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

  Ah. See. That’s where we differ. I don’t have a future. “I’ll do it.”

  “Take my car. It has everything you need in the trunk.” Cohen hands over his keys. “And remember, photos or it didn’t happen.”

  Jacobs steps toward me. “Beck—”

  “I got this.”

  “Meet us at McIntyre’s when it’s done,” Cohen says.

  I turn on my heel and take a deep breath. I can do this. Then I’ll spend my last year at Colchester as the king of hockey.

  Footsteps follow me, and I don’t have to turn to know who it is.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Jacobs says.

  “I know I don’t have to. That’s the point of the challenges.” I stop and face him. “One of us has to win, and if we both refuse, they’re going to come up with some other stupid thing to do. I have the chance to end it tonight.”

  “Do you really want the captain spot that badly? Take it. I’ll step back. Don’t risk your spot on the team when we need you.”

  My mouth drops open. Is that Jacobs actually acknowledging aloud I’m not a complete joke? “The team needs me, huh?”

  He rolls his eyes. “There’s a reason you and I are both up for captain. We’re the best players on the team. We wouldn’t have won the Frozen Four last year if it weren’t for you.”

  Shit. I blink away my surprise. I never knew I needed that validation from him until this moment. When we won, yeah, it was awesome, but like I’ve said, it wasn’t as big a deal to me as it was to Jacobs and Grant. Hearing Jacobs say they couldn’t have done it without me … I feel it. That accomplished feeling I’ve been missing.

  No way I can let him know that.

  Instead, I Beck the hell out of him. I rub my chest. “Hearing you admit I’m better than you on the ice is exactly what I needed to get this done.”

  I start walking again.

  He follows. And he doesn’t stop even when we get to Cohen’s car. No, the fucker jumps in the passenger seat.

  “If you don’t want to be arrested, I’d get out if I were you.”

  “Think about what this will mean. What happens if you get caught?”

  Nothing. Nothing will happen if I get caught because my father is big and powerful and rich.

  “You getting out or not?” I bite out.

  “Nope. Drive. I have ten miles to convince you not to do this.”

  My lips quirk. “I’d like to see you try.”

  9

  Jacobs

  I think it’s safe to say my brain has officially checked out. As soon as that challenge was announced and I opted out, the smart thing to do would have been to let Beck get on with it. If the dumbass gets caught, it’s on him.

  Even knowing that, I’d followed him. I’m still unsure why, but I have one pretty solid guess.

  I sneak a quick look at his profile. He hasn’t done anything with his blond hair, and it falls across his forehead in wisps. His sharp jaw is tensed, his nose crooked from being broken playing hockey, and those lips I can’t stop thinking about … God I want—no, need—another taste.

  And he’d punch me right in the face if I tried. Only, if he broke my nose, I definitely wouldn’t look as good as him with a permanent bump.

  “You really going through with this?” I ask.

  “Yup. You’re really not?”

  “I can’t. We’re not all here on Daddy’s money.”

  He scoffs. “Ah. Now it’s all coming out. That’s what your big problem is with me? That I have money?”

  I didn’t mean to put it that way, but now we’re here. “You don’t appreciate the shit you have.”

  His laugh is hollow. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

  “You’re not arguing though, are you?”

  “I don’t have to prove shit to you, Jacobs.”

  “I’m Jacobs again. Good to know.”

  “Would you prefer I called you Topher?” He’s mocking me.

  Honestly though, I don’t know anymore. I rub my hands on my thighs as I think of a way to bring the conversation back around. “Why are you always such a dick?”

  Probably not like that.

  “Are you kidding? You’re the dick, dude. It’s like you have two settings. Judging McRighteous, or Scowly Fuckhead.”

  “Ever thought that’s only around you?”

  “What is it that makes me so special?”

  Ask my dick. I clear my throat. “Look, I might not like you, but I don’t want to see you get in trouble.”

  “You don’t like me?” His voice drips with faux remorse. “But I like you.”

  “Bullshit you do.”

  “No, really. I do like annoying you and making you scowl, and when I say something really ridiculous you get this vein”—he runs a finger over my temple and I flinch away—“right there.”

  “I’m trying to have a serious conversa—”

  “A serious conversation? That is so unlike you.”

  “I changed my mind.” I rake my hand through my longish hair. “Do whatever the hell you like. You do anyway.”

  Beck starts to laugh, and I jolt when he reaches over and squeezes my thigh. Considering how much I want to touch the guy, I’m being a jumpy idiot.

  “You’re finally learning, Topher.”

  And we’re back at that again.

  Beck steers the car into the parking lot behind the UVM theater and turns off the ignition. He claps his hands together. “Let’s do this.”

  “No way. You’re on your own.”

  He leans closer. “Chickenshit.”

  “Not gonna work.”

  When he laughs, his whole face lights up and it makes my mouth go dry. “Wait here, then.” He winks and tosses me the keys. “Captain’s orders.”

  There go my warm thoughts.

  Beck jumps out and grabs the shit Cohen stashed in the trunk. The telltale chink of spray paint cans follows Beck past the car, and my stomach sinks.

  Idiot.

  Idiot, idiot, idiot.

  Why the hell did I get in the car?

  What is it about this guy that makes me lose my damn mind? I can admit he’s hot—my nightly jerk-off sessions have brought me to terms with that—but a sexy smile and a biteable ass are not reasons to risk my scholarship.

  I have a clear view of him as he follows a path to the catamount statue. The thing was put up maybe twenty years ago as a way to foster school spirit.

  Clearly it didn’t work.

  I’m not saying it made me smile to kick their asses last year, but our team was unbeatable last season thanks to Grant and me. Okay, and Beck.

  I hate giving him that credit, but he deserves it.

