Face Offs & Cheap Shots (CU Hockey Book 2) Read online

  “How do we know who wins?” I ask.

  “First one there and back.”

  “And how will you know Beck hasn’t cheated?”

  “We’ve got Simms waiting down there. He’ll text us when you’re on the way back.”

  Smart.

  If this is only the third task, I hate to think of what the next two might be.

  There’s movement in the corner of my eye, and I can’t stop from looking over as Beck shoves his shorts and briefs down in one go. I get an eyeful of moonlit white ass cheeks. His dark tan line runs along right above his ass crack, and the complete color difference has always drawn my eye.

  My cock twitches, and I quickly look away. I’ve always been an ass man. It’s a damn pity that particular ass belongs to someone as grating as him.

  And as, ah, male as him too.

  I block it out and flick the button on my shorts.

  Shit. I guess this is happening. I shove my clothes off as quickly as Beck did. It shouldn’t be so weird to be standing naked in front of these guys when I’ve done it a thousand times already, but this time is noticeably different.

  The laughing from some of the team isn’t doing much for my confidence.

  “Feeling cold, Topher?” Beck asks.

  I flip him off. “Quit checking out my dick.”

  “I would if I could actually see it.”

  I open my mouth to retort, then remind myself I’m not doing that anymore. It’s physically painful to hold back, so I force a short laugh and turn my back on him, ignoring the heat in my gut.

  Beck is standing there like some homoerotic statue, letting it all hang out, while I subtly position my hands in front of my not at all small junk.

  How he manages to get me so angry, so easily, I’ll never understand.

  “Ready, guys?” Cohen asks.

  I nod stiffly.

  “Okay, then. Ready, set, go!”

  I take off at a run, praying it’s late enough that the only people we run into are drunk college students. Security does minimal laps during summer, but it’d be my luck to run right into one of them.

  Beck is just behind me, but I know it won’t take him long to catch up. We’re evenly matched with pretty much everything athletically related.

  His heavy footfalls and breathing are gaining on me, and as I expect him to come up beside me, hands grab my bicep. Before I know what’s happening, he swings me to the side, and I fall off-balance. My shoulder slams into the grass.

  “Asshole.” I jump straight back up and follow.

  Only, now I’m behind him, that tan line is taunting me. His ass flexes with each stride, and the muscles across his back rise and dip with every movement.

  The familiar prickling in my balls warns me to pull my stare away from the display, before this whole situation gets any more awkward than it already is.

  In my defense, put possibly the finest ass in existence in front of any man and he’s bound to get distracted.

  I have to put the game first.

  No distractions. Eyes on the W.

  I push harder, concentrating ahead of Beck, and can feel myself start to gain on him. He’s still a pace or two ahead by the time we hit the parking lot, and the run back is all uphill.

  I barely acknowledge Simms or his catcalls as I turn and start to hightail it in the opposite direction. I was faster on the turn, and I’m barely a breath away from Beck.

  “That was a cheap shot. No more dirty shit.” I grunt through my labored breathing.

  “No promises.”

  Of course that would be his answer. He’s so close his sweaty arm brushes mine, and I’m tempted to be the one to shove him this time.

  We’re over halfway there. And goddamn if our games haven’t built our stamina exactly for this moment.

  We pass the science building which should be abandoned, but the second I round the corner in the lead, the main door opens and spills light down onto the pavement.

  Shit!

  I stumble to a stop. Without thinking, I grab Beck just before he can go flying past me and throw us both into the bushy hedges.

  “Jacobs, what the—”

  I slap my hand over his mouth and press a finger to mine, telling him to shut the hell up for once in his life.

  And then it occurs to me how this looks. Two guys, naked and panting in the bushes.

  All I can do is hope like hell we don’t get caught.

  When the footsteps from whoever was in the science building fade, I let out a loud breath and drop my hand from Beck’s mouth.

  Beck grins. “Embarrassed to be naked in public?”

