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

  A thrill races down my spine, but I quickly shake it off.

  It’s barely been a few months since I decided I’m totally and completely straight, and no way am I going to let a stupid kiss with an irritating asshole get in my head. Either head. My traitorous dick doesn’t agree. It’s still fucking hard.

  I get back to my room and try to relax, but I swear I can still taste Beck on my tongue. Feel his chest pressed against mine.

  I know I can wash the taste of him away by brushing my teeth. I know I can go out and hook up and replace the memory of his kiss by making out with someone else.

  And yet … both of those things hold zero appeal.

  Instead, my memories switch to Grant and the way I used to watch him on the ice. How every time I sent the puck sailing past the opposing goalie, excitement would race through me, because scoring meant getting attention from Grant. Out there, with the adrenaline running high, every emotion is put into overdrive, and it’s impossible to tell what’s real and what’s amplified by the endorphin rush.

  I’d put it down to hero worship, but now I’m not so sure.

  Because in the locker room, there was none of that high. It was a quiet moment, but so fucking intense my skin felt like it was going to zap right off my bones.

  There was more charge in that kiss than a thousand hockey games, and that thought is terrifying.

  The insecurities I’d thought I put to rest when Grant hooked up with Zach are starting to creep in again.

  Zach is awesome, and I like him, but when he and Grant began dating, I couldn’t help the little seed of resentment I held toward both of them.

  I didn’t know where it came from, and I didn’t understand it.

  I felt something more than friendship toward Grant, but I wasn’t sure what it was.

  The longer they dated, the less confused I became because it was obvious they belonged together. For it to disappear that easily, I’d chalked it up to an episode. Like, a phase.

  But tonight, when Beck pulled away from our kiss, his blown pupils were from straight up lust, and the look made me want to grab him, shove him up against the wall, and kiss him again.

  Then his panic kicked in.

  Which reminded me exactly how I was supposed to be acting. How I was supposed to be feeling.

  I groan into my hands and finally let myself admit that I liked it. I’d forgotten I was in a locker room with half the team watching because the only thought that filled my mind was how good another man felt against me.

  My stupid brain didn’t even have the decency to forget who I was kissing.

  The fact it was Beck should have been an instant boner killer.

  It wasn’t.

  It did the complete opposite.

  Fuck this.

  I’m not going to sit in my dorm room and wallow over this. I’m not even going to let myself think about it.

  It was a stupid challenge that didn’t mean anything, and it sure as hell will never happen again.

  Especially with someone like TJ Beckett.

  I shudder. Even his name sounds rich, important, and pompous.

  No more thinking about him!

  I get up and change into loose shorts and a tank top, then head for the team gym. Coach gave me a set of keys for the summer so we can take the camp kids for early morning weight sessions.

  Time to work out until I pass out.

  Is that a healthy way to deal? Fuck no. But I don’t know a guy on our team who doesn’t face their problems in the exact same way.

  It’s eerily quiet as I walk in and get started. The whirl of the treadmill, the heavy thump of my feet, and each labored breath are all I hear for a long time. Normally it’s enough to clear out my mind, but this time when everything else fades away, the kiss comes back in sharp focus.

  His mouth. His big body pressed against mine …

  I push harder and harder until I can barely see straight.

  My tongue darts out to lick at my lips, and there’s that taste again. It’s not even anything specific, just warm breath and hard lips and a slight hint of something sweet.

  My dick is being persistent, so I finally slow the treadmill to a stop and lean forward against it, struggling to breathe. My tank top is plastered to my back and chest, and I have to push down on the bulge growing between my legs.

  And while I stand there, exhaustion setting in, desperately trying to keep from getting turned on, a slow sort of awareness starts to seep into my tired muscles.

  Occasionally there comes a point in a game where you’re behind, and your body is aching, and your mind has broken, and you realize you have nothing left to give.

  I’ve fought against this pull for so long, but tonight, that kiss, I’ve reached my breaking point.

  What did that Katy Perry sing about again?

  I kissed a guy.

  And my dick really fucking liked it.

  Beck doesn’t show up for Saturday’s practice—Coach said he was sick. Aside from a few questioning looks in my direction and a few snickers, the team lets it go. We don’t cross paths on Sunday either—our day off—even though I meet up with Cohen and Rossi at a bar off campus. When it comes to alcohol, Beck normally sniffs out anything going down, but Cohen says he hasn’t heard from him.

  I don’t know why it bothers me so much.

  Even while training the camp kids on Monday, Beck is weird. He throws around his usual quips, but there’s no heart behind them. There’s none of that spark that I hate.

  And I can’t even muster the energy to smile at that. Maybe it’s been something else getting under my skin this whole time, and it has nothing to do with his personality.

  My traitorous eyes dip to his lips every time he talks the defensive kids through a play, and I’m constantly pulling my attention back to my side. I sternly remind myself I have a job to do, and while this existential crisis is a full-time position all on its own, like hell am I screwing things up here.

  Especially because Beck seems to be taking it seriously. That might have been a bigger shock than liking kissing him. The shift happened late last week, and while he still dicks around—he wouldn’t be Beck if he didn’t—the kids look up to him and pay attention.

