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

  I just have to hope I’m late enough to have missed them fucking but not so late they’ve left without me. Walking across campus like this by myself will turn some heads.

  Beck opens the door wearing a fighter pilot costume and aviators. Jacobs steps up beside him wearing the same thing.

  I shake my head. “Really? Maverick and Goose? Fitting.”

  Beck points to Jacobs. “He’s Goose.”

  “In what world would I be Goose?”

  “Well, you sure as hell aren’t Maverick. You play by the rules too much.”

  “I at least have the same hair color.”

  “Fine. Be Maverick,” Beck says. “But screw being Goose. If we’re doing the whole personality switch thing, I’ll be Iceman. That guy’s hot, but fuck, what a bore.”

  Jacobs looks at me. “He really is like Maverick.”

  “Don’t give him a bigger head than he already has.”

  Jacobs nods. “Good point.”

  “I’m right here,” Beck complains. “Are we ready to go? I haven’t been to a party all goddamn year.”

  I glance at Jacobs. “It’s the first semester.”

  “He’s being a little dramatic because of his course load.”

  “I have to brain,” Beck complains.

  “Ah, yes, I can see how that would be difficult for you.” I pat his shoulder. “There, there.”

  “Let’s go. I’m gonna get sooooo drunk.” Beck takes off for the elevator.

  “Real captain material, right there,” Jacobs says.

  “That’s going to be fun for you to clean up later,” I say.

  He grimaces. “I know. Am I a bad boyfriend if I drop him in his room and then go sleep in mine?”

  “Will he know any different?”

  “Probably not.”

  “There’s your answer.”

  Jacobs snorts. “No wonder you’ve never had a proper girlfriend.”

  The truth is I don’t know why I’ve never had a serious girlfriend. I guess I’ve never seen the need for one or even been interested in someone for more than sex.

  I wonder if taking sex out of the equation completely is why I want to see where things with Einstein could lead. Or maybe it has to do with it being new and exciting because he’s a guy.

  My hand itches to take my phone out and message him, but I don’t. One, because Beck is not above looking over my shoulder to read shit aloud, and two, I spoke to Einstein after class and told him I’m reluctantly going out and won’t be around tonight.

  He said his friend was dragging him to a party too, and again, I was tempted to ask if it was the same one and maybe we could meet up, but I held back.

  If he needs an emotional connection first, meeting too soon might ensure he is never attracted to me physically.

  And who knows, maybe I won’t be attracted to him in person.

  It’s the kind of thing I wish I could get out of the way so I’d know before I’m in too deep, but I also don’t want to risk screwing up what we have.

  I need someone I can talk to about all this shit.

  Theoretically, I could talk to Jacobs and Beck about it. They went through this with each other. But at the same time, if I bring up that I might not be straight when kissing a boy in high school should’ve tipped me off, I’ll never hear the end of it. They’ll be supportive, but Beck uses any opportunity to be a smartass.

  We walk to the Sigma house on Greek Row, and we’re immediately surrounded by girls who take the slutty Halloween rule to a whole new level.

  One is wearing her underwear and claims to be an underwear model.

  Beck and Jacobs make their quick escape, because while they’re together and they’re out to the team, word across campus is surprisingly slow at getting around.

  No one on the team will out them, and they’re not exactly flaunting their relationship, so a lot of girls still think they’re straight. As team captains, those two attract a lot of interest, especially when they’re together.

  Then again, most of us do.

  I shouldn’t complain about the attention, but I meant what I said to Einstein. Sleeping with a woman right now would feel like I’m ignoring something I shouldn’t be. And none of these girls are interested in more than bragging rights about bagging a hockey player.

  I’ve gotten it since I was in the juniors.

  All the girls worth dating don’t bother with players.

  Maybe that’s why I’ve never had a girlfriend.

  “I’m going to go get a drink.” I excuse myself and go find the keg, but the farther I walk into the house, the sooner I realize my costume idea was not very original. It must be the costume of the year. I see no less than four others dressed as the Witcher.

  I make my rounds and drink some beer, my phone still burning a hole in my pocket. If Einstein hadn’t said he was going out too, I’d probably ditch and go home to chat some more because I can never seem to get enough. He’s addictive, and every conversation reveals another layer to him.

  The music is loud, and everyone seems to be trying to get laid or drunk in as little time possible. It’s definitely my usual scene, but I think about what the party Einstein went to is like. Off the walls like this one? Or something more laid-back, casual, and smart like the man I’ve been messaging.

  I smother a laugh at myself because I’m thinking about him again.

  I leave the makeshift dance room and step out into the hall as the door to the house opens, and Foster Grant steps through. No, wait, that can’t be right. He’s in Montreal.

  I stare down at my cup and wonder if it’s been spiked with a hallucinogen.

  A few others look at the guy the same way I do. He’s wearing a CU hockey jersey and a black helmet and has a hockey stick.

  He glares at his friend. “I told you this costume is stupid. They all think I’m my brother.”

  Ah. It’s Seth Grant. The guy I practically crash tackled the other day while I was too distracted.

  I’ll be escaping now so we don’t have a reenactment.

