, looking as uncertain as I usually feel, but for the first time in a very long time, I wasn’t uncertain at all.

  I bounce back to my feet and start to pace, metaphorically vibrating out of my skin. That happened. That actually happened.

  Even if it was all a game like Seth said, even if Foster completely flakes and I never see him again, he kissed me and there’s nothing that can reverse it. My first kiss—mine—was with the hockey king of Colchester U.

  I start to laugh, and as the giggles rack my body, I’m vaguely aware that I’m supposed to be doing something with all this emotion. Regulating, controlling …

  Emotions are transient.

  Emotions are wonderful.

  I wrap my arms around my midsection and sink onto the side of the bed, trying my best not to swoon.

  A soft knock rattles my door.

  Uh-oh. The smile slips from my face and all the good, high-inducing emotions evaporate.

  Has the game finished? Is it Seth coming to check on me? Oh no, is it Foster?

  Another knock.
“Zach?”

  Sweet Jesus, it is Foster.

  I was content to replay our moment indefinitely, but I don’t actually want to see him. Ever. How on earth does he expect me to face him after what happened? I’m going to be an embarrassing mess.

  “I know you’re in there.”

  He could be bluffing.

  “I heard you laughing.”

  Of course he did. Resigned that this is not going to go well, I cross my room and crack open the door.

  Big mistake.

  Foster is wearing a suit. I’ve never bought into the notion that clothing can make someone more or less appealing—they go on and they come off and … off. I picture Foster’s large hands slowly unbuttoning his shirt …

  “Oh no.”

  I hurry to slam the door, but Foster’s reflexes are unnatural. His hand slaps against it, right next to my face. Hands that were on me only an hour or so ago. I look back up at him, noticing the bandaged cut over his eyebrow, and oh my god. Does it make him hotter? I think it makes him hotter.

  “I-I-I-I …”

  “Need to take a breath?”

  I do as he suggests, and it helps me reset. “Thank you.”

  Foster pushes the door open wider but doesn’t make a move to come inside. “Do we need to have another talk about etiquette?”

  “Do we?” I slide my phone from my pocket and find a message from him. Damn.

  “Want to invite me in now?”

  Desperately. “Ah, I mean, maybe that’s not such a …” I lean forward to check the hall, but it’s clear.

  “It’s Saturday night. Everyone’s either partying or still coming back from the game.”

  “How did you get back here so quickly?”

  He grimaces. “I wasn’t in the mood to sit around and hear how we lost because of me.”

  “You lost?”

  He clears his throat. “The hall’s clear now, but it might not be for long.” Okay, so while hockey players like to talk about hockey—always—apparently that doesn’t include when they lose.

  Noted.

  I stand back and Foster steps over the threshold then closes the door behind him. He wastes no time taking off his suit jacket and making himself at home on my bed. I’m elated at having another Foster-shape in my sheets, but that doesn’t make the moment any less awkward. I sink into my desk chair, the distance between us giving me much needed room to think.

  Until Foster sits up, grabs the arms of the chair, and wheels it toward him. My knees hit the mattress between his open legs, and the noise that squeaks from me is wholly embarrassing and not one I ever wish to repeat.

  I clear my throat. “Right, well, I suppose we need to set some things straight.”

  “You wanna talk about what happened?”

  “It’s probably for the best. Then we can move on and put it behind us.”

  “Okay.” He shrugs, still holding on to the chair on either side of me. “Let’s start with how you attacked my mouth.”

  “Excuse me, I certainly did not.”

  “You were practically in my lap—”

  “I wasn’t—”

  “And the noises you were making—”

  “Are you purposely trying to embarrass me?”

  Foster grins wider. “What gave me away?”

  I pretend to huff while I work on getting my blazing cheeks to return to a normal temperature. Thank heavens for the minimal lighting. “I think we can both agree you don’t need to put any effort into embarrassing me. I do it enough on my own.”

  “Are you kidding? You’re the coolest person I know.”

  “Well, that’s a grossly inaccurate statement.”

  “See?” He leans closer. “‘Grossly inaccurate.’ No one speaks like that. You’re your own person, Zach, and I think that’s very cool.”

  I swallow roughly. “You’re mocking me.”

  “Never.”

  “You always mock me.”

  “No, I tease you. Sometimes. There’s a difference.”

  “Which is?” Both work to point out my inadequacies.

  “Mocking is cruel. Teasing makes you flustered, and you’re ridiculously cute when you’re flustered.”

  “Oh.”

  He finally lets go of the chair and runs a hand over my cheek instead. “Are you going to get flustered for me?”

  “I think it’s inevitable at this point.”

  His smile makes me soar.

  “Foster?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Can I kiss you again?”

  “Whenever you want.”

  I jump to my feet, and in my eagerness the chair flings out from under me and bounces off my desk. I quietly die inside. “What were you saying about cool?”