  And he enjoys it. I don’t think I’ve seen such carefree and genuine smiles on him before. They’re always confident smirks.

  We wrap up the session and send the kids for lunch before they have weight training this afternoon. I slowly skate over to the bag of hockey gear, picking up a stray puck on my way. Cohen and Simms have disappeared with the kids, and the only person left on the ice with me is Beck. He’s removing the goal from the posts since we’re done in here for the rest of today, so I skate over and start removing the other one.

  “Think I need your help?” Beck calls, his cocky voice back in full force. He skates over and waits for me by the panels of the rink that open up to the equipment area.

  “You clearly struggle to follow through on things. Chicken out. I figured helping was the safer option.” I eye him and if I’m not mistaken, interest flares on his face.

  “Kissing me is a pure gift. I just decided you didn’t deserve it.”

  I grunt. “Nothing to do with me being a guy, of course.”

  “I’m not a close-minded prick. But if I did swing that way, you wouldn’t even be in my top ten.”

  “Didn’t seem like that when you were kissing me.” I don’t know why I’m taunting him, but it’s not every day I have one up on Beck.

  Except the look he suddenly wears leaves me feeling like he’s back in charge. “Funny, there I was playing gay chicken when someone groaned right into my mouth.”

  “I didn’t groan.”

  “No one blames you. There are few who can resist when my mouth is on them.”

  “Maybe you were hoping to hear it and imagined it.”

  “Should we go ask the team?” he suggests, hooking his thumb back over his shoulder. “Pretty sure Cohen was paying close attention.”

  I s
kate a tiny bit closer, so we’re toe to toe. “You seem pretty desperate to prove I was into it. Doubting your skills?”

  His easy smile graces his face. “Oh you know I’ve got skills, Topher.” He tilts his head. “It almost sounds like you’re taunting me into doing it again.”

  “You’re right. I liked it. Wanna know why?” My response clearly takes him by surprise because when I dip my mouth down next to his ear, he doesn’t pull away. “You were finally fucking quiet.”

  I’m not sure what I’m expecting, but his laughter isn’t it. And when he pinches my chin and turns my face back to his, bright blue eyes shining so close I swear I can see specks of silver in them, I’m the one who’s speechless. “Guess you know what to do next time I’m pissing you off.”

  I jerk away from him, defaulting back to a scowl in order to hide the way his low voice stirred in my gut. “If I kissed you every time you annoyed me, my tongue would be permanently in your mouth.”

  He rubs a large hand over his jaw, and I try not to track the movement as I put more distance between us. “Lucky there’s only one more challenge.”

  “Then we’re done with this shit.”

  “For good.”

  We dump the equipment and make our way toward the exit.

  I can’t help thinking of what’s to come. “You know … we’re tied two apiece. And we both know whatever’s next isn’t going to be good. If kissing was only number four, what will five be?”

  “Doesn’t really matter. I’ll kick your ass either way.”

  “I’m only saying,” I grit out through my teeth. “We could both decide to be done. Forfeit the last one. The challenges are bullshit and have no hold over who they vote for as captain. They’re screwing with us.”

  “Fucking duh. It’s called fun. You heard of it?”

  “You caught me,” I answer dryly. “I’m allergic to fun. Completely anaphylactic.”

  “Everything makes so much sense now. If I make you laugh, will you break out in hives?”

  “No, because to make me laugh, you’d have to be funny.”

  “Ooh, snap.” He spins to face me when we get to the chute, and his grin looks like it could split his face in half. “Did you jerk off after we kissed? Because you seem a whole lot more relaxed now.”

  Of course that’s where his brain has gone, and of course I’m not feeling ridiculously awkward, because of fucking course that’s not exactly what I did. My jaw tightens. “Look at that, not relaxed anymore.”

  “Glad to hear it. I thought I was going to need an EpiPen.”

  “Get out of my way, Beck.”

  He steps to the side, but before I get around him, his arm flies out and catches my chest. This time, it’s his voice in my ear. “In case you didn’t catch on, I’m not forfeiting shit. Better pucker up, buttercup. I’m all in this time.”

  8

  Beck

  I pray for time to slow down. Or speed up. One or the other, I’m not entirely sure.

  We’re already three weeks into this camp, almost halfway, and my time on the ice with the kids has been enlightening and fulfilling.

  But my nights have been lonely and confusing.

  Because as much as I’ve tried to get that kiss with Jacobs out of my head for the past week, it always comes back to that.

  I can’t wait for tomorrow night to be over. The last challenge is happening, and once it’s done, I won’t have to deal with Jacobs any more than usual.

  I swear I’ve spent more time and energy on him in the past three weeks than I have in the last three years.

  Before, he’d scowl, he’d brood, I’d be an ass, but we’d stay clear of each other.

  Life was easy.

  Now he’s making my life hell, and he hasn’t even done more than kiss me.

  Shake it off, Beckett.

  If the last challenge was potentially life changing, I don’t want to think about what’s next.

  I need a good night’s rest and to get my head in the game.