  Objectively, Seth and Foster look nothing alike for twins, but shit, I didn’t realize it wouldn’t take much to change that fact. All it took was a hockey jersey and to cover up their different hair.

  I make my way into the living room and perch myself against a wall before I give up and inevitably reach into my pocket to check my phone.

  Nothing.

  Einstein’s probably out having fun.

  I wonder if he’s ever had a one-night stand. I suppose not if he’s demi.

  We couldn’t be more different.

  He’s smart, and I’m … I’m not going to call myself a dumbass like I usually do, but I’m not delusional. I’m not academically inclined. He hates hockey, hockey is my life.

  On paper, I should not like this guy as much as I do already.

  I want to meet him in person and see if the same pull is there, but I’m reluctant to bring it up with him in case he sees it as me pushing.

  Zach’s angry goth friend who’s always hanging around him lately catches my eye. She’s in the corner by herself judging people.

  Okay, I don’t know if she’s judging people, but that’s what it looks like. She’s the last person I thought I’d see at one of these things.

  Her attempt at a costume is a black witch’s hat and a black dress and black boots. Literally she is dressed like herself but with a hat. My guess is she’s not here voluntarily.

  I’m about to turn away when a tattoo on her arm catches my attention.

  It’s a Pride flag, but not the typical rainbow. It’s black, gray, white, and purple, and inside the flag is a small heart with green, gray, and black stripes. I recognize the colors in the purple one from googling what ace means. I have no idea what the green one inside it means.

  Is it rude to go up to someone and say, “Hi, we’ve never spoken, but I know of you, and are you asexual? I have some questions.”

  Probably not any ruder than calling my best friend and flat out asking
if he’s gay.

  Guess I’m going in, then.

  I approach her cautiously, and she watches me with something of an amused expression on her face. “Hey.”

  She looks like she’s trying not to laugh. “Hi.”

  “Ray, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Who forced you to come here, and how much do you want to hurt them?”

  She smiles. “My roommate, and so damn much.”

  At the same time as, “I have a question” falls from my mouth, she says, “You’re barking up the wrong tree.” She holds up her tattoo for me.

  “I know. I had a question about that, actually. That’s the ace flag, isn’t it?” I point without touching her.

  “Yep.”

  “What’s the heart?”

  “Aro or aromantic. So I don’t feel any romantic feelings toward anyone either.”

  “Oh, cool.”

  “So, you can move along now, jock.”

  My gaze flies from her tattoo to her face. “What?”

  “You’ve got, like, no chance.”

  “Wow, and people say hockey players have an ego. I actually want to know more about the whole ace thing, but if you don’t want to tell me …”

  She narrows her eyes, and okay, I can kind of see how she might think it’s a line, but it’s totally not.

  “I’m talking with someone online,” I say. “And they think they could be demi. Which is also ace, right? I’ve googled and stuff, but I still don’t think I understand it completely, and they’re still figuring it out for themselves, so I don’t want to ask them a billion questions and accidentally offend them.”

  And yes, I am purposefully avoiding pronouns.

  Just like that, a switch flips, and she’s not so standoffish anymore. Well, she’s still standoffish, but her face is no longer telling me to fuck off with a simple look. “What did you want to know?”

  “I guess … I really want to meet them in person, but … what if the connection isn’t strong enough from their side?”

  “What if you meet someone tomorrow and you think it’s love at first sight, but they say I only want to be friends?”

  “Okay. But what if they say they feel that connection but still aren’t … sexually attracted to me. Could that ever change?”

  “With someone like me? Never. Someone who’s demi, it’s possible, but you can’t force it or push it or try to make it something it’s not. If that happens, might I suggest not saying any of the following: we just need to try other positions. It’s not my fault you’re broken. And an oldy but a goody, how about we spice it up with kinky things.”

  My eyes widen. “Did someone actually say that to you?”

  “High school boyfriend. Fun times.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She eyes me for a second. “My suggestion is to wait until they think they’re ready to meet. Maybe they’ll feel it and maybe they won’t, but you run that risk with meeting anyone off the internet.”

  “True.”

  “And, if they don’t feel it, you need to be okay walking away. I don’t think it’s fair to stay in a relationship with someone waiting for them to want sex when that might not happen.”

  I let out a sigh. It’s not really the answer I wanted, but it makes sense. If I want even a chance at something with Einstein, it needs to be on his time.

  I already knew that, but hearing it from another asexual person cements it even further.

  “Thanks for the chat.”

  “Thanks for not hitting on me!”

  I laugh. “You’re welcome.”

  I am so done for the night. It wasn’t a long stay, but it’s better than hanging by the phone in bed waiting for texts to pour in which I was really tempted to do.

  As I reach the kitchen heading for the front door, a very drunk Beck hugs Seth. “Grant! You came back for us!”

  “And I’m out,” Seth says and starts walking the same way I do.

  We reach outside at the same time and hover on the front stoop. I turn to him. “I think I have to agree with you. That costume was a poor choice. You look like Foster to me, and I’m not even drunk.”

  Seth’s lips part as he takes in my costume, and I wait for him to mock it, but he doesn’t. “This was a last-minute thing, so I didn’t have much of a choice.”