  “Embarrassed to be seen with you in public. Has nothing to do with our lack of clothing.”

  He laughs. “I don’t believe that for a second. Don’t worry, I’d be the same if I was a grower not a shower.”

  “Fuck you,” I hiss. “I’m not above getting out a measuring tape.”

  “Nah, putting those inadequacies on another man is plain mean.”

  Do not engage. Do not engage.

  I get into a crouch and slowly rise up, peering over the hedge. “You think they’re gone?”

  Beck jumps to his feet. “I don’t care if they’re not. The key is to run so fast they don’t get a good look at your junk.”

  He takes off, and shit, I’m so going to lose this round. I go to run after him, but then he lifts his hand and waves.

  “Hi, Professor Morley,” Beck calls out.

  I duck back behind the hedge. Oh God, not Professor Morley. She’s like ninety years old.

  Shit, shit, shit, I don’t know what to do.

  Damn it. Beck can’t win.

  I need this.

  I make a break for it and try to block out everything except the finish line.

  I gain some ground, but the few seconds head start is enough for Beck to make it back first.

  He’s already pulling up his shorts when I reach them. Damn it.

  Rossi throws me my clothes.

  “What took you guys so long?” Cohen asks.

  “Jacobs pulled me into the bushes for some naked fun. I guess staring at my ass did it for him.”

  “Except you’re forgetting I was in front of you,” I bite out. “Someone came out of the science building.”

  “That’s what he says. I didn’t see anyone.”

  I frown. “But you said—”

  Beck laughs. “You played dirty with the phone numbers. Imaginary Professor Morley was payback.”

  I want to bitch him out, but I don’t know if I’m in a position to do it. I did play dirty with the phone numbers.

  But still, I could have had him.

  “What’s the score again?” Beck taunts.

  I clench my fists.

  Murder is illegal.

  Murder is illegal.

  6

  Beck

  Week two of camp consists solely of hockey and taunting Jacobs about the CUM challenges being 2-1 in my favor. And all week, he still does that thing where he pretends I’m not getting to him. I have to admit, he’s actually pretty good at it, but there are moments where he slips.

  A scowl.

  A set jaw.

  He can’t hide every reaction from me.

  Pair that with actually enjoying mentoring the high school kids, I’m beginning to wonder why I never volunteered for training camp before.

  Jacobs’s bitter voice fills my head. “Too busy on your family’s yacht.”

  Oh. Right. That’s why.

  I shake that thought free because I won’t let my stupid future—or lack thereof—stop me from having the best summer of my life.

  I had no idea how rewarding it could be to teach and guide someone to hone their skills and make them better. A few of these kids have real talent, and seeing them grow into that settles something inside me I don’t quite understand.

  I think it’s accomplishment. Maybe? I don’t know what the fuck that feels like seeing as I haven’t worked for a thing in my life.
br />   Even hockey comes naturally to me. I’ve definitely worked hard at getting as good as I am, but I’ve always seen it as a hobby because I’ve never been allowed to think of it as more. So, while scoring one of the winning goals in the Frozen Four last season was an amazing feat, it didn’t hold the same significance to me that it did to Grant or Jacobs. It was awesome, yes, but life changing? Not so much.

  This camp though … these kids …

  When I can see them truly listening to me and understand what I’m telling them, it’s an indescribable feeling. Teaching them about the difference between knowing when to pressure an opponent and when to contain them, helping them with their slap shots, and even shooting the shit about hockey, the NHL, and who we think looks good this coming season is fun.

  They’re all full of an optimism I don’t—and can’t—have.

  It reminds me that this is temporary. It’s all temporary.

  I have to keep telling myself so I don’t get attached.

  The itchy coldness of time running out buzzes under my skin.

  I need to go out. I need to get laid.

  But it’s another Friday night. While I’ve been tormenting Jacobs all week with my last victory, Cohen has been tormenting both of us with whatever the fuck the next challenge is going to be.