  His hands close over my back. “What were you saying about kissing?”

  Good counterargument. I settle my shaking hands on his shoulders as I lick my lips and try to remember how we did this. “I’m not very good,” I blurt.

  “Speaking from experience, that’s complete bullshit.”

  My gaze finds the small cut over his eyebrow. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine. Now stop stalling.”

  A nervous laugh bounces from my chest. “Okay, yes. It’s just kissing.” I inch forward until his face is right there.

  “Stop overthinking it.” He reaches up to remove my glasses. “There we go. Ready?”

  I slam my eyes closed and press my mouth to his.

  The electricity is absent. No sparks, no nerves.

  It’s awkward, so awkward.

  And then his hand slides up my spine and smooths over the back of my neck. “Relax,” he breathes.

  So I do.

  I let everything in my head go and melt against him.

  Foster’s hands are strong, and he takes the lead, letting me mimic his movements. His mouth opens and his tongue slides over my lips before I remember to open mine too. Our tongues touch, and electricity explodes around me.

  I scramble onto his thighs before I’m aware of the movement, and Foster’s grunt is apparently the signal my dick has been waiting for. The pressure behind his kiss increases as Foster presses one hand to the back of my head. It occurs to me his hands haven’t stopped moving, touching. I use the opportunity to slide my fingers into his hair. Goddamn, it’s soft. So soft. I scrunch it in my fingers then repeat the motion.

  “Mnn.” I press closer until our chests are touching, and as I’m about to position myself completely in his lap, Foster hugs me to him and flips us.

  My back hits the mattress and he covers my body with his.

  “Fuck, Zach.” He attacks my mouth. His lips are insistent, and he pushes his tongue so deep into my mouth it makes me dizzy. Need zaps through me, and I return the kiss as best I can as everything else blurs for a moment.

  Everything except Foster and his mouth and—

  He grinds his erection into mine.

  Oh fuck.

  He does it again, and suddenly, I’m vibrating for a completely different reason.

  Too much, too much, too much.

  “Stop.” I try to scramble out from under him, sure I’m about to come if he touches me one more time.

  Thankfully, Foster sits up, giving me room, and blinks in a dazed sort of way as I curl into a ball against my headboard. “Are you okay?” His voice is hoarse.

  “Me? Yes, fine. That was, umm, very nice. Thank you for the kisses and the, umm, the lovely …” I need to immediately stop talking. “You have a very nice mouth, and ah, hair. I think your hair is …” My voice is strained and higher-pitched than when I was going through puberty.

  “Again, Zach. Breathe.”

  “Really, I’m fine. It’s suddenly only now occurring to me that …” That maybe this was a booty call? And maybe I would have been fine with that if my balls weren’t about to explode like Mentos in a Coke bottle. “I’m your TA!” I blurt, with exactly zero finesse but a truckload of conviction. “You said it yourself. Friends is fine, but, umm, more … Definitely n
ot more.” And while I’m using this as an excuse I’ve pulled from nowhere, the sinking in my stomach makes me aware that actually, I could be in a little trouble here.

  “Shit …” He shifts to the side of my twin bed. “I didn’t even think.”

  “Neither did I. Which is saying a lot for me. You are incredibly distracting.”

  “Normally, I’d find that to be a good thing but”—his face falls—“how much trouble could you be in?”

  “My TA job pays for my tuition and housing. I can’t risk it.”

  “Damn.” He reaches down to adjust himself, and I can’t help watching the movement and wishing I could see more through his pants. His hand suddenly stops.

  I jump and look up to find him watching me. “I-I wasn’t—”

  “Yeah, you were totally looking at my dick.” He reaches for my foot and uses it to drag me closer. “How long does this class last again?”

  “Just one semester.”

  He groans. “At this point, one more kiss isn’t going to hurt anything, right?”

  My throbbing dick disagrees with that statement, but I shift closer anyway. “I don’t suppose it would.”

  “Make it last until the end of the semester.”

  Okay, no pressure.

  This time when he kisses me, it’s soft. His hands cup my face and each sweet kiss burns into my memory. Soft and everlasting, like a promise of what’s to come. He reluctantly pulls back and takes a moment to watch me before finally climbing off my bed. His normally perfect hair is a sinful mess. “I guess I’ll see you in class.”

  He … didn’t fight me on it, or make things awkward, or even try to argue.

  He’s perfect.

  I swear it makes me harder.

  “You’re a really nice person, Foster.”

  He winks and moves to the door. “Don’t tell anyone.”

  He’s barely out of my room when I scramble from my bed and into the bathroom, looking for some much-needed relief.

  All it takes is a couple of strokes and the brief memory of him against me before I’m spilling over my hand. The want is relieved but not sated, and it makes one thing very clear. I need more.