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

  And it’s hard. It’s really hard to define who I am when there doesn’t seem to be one singular label that fits me.

  I’ve been researching. A lot. I’ve been doing it ever since my brother came out to my parents, and instead of focusing their energy on Foster, they turned to me because they were under the impression I was the gay twin.

  Just because I don’t sleep around and most of my girlfriends have been more like friends than lovers, that doesn’t mean I’m automatically attracted to guys.

  Most times I don’t think I’m attracted to anyone.

  But occasionally, like every now and then, I’ll meet someone and we’ll get along great. We’ll start as friends, and then eventually there’s a spark.

  I have to work for the spark when it seems no one else does.

  The empty feeling of brokenness sits heavily on my chest, and I lean forward in my seat, wanting to unleash the label I’ve been toying with in my head but still don’t know for sure if it’s accurate or not.

  “I …” The words get stuck. “I think I’m demi.”

  Surprise shoots through her expression, and while most people don’t know what demisexual means, it’s clear she does. “Seth, I …” She can’t finish her sentence.

  “I’m really sorry that my need for an emotional connection and lack of sex was inconvenient for you. But guess what? It’s not so great for me either.” I wait for her to leave so I can finish my coffee and sulk in peace.

  Unfortunately, she doesn’t get the hint. She doesn’t look all that embarrassed either. Instead, her eyes narrow as if she’s thinking really hard about something. “I have a question.”

  Of course she does. “I’m not interested in discussing the ins and outs.” Mainly because I haven’t completely worked them out myself.

  “No, it’s not that.” She waves my comment away. “But have you ever tried to build an emotional connection before you enter a relationship?”

  “You and I were friends first,” I point out.

  “Wha—no. What I mean is, meeting people online is a valid and genuine way of forming an attachment without the pressures of performing sexually, and you don’t have the social convention of following the rules.”

  “Rules?”

  “Yeah, you know. Third date equals sex. Wait three days before calling. Online, you can date and chat as many times as you need to before you even agree to meet in person.”

  I glare at her purely out of principle, but she has me curious. Online dating isn’t something I’ve given much thought to because I’ve never been single long enough to need it.

  “I can tell you’re interested,” she says.

  “Hard to say.”

  Finally, Emma stands and grabs her bag. “All I’m saying is think about it.” She goes to leave but pauses right next to me. “And, Seth? If you try it, do yourself a favor and don’t limit your conversations to women.” Her sweet and tangy perfume hits me as she leans down. “Don’t think I didn’t notice how horny you’d get after watching a certain show with that Superman actor.”

  My mouth hangs open as I turn to watch her leave. For a breakup that started exactly like all the others, Emma certainly ended it with a twist.

  I want to call her back and object, detailing all the reasons why she’s wrong, but …

  I can’t actually think of any reasons.

  Other than I’m the straight brother. Or is that what I’ve been telling myself for years? My bisexual twin has been sex-obsessed since we were fifteen when the thought of even kissing a girl made me uncomfortable. I’m the complete opposite of Foster, therefore I can’t be bi like him … right?

  As I pick up my phone and stare at the little app store icon, my scientific brain begins to kick in.

  If I am demi, and to be sexually attracted to someone I need to know them first … would gender actually matter to me? Dicks don’t scare me, they just don’t do anything for me. But then again, neither do boobs.

  I think of kissing a guy, and it’s as underwhelming as when I picture kissing women.

  But everyone always assumes.

  And the only way to prove them wrong, to know for sure, is to test the hypothesis with an experiment.

  Science 101: online edition.

  I mean, what could it hurt?

  3

  Cohen

  The reason I don’t go home often is because CU is a six-hour drive away from Bar Harbor, Maine, where I grew up. It’s hard to find direct flights, and they’re expensive as fuck. It’s cheaper in gas to drive.

  There’s only a couple of weeks left of summer, so I figured I should make the trip seeing as I rarely get the chance throughout the school year. As I pull into the driveway of my childhood home, I’m both relieved and anxious.

  Mom and Dad are gonna ask me what my plans are. I have one year left at CU, and I have no idea what I want to be when I grow up.

  Hockey didn’t work out for me even though I tried really hard. I put everything I had into it, and I wasn’t good enough to be one of the greats. Hell, I wasn’t even good enough to be one of the mediocres. Apparently college hockey is my talent limit.

  Going into this, I figured if I got a degree in communications, it would open a few doors for me in different avenues. Because, you know, a communications degree will come in useful if I move back here to Maine and take over my parents’ bait-and-tackle shop.

  Do I want to move to a big city, do I want to come home, do I want to go to an ECHL tryout and earn peanuts but still get to play the sport I love?

  I have no fucking idea.

  Mom must’ve been waiting for me because she runs out of the house before I’ve even turned the car off. As soon as I unfold myself from my seat, my body aches. I probably should’ve taken more breaks along the way.

  Mom wraps me in a giant hug and tries to lead me inside. “Aw, Richie, I’ve missed you.”

  Back home, I hear my first name more than I ever do at school. “My bags.”