  I’m not even fully dressed from the showers when I tell them all to get on with it. “I have places to be and shit to do.” Burying myself in some stranger is a mild fix—a Band-Aid—and the high I get from it won’t last long. It never does.

  But it’s something.

  My first choice would be to get drunk enough I don’t care about anything anymore, but we have an early Saturday morning skate with the kids, so I can’t write myself off.

  I finish throwing on my clothes and start on my shoes and socks.

  Cohen claps his hands together. “Okay. So, we all know our old captain swung both ways.”

  I already don’t like where this is going.

  “We also know his favorite game was messing with the new guys on the team.” He glances at Simms. “So, we’re thinking a nice easy game of … gay chicken.”

  I drop my shoe.

  Jacobs stands from his spot on the other side of the locker room. “I’m out.”

  “Has there been a challenge yet that you’ve actually agreed to?” I ask.

  “What, you wanna do this?”

  “Just pointing out that shooting down every idea isn’t a great quality in a captain.”

  “Come on,” Cohen says. “You haven’t even heard the terms yet. We’re not asking you to fuck a guy. It’s only kissing. Everyone has kissed someone of the same sex. It’s, like, a thing. A rite of passage.”

  Everyone in the room blinks at him.

  “Put your hand up if you’ve never kissed another guy,” I say.

  Every single person raises their hand except for Cohen.

  I’m surprised to see Jacobs’s hand up. Meaning, either my suspicions about him and Grant were wrong or he’s lying right now.

  Cohen slowly turns in a circle. “Wait … really? How did you learn how to kiss if not with your best friend?”

  There are some snickers.

  “Your best friend is gay, man,” Rossi says.

  “No, he’s not.” But Cohen suddenly doesn’t sound so sure.

  “Don’t worry, you won’t be the only one for long.” Rossi takes over. “Okay, the stipulations. You two have to kiss. First one to pull away loses.”

  “Yeah, I’m so out,” Jacobs says again.

  I cock my head at him. “Scared you’ll like it, Topher?”

  He smiles, but his hands fist at his sides, still trying to hide his true reaction to me. “Scared you will. Plus, who knows what venereal diseases you’re carrying.”

  “Does someone need sex ed lessons? Unless you’re planning to kiss my dick, you’re fine.”

  “Ever heard of syphilis? That can be transferred through mouths.”

  I pull back. “Holy shit. Really?”

  “Now who needs sex ed lessons?” Jacobs mutters.

  “I’m googling this,” Rossi says and takes out his phone.

  Cohen’s still off to the side having an existential crisis. “I … I’ll be right back.”

  “It can only be transmitted through kissing if there are active sores or lesions in the mouth. Either of you got that?” Rossi asks.

  I’m tempted to say yes to get out of this, but if I push, maybe he can give me the win, and then whatever is the last thing on this damn list doesn’t have to be done.

  “All good on my end.” I turn to Jacobs. “But remember, you can back out at any moment. Give me this one and I win the whole thing. Then we can maybe focus our time on the important shit this summer. Like hockey.”

  Jacobs really thinks about it. A concentration line forms on his forehead.

  “Let’s get this over with.” He walks into the middle of the locker room.

  My eyebrows want to shoot into my hairline, but I try to tame my reaction as best I can. When that doesn’t work, I bend and tie my shoelaces.

  I thought for sure he wouldn’t go through with this. He probably still won’t.

  Probably.

  I force a smile and fake confidence.

  It’s only kissing like Cohen said.

  I stand and step in front of Jacobs, toe to toe, almost chest to chest.

  He’s got that casual smile on his face that I’m quickly learning is the one he uses to cover up the scowl he loves throwing my way.

  His gray eyes give him away though. There’s hesitance and a whole lot of fear behind them.

  I figure one of the guys will step in and stop this. Or maybe they think we won’t go through with it.

  The closer we get, the louder the guys’ snickers become. Then there’s a round of wolf whistles.