  When trying to get to sleep doesn’t work because I’m too keyed up, I decide to go for a run.

  I pull on shorts and don’t bother with a T-shirt.

  Colchester U is a large campus with a continuous path right down the middle and around the outsides. The jock dorms overlook the quad, so I cross through campus and head for the arena.

  My feet naturally take me in that direction. Like a hockey mothership calling home its babies.

  Running works well at exhausting my body but not my mind. After two laps of campus, I’m nowhere near mentally tired.

  I keep replaying that damn kiss.

  Jacobs’s lips on mine. His tongue in my mouth. That groan …

  I’d sell my soul to hear that again.

  No! Head in the game.

  I run until my lungs burn, but as I pass the team gym, I notice the interior lights are on. I can’t remember if they were on the last two laps or not.

  Making my way inside, I stall at the sight of Jacobs on the treadmill.

  He’s got long, muscular legs, thick thighs, that butt hockey players are famous for, and sweat dripping down a defined torso.

  I try to swallow, but my mouth is dry.

  Yeaaaah, I’m so not as straight as I thought I was.

  He’s got earbuds in, so he hasn’t heard me. He hasn’t acknowledged me either.

  I’m torn between turning around and heading straight back out of here or going and jumping on the treadmill beside him.

  The only thing with doing that is I’d have to be normal Beck around him. I’d have to taunt him and pretend I don’t have a care in the world. I don’t think I have that in me.

  Not tonight.

  The longer this camp goes on, the more fun I’m having. Which is almost making me depressed. It’s a no-win situation.

  Being on the ice gives me a purpose. Teaching those kids gives me something I’ve never had before. It might be that when it comes to maturity, we’re on the same playing field, but I think it’s more than that.

  And that’s depressing because it’s going to end.

  Then next year I will have graduated and moved on to become the intern everyone sucks up to at Beckett Enterprises because every employee knows I’ll be their boss one day.

  “You gonna stand there and stare at me all night, or you gonna join me?” Jacobs finally turns his head in my direction.

  I force a smile I don’t feel. “I haven’t decided yet.”

  He gestures for me to come closer, and I relent.

  We run side by side in silence that’s strangely comfortable for Jacobs and me. We’re either always at each other’s throats or ignoring one another with this weird tension pulled tight between us.

  The animosity is absent, and for one brief moment, we’re peaceful.

  It doesn’t last long.

  Despite the comfort, the competitiveness is stronger than ever. I match his treadmill levels, and then he ups his. He smiles at me, so I up mine.

  Next thing I know, we’re pushing our limits and I finally get out of my head.

  My body may be responding to the guy next to me in ways I’ve never experienced. I might be having new thoughts that kinda freak me out but don’t at the same time. But right here and now, it’s only me, Jacobs, and our egos to keep us company.

  We keep a pace that I know neither of us can sustain for long, and thank God, he’s the first one to slow down.

  “What’d you say about chickening out?” I taunt.

  “That’s your problem, you know.”

  I slow to a walk to cool down. “What is?”

  “You don’t know when to stop pushing. I saw you through the window earlier. How many laps of campus did you do before you came in here? Then you push yourself so hard so you can gloat and be the bigger man. You play with boundaries and don’t know your limits.” He breathes hard. “As a captain, you should know when to work your players hard and when to back off. Not everyone can go full speed all the time. Not everyone can party all the t
ime, slack off when it comes to grades, and still get everything handed to them. A captain needs to be relatable and realize not everything is about them.”

  “So, you think I’m going to become captain.”

  “My point exactly.” Jacobs jumps off his treadmill. “You gotta look at the bigger picture, Beck. Stop looking for the immediate win and focus on what you want in the long run.”

  He walks away, leaving me speechless because I have absolutely nothing to say to that.

  I can’t tell him I don’t have the luxury of looking at the long run. My long run consists of business suits and corporate bullshit.

  “Lock up on your way out.” Jacobs turns and leaves, and as much as I want to run after him, I can’t. My legs won’t let me.

  Shit, maybe I did push too hard because my muscles are spasming.

  Ouch.

  I limp my way the following night to the meeting spot with the rest of the team.

  Final challenge.

  Let’s hope it’s not another race because my legs are killing me.

  Jacobs, the asshole, strolls in like he doesn’t have an ache in his body.

  “Excursion night!” Cohen calls, getting straight into it.

  “Off campus?” I ask.

  “We all know the University of Vermont is our enemy.”

  Everyone hoots and hollers.

  “And tonight, it’s up to our potential captains to show true school spirit.”

  Yup, not liking this.

  “Your final mission is to defile the University of Vermont’s catamount statue.”

  Jacobs and I glance at each other. Our eyes lock.

  He breaks away first. “Nope. I’m not gonna break the law.”

  “Technically, being naked in public is breaking the law, and you did that,” I point out.

  “Streaking would’ve gotten us a warning. A misdemeanor at most. Vandalism? If you get caught, you’re looking at property damage and expulsion. I love this school, I love this team, and I’d give a lot to be captain, but I’m not going to do something that jeopardizes my future.”