  “Get them later. We haven’t seen you since Christmas.”

  I feel a little guilty about that, especially being an only child, but it’s not like I don’t want to come home. If teleportation were a thing, I’d be home every weekend.

  My parents are good people. They wanted more kids but couldn’t have any, so they spoiled me rotten and gave me everything they could afford. New skates, coaches, college tuition, everything, even when they’re not rolling in money.

  The plan was to repay them when I made it to the NHL. Yeah, that’s not happening. I don’t know how I could ever repay them for everything they’ve done for me.

  It’s late afternoon, so Mom leads me to the kitchen for coffee.

  “Dad’s in the shop, I’m guessing?” I walk to the window and pull back the lace curtain, looking out over Hull’s Cove and the tiny hut we have next to a dock for boats to come get their fishing gear.

  “Ayuh. We’ve had the best summer in years. He’s been busy.”

  “That’s really good.”

  She passes me my cup, then an extra one. “Take that to him, will you? Then come right back because I want to hear about your year and winning the Frozen Four.”

  They couldn’t come down for the game because one of them had to stay back at the shop, and they don’t like to travel alone.

  “I’m here for a few weeks. We have plenty of time.”

  “It’s going to fly by, just you watch.”

  I head out back to take Dad his coffee. He’s finishing up with a customer when I walk in.

  He greets me with a handshake and a warm smile because he never was a hugger. I’m okay with that. Mom more than makes up for it.

  “Mom says you’ve been busy.”

  “Business has been booming. It’s been a good fishing season.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “Have you decided what you’re going to do after graduation?”

  There it is.

  “Not yet.”

  Dad nods, and I’m hit with that guilt again. Th
e thing is, I’ve only ever been good at hockey. I’m not smart. College might have been a mistake. But I can’t tell that to my parents, who’ve been supporting me all these years, sinking money into someone who doesn’t even know what their calling is.

  I thought it was hockey.

  Maybe it’s fishing.

  If I end up coming home to become a fisherman, I will disown myself for them.

  “What about that photo account you have online where you post all the NHL stats every game? Whatchamacallit?”

  I try not to smile. “Instagram?”

  “Yeah, could you do something with that? Become a what’sitsname.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You know, an influencer thing. Is that what they’re called?”

  The smile breaks through. “Yes. Influencer Thing is the official title, but my account isn’t like that. I don’t have sponsors or ads or anything. All I do is post highlights and stats when I watch a game for fun.”

  “But you have a couple of thousand followers, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, but I think I’d need like a hundred thousand more before I can make good money from it.”

  “Oh.”

  It’s cute Dad wants to help me find what I want to do, but influencer is not it. No way.

  A loud “cuck-coo cuck-coo” echoes from the direction of the water.

  Dad sighs. “I know what that means. See you for dinner?”

  I put my half-empty coffee down. “You know it.”

  I’m out the door and running down to the docks faster than my legs can take me.

  There, climbing out of his jon boat, is none other than my very best friend in the whole world.

  The sun shines off his short blond hair. He’s always been that tiny bit bigger than me, but he’s filled out even more than the last time I saw him. Unlike me, he did stay in town and become a fisherman. He makes good money, but it can be a dangerous job. Like, Deadliest Catch type of shit.

  He’s barely got the boat tied to the dock when I hug him from behind.

  Logan laughs deep and warm. “Why don’t you ever greet me like this?”

  I don’t know who he’s talking to until I look in the boat and see another guy. I missed him in my excitement to get to Logan. He’s around our age, but he definitely didn’t go to school with us.

  “Richie, this is Joe.”

  Joe climbs out of the boat. He’s skinnier than Logan and me, but he has a nice face. Uh, for a dude.

  Like it has all summer, images of Logan and me as teenagers fill my mind, and just like it has every single time, my dick responds.

  Shit. Now’s not the time for that.

  I try to ignore it and turn to my best friend. “Lo and Joe?”

  “That’ll be on our wedding invites for sure.”

  “Wedding … Really?”

  “It won’t be happening for a while, but yeah. We’re engaged.”

  I hug him again. “Congrats, man. That’s amazing.”

  I’m not sure if the small seed of disappointment is over Logan himself or that he has his life in some sort of order and I don’t.

  I offer my congratulations to Joe too.

  “You play for CU, don’t you?” he says in response.

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Do you know Foster Grant? He’s signed with Montreal, right?”

  I can’t help it as my eyes widen at Logan. “Dude. You’re marrying a hockey fan. I never thought I’d see the day.”

  “Yeah, well, I still hate the sport, so you two are more than welcome to bond over it.”

  “I already like him more than you.” I smile sweetly and turn to Joe where we talk hockey for five minutes straight until Logan’s so bored he can’t take it anymore.

  “Okay, hockey time is over now. I want to hear all about Vermont.”

  “I dunno. It’s Vermont. The foliage is great.”

  “Yes, because I’m totally asking about the foliage. Are you seeing anyone?”

  “Nah. I was interested in my teammate’s sister who visited campus over the summer, but I was told in no uncertain terms if I touched her I would wake up with my dick cut off, and I kind of like my dick.”