  Definitely not going to stop this, then.

  I lower my voice so the idiots can’t hear. “You really don’t have to do this.”

  “I’m not going to let you win,” Jacobs says through gritted teeth.

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  “Doesn’t faze me. My best friend is bi.” He shrugs, but it’s jerky.

  Hmm. It again raises the question of what happened between him and Grant, if anything.

  “All right, then.” I step closer and press against him.

  His eyes widen. “Wait … like … right now?” He turns his head. “Should we wait for Cohen?”

  Rossi waves him off. “He knows what it’s like for two guys kissing, evidently.”

  Jacobs nods. “Right, then.”

  Our gazes lock, and I swallow hard.

  It happens in a slow motion, movie-like build up where we slowly move our heads together. Closer. Inch by inch.

  I feel his breath ghost my lips and suddenly become aware of all of him.

  His height. His build.

  The dark scruff on his usually cleanly shaven face.

  I’m frozen. Even if I wanted to pull away right now I couldn’t. I’m gonna win this shit by default because for some reason, Jacobs being this close to me, his lips right there, has my interest piqued in a different and unpredictable way.

  It has nothing to do with hockey or being captain.

  I don’t think it even has to do with winning or losing this stupid game.

  It’s more than that. It’s … different. It’s—

  His mouth closes over mine, the kiss soft and unsure. I contemplate letting him take the lead, but as if I’m not in control of my own body, my tongue darts out for a taste of his lips.

  I expect him to freak out—I’m freaking out and it’s my tongue that’s doing it. Instead, he pushes against me harder.

  Then I feel it, the brush of his tongue against mine.

  He’s kissing me back. And not a bet type of kiss. They never said we have to use tongues.

  Jacobs’s mouth opens the tiniest bit, and I dive in, not even caring we’re in a room full of people or that this is a joke.
r />   If he calls me on it, I have the excuse I was trying to get him to pull away.

  I ignore the snarky comments and quiet laughter that surrounds us and focus.

  The scruff around his mouth is rough against my skin, a sensation I’ve never experienced before. I can’t say I hate it. Fuck, I think I like it.

  Oh shit. I might like it too much.

  My dick twitches and hardens in my jeans.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck. Think of things to deflate my dick.

  Dead puppies.

  Professor Morley.

  Jacobs legit groans, and it’s the most erotic sound I’ve ever heard.

  Kissing has never been like this. Kissing is supposed to be anticipation.

  It’s a teaser.

  A taste.

  It’s supposed to build and grow, becoming hotter and needier over time.

  It doesn’t start with explosions. At least, not in my experience.

  Now I’m fully hard, and what the actual fuck?

  I pull away. “Nope, nope, nope. I’m out.”

  “Whoa,” Cohen says. I didn’t even hear him come back in.

  “What?” I snap at him.

  “I think we’re all a little gay after that. That was hot.”

  Rossi slaps Cohen’s shoulder. “Still only you, dude.”

  The rest of the team laughs, but I’m too fixated on Jacobs to care.

  His lips are puffy and red, but then he breaks into a grin. “Two apiece, then.”

  “Yup.” I turn and grab my gear and throw it over my shoulder. “Whatever. See you losers tomorrow.”

  I hightail it out of there and don’t slow down until I cross campus and reach my dorm.

  Only when I’m inside the safety of my room do I let go and sink against the door.

  I have no idea what just happened, but I can’t help running my fingers over my lips trying to figure it out.

  7

  Jacobs

  Unlike Beck, I stick it out through the team’s ribbing before getting the hell out. There’s a lump in my throat and anger boiling in my gut over being drawn into that so easily.

  You could have said no.

  I shove the voice of reason away because right now, I don’t want to be reasonable. Right now, I want to ignore the kiss and the feel of Beck’s body against mine. Ignore the hunger that burned in my chest when he pushed back into the kiss, the way his tongue fought mine for dominance.