  “Fair enough. Have a good night.”

  “Yeah … you too.”

  I go to walk off when his voice stops me.

  “Leaving already? That’s so … unlike Foster’s friends.”

  “I think I’m getting too old for this scene.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Because twenty-one is so old.”

  “I’m twenty-four. I spent my time after high school playing for the juniors trying to get drafted.”

  “Ah. Foster wanted to do that, but Mom and Dad demanded he get an education before chasing the NHL.”

  “Worked out for him. For me, not so much.” I tip my head. “Night.”

  “Yeah. Night.” He goes to the curb and taps away on his phone, presumably to order an Uber. I cut across campus to go to the jock building.

  I can’t even wait until I’m in bed to message Einstein, and as I type Have a good night? A message pops up from him.

  Einstein: You know how we talked about baby steps? Want to take one with me tonight?

  8

  Seth

  I wasn’t in the mood for drinking at the party, and I’m suddenly very grateful for that fact. I’m in my car and headed home when Richie’s reply comes in. It takes all my willpower to stick to the speed limit.

  Because if he’s on board with this crazy-as-fuck plan, I want to be at home, in bed, dick in my hand.

  I push the heel of my hand down into my semi. Who knew that this Halloween every jock on the CU campus would want to dress as the Witcher? Obvious choice of course—easy and hot, just about every jock’s costume requirement—but I’d been completely unprepared.

  My dick had flipped out more tonight than it had in the last month, and when I’d left, and Cohen was there all big and hot and staring at me with his intense gray eyes, I’d almost choked on my own spit.

  I don’t think it had to do with my brother’s friend though and everything to do with what he was wearing.

  I couldn’t message Richie fast enough.

  There’s clearly something there between us, and it both terrifies and excites me. Uh, me and Richie. Not me and Cohen. Though he did look super hot. Super, super hot. I don’t have that reaction to anyone, and certainly not ever to him before. It had to have been the costume.

  I’ve been waiting for my constant messaging to scare Richie off, but so far, he texts as much as I do.

  Now, I want to know if it could be more.

  Not only if I could be sexually attracted to a guy, but to him.

  I pull up in the parking lot of my apartment, ditching the helmet and hockey stick in my hurry to get inside.

  It’s painful to climb the stairs with my dick still making a valiant effort to get hard.

  I pull out my phone as I’m pushing through my front door.

  Richie: What did you have in mind?

  Ah, shit. This is the difficult part.

  Einstein: Apparently The Witcher was a popular costume idea this year.

  Richie: I had noticed that too. It made me think of you.

  Einstein: Well now I have a big problem.

  Richie: I don’t think I should ask what I want to …

  Einstein: Do it.

  Richie: Is that problem between your legs?

  Einstein: Yes.

  Richie: How hard are you?

  Those four words finally coax my semi to a raging hard-on. I’m thrumming with need as I shed my pants and shirt and fall into bed. Then, driven by the blood pooling in my groin, I grab my cock through my boxers and snap a picture. I hold my breath as I hit Send.

  Richie: Holy fuck.

  Is that good or bad?

  Richie: I officially have the same problem.
br />   I bite my lip and give my dick a slow stroke.

  Einstein: I need your help.

  Richie: Anything.

  Einstein: You can say no.

  Richie: Yeah, that’s not happening. What do you want? Sexting? A pic?

  All of the above?

  Einstein: Yeah, or … I mean, voyeurism is hot, right? You did offer …

  Richie: You want me to video call you while I get off?

  Einstein: Maybe too much since I don’t know how I’ll react when I see your dick. But … just a video?

  Richie: On it.

  My dick twitches as I picture Richie touching himself. Big hand wrapped around his hard cock, and I’m starting to think that maybe Emma was right. Jury is still out until I see the real thing, but my mind is working up one hell of an image.

  Richie: You can also say no, but if you wanted to send me another pic without the clothes, it might make this go a bit faster.

  I’m scrambling out of my boxers before I’ve even finished reading the sentence. The thought of him looking at me, getting himself off over me … Yes, yes, yes, please. I wrap my hand around the base of my cock and take the picture. I hit Send before I can worry about how it compares to the countless other dick pics he’s been sent.

  His response is fast.

  Richie: Fuuuuuuck. That’s so hot. This isn’t going to take long.

  I drop my phone on the bed and grab the bottle of lube from my bedside table. I hold back from jacking myself until I come, but it’s hard when I picture Richie holding my photo and doing the same.

  My strokes are agonizingly slow. Not tight enough. I roll my palm over the tip and smear the dribble of precum down my shaft.

  A minute later, my phone buzzes.

  I scramble to grab it and find the video.

  And as hard as I am, I don’t immediately click on it. What if I’m not into it? Nerves pool in my gut, competing with the need flooding my system, but the need wins. I have to find out eventually.

  But the second his cock fills my screen, I have my answer.

  “Fuck,” I whisper.

  My hand shakes as I fumble to click Play.

  Heavy breathing comes from the speakers as his hand works up and down his thick hard-on. I can’t help notice the differences between us—the veins, the slight curve, the dark purple tip—and it makes my cock throb.