  They both laugh.

  “What about other dicks?” Logan asks, his voice low and husky.

  Damn it.

  It’s like realizing I might not be entirely straight gave my cock permission to respond to anything remotely gay-sounding. Like it’s all, “Sorry, dude, you signed the waiver. I’m allowed to get excited over anything I want now.”

  “When you called, you sounded a little … confused,” Logan says.

  This is an awkward conversation to have in front of his fiancé, and my gaze darts to Joe.

  He holds up his hands. “I know everything, but if you’d prefer to have this conversation alone …”

  “Do you mind?” Logan asks him.

  “Not at all. Give me a call when you’re done.” Joe kisses Logan on the cheek, and then we’re alone as he takes the boat.

  Logan throws his arm around me and leads me up the dock toward the house. “I’m totally imposing on your family dinner like I used to.”

  “Mom will love it.”

  We have a firepit in our backyard, lined with rock bench seats surrounding it.

  Logan takes me there and gestures for me to sit. “Okay, what’s up?”

  Definitely not my dick. Don’t look down.

  “I dunno. Ever since it’s been pointed out to me that straight guys don’t kiss other guys, I’ve been thinking …”

  “Oh God. Richard Cohen and thinking. I didn’t think those words went together. Unless there was a not thrown in the middle of them.”

  I shove him. “How come I can’t call myself dumb, but you can?”

  “Because I’m joking when I do it. You’re not.”

  Touché.

  “So, I’m pretty sure two of my teammates are sleeping together. They think they’re being secretive, but they’re really not. Especially if I can pick up on that shit. The thought of them together … it really does it for me. And other gay things I never thought about before are now turning me on. It’s like a switch has flipped. But the idea of going out and hooking up with a dude?” I screw up my face. “Nah, I can’t see me doing that.”

  “And no one’s saying you have to.”

  “I do kinda want some answers though.”

  “So explore it in other ways.”

  “Other ways?”

  “There’s this thing. You might not have heard of it because it’s so new and all. It’s called the internet.”

  “Ha, ha. You’re so funny.”

  “For real though. Try some gay dating apps. Talk to some guys. Try to figure it out that way.”

  My lips form into a thin line. “I’ll think about it.”

  “If you’d wanted to work this out a few summers ago, I would’ve volunteered a helping hand, but I don’t think my fiancé would like that very much now.”

  I huff. “Probably not.”

  Silence settles between us, but in the way it always would. It’s not an awkward silence but one of peace.

  The sound of warblers and blue jays in the late afternoon, the smell of saltwater, and everything else typically Maine welcomes me home.

  “So, what are your plans when you graduate next year?” Logan asks.

  I groan. “Not you too.”

  The annoying part of being a dumbass is that when I think I’m making good decisions, I’m really, really not.

  And as a picture of an erect dick fills my phone screen, I realize this is one of those moments.

  Dating apps are the worst.

  I’d like to blame Logan for giving me the idea, but it was my idea to go through with it.

  I throw my phone on the bed and stare up at the ceiling of my cramped childhood bedroom.

  I thought I’d be mature about this, so I told myself to work it out on my own because bringing it up with my friends from school would result in more m
ockery. You know, even more than they already give me for blurting out in a locker room that I kissed a guy.

  Their teasing comes from a place of love and not hate, so there’s that. They’re not mocking me for having my tongue down another man’s throat. No, they find it hilarious that I was oblivious to the normalcy of it. Or non-normalcy. I can’t fault them there.

  But maybe it should be normalized. Two guys kissing as friends shouldn’t be a huge deal. Because it’s really not.

  This … though. I pick up the phone again and stare at the dick some supposedly nice guy sent me. Yeah, this might be a big deal.

  It literally had in his profile I’ll treat you nice. He got a simple hi from me, and then bam, there it is. I think we have different definitions of nice.

  I tilt my phone and my head at the same time, trying to work out proportions on this thing. Is the hand wrapped around it small, or is it really that big?

  I can’t say it’s doing anything for me, and I have no idea what to respond to something like that.

  I downloaded the ChatUp app a few days ago, and I still haven’t gotten the hang of it. It hasn’t really given me any answers either.

  Apparently I’m immune to dick pics, but yesterday, a guy I was chatting to started talking about sex, and it happened so organically, I didn’t really realize I was sexting until I was touching myself and coming to all the dirty, filthy words filling my screen. Him talking about how he’d pull me on top of him and grip both our cocks together so tight while jerking us both off at the same time and kissing me roughly apparently did it for me.

  Afterward, I didn’t really know how to reply to that either. Sounds hot was all I could think of.

  Then he offered to meet me and do it in person, and I freaked out and blocked him. It wasn’t because he’s a guy, but because I have no idea what I’m doing. It was too much too soon.

  I think before I really try this not straight thing out, I need to get comfortable with the idea first. And I’m comfortable with doing this online-only for now.

  I tap my chin, trying to think of a funny response. Okay, here goes nothing.