  Beck pauses by the side of the theater and checks the area is clear before approaching the statue. It’s made of tarnished, bronze-looking stone and seems more like a hissing panther than a catamount.

  I expect Beck to do a quick spray and get out, but he takes his time with it. First, he wraps toilet paper around each of the four legs, then fashions a diaper with a hole for the tail.

  My lips twitch as I watch him work like he has all the time he needs. I know for a fact security is as light over the break as it is at CU, but there are still patrols who could easily find us.

  After a quick glance around, I lift my phone and snap a pic of Beck as he works. When the spray paint comes out, I’m completely unsurprised when he sprays a giant dick on the cat’s forehead.

  Maybe that’s taking it a step too far, but this is Beck after all.

  I watch him work for another few minutes, wishing like hell he’d hurry up and get out of there.

  Movement to the left catches my eye, and my gut drops. There’s a flashlight sweeping along the side of the theater, and Beck hasn’t noticed it.

  “Fuck.” I scramble to grab my phone and pull up Beck’s number, holding my breath the whole time.

  I see him reach into his pocket. I’m worried for a moment that he won’t answer, but then I remind myself it’s on him if he’s caught
.

  “What up?” is his greeting.

  “Security’s coming. On your right.”

  I hang straight up again and climb into the driver’s side. The flashlight is getting closer, and Beck must finally spot it because he starts running.

  Okay, I guess we’re not going with the subtle approach.

  A loud shout follows him, so I stuff the key in the ignition and rev the car to life. Throwing it into reverse, I pull out of the parking spot and maneuver it to the edge of the path just as Beck reaches me. He almost pulls the door from the hinges as he yanks it open and dives into the seat.

  “Hey, stop!”

  The flashlight bounces closer, and Beck slams the door, cutting off the shouts, then I steer the car around and get the hell out of there.

  I’m doing ten over the limit as we hit the road out of UVM and keep going.

  Beck’s laughing beside me, and my hands are wrapped around the wheel like I’m trying not to throttle it.

  I don’t ease up on the speed until I’m sure no one is following us.

  “A dick?” I say to Beck when I finally feel like I can talk again. “You’re really original.”

  “Who needs originality? Cock and balls are a classic.”

  We’re silent for a moment while I check the rearview mirror.

  “Ah, I guess I should probably say thanks,” Beck says quietly. “You know, for warning me.”

  “I should have left you there.”

  “I wouldn’t have blamed you. You need your scholarship, I get it.”

  And yet, my scholarship wasn’t on my mind when I started the car and officially became an accomplice. “We’re teammates. We have each other’s back, no matter what.”

  “Sure. Teammates.” Beck’s mood shifts. “Can you drop me at the dorms before you go to McIntyre’s with the guys? I’m not in the mood.”

  “You? Not in the mood?”

  He doesn’t reply.

  “Dorms are fine,” I say.

  “So the CUM games are over. You’re finally free of me.”

  It should feel better than it does.

  “Are you going to tell the guys I almost got busted and didn’t finish? They’ll probably decide you’re the winner if you tell them how you were my knight in shining armor.”

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  “Totally did. You acted like a captain. Just like last year when it was the Grant and Jacobs show.”

  “The … what?”

  “You two were practically inseparable. The rest of us are good, but the coaches practically jerked off over how great you two were together.”

  “That’s disturbing.”

  “Do you know I used to think you guys were fucking?”

  My eyes shoot wide. “The hell? Why?”

  “You and I? We’re teammates. You and him? It was … more.”

  “Well, yeah, we were friends.”

  “You hung off him.” The glare he turns on me is kinda mean. “‘Grant, let’s practice shootouts,’ ‘Grant, are you coming to McIntyre’s?’ ‘Grant, let me suck your dick …’”

  “Screw you. None of that ever happened.”

  “If you say so.”

  We’re quiet for a minute. I almost, ridiculously, feel like coming clean to him. But there are about a million people ahead of Beck when it comes to evaluating my sexuality, and I don’t trust for a moment that he wouldn’t run straight to the team and tell them all about how he turned me gay with one kiss. No, thank you.

  “I was, umm, maybe a little jealous.” He’s staring out the window, and I swear he’s purposely making sure I can’t see his face.

  “Jealous?”

  “Not about you guys. It’s … I have a lot of friends, but I don’t have a best friend. No point, really, when as soon as I graduate, I’ll be back in New York.”

  Any other time, I would have thought Beck was bragging, reminding us all about his life in Manhattan. Now, he sounds tired.

  It’s unbelievable that I have the urge to comfort him.

  “If it helps, I don’t have a best friend anymore either.” With Grant in Montreal, under the pump with the NHL and trying to squeeze in any free moment he has with Zach, I know that’ll leave fuck all time for me. “And unlike you, I don’t have a lot to fall back on.”

  I can feel him watching me.

  “But we both have the team.”

  “For this year,” Beck says.

  “For this year,” I echo. I’m uncomfortably aware of the mirrored regret in our tones.

  I have good reason not to be pursuing the NHL, but Beck’s good, and I don’t doubt he’d catch an agent’s attention, which has me wondering why he’s not taking that path. It’s not something I’ve ever cared to think about before.

  I pull up at Colchester U, and we walk back to the dorms together. This time I’m not thinking of all the ways I can ditch him.

  Instead, I’m puzzling out what’s going on in his head.

  I don’t even care when he joins me in the elevator.

  It’s probably a good thing this stupid competition is over, because this weird companionable silence between us doesn’t work for me. We need some space. And I definitely need some time to figure out what’s going on with me.

  When the elevator opens on my floor, I step out and turn back to him. I open my mouth, but I have no clue what I’m planning to say. Congratulations? Not likely. Well played?

  Our eyes catch a second before the doors seal closed.

  I head back to my room and shower, but by the time I climb into bed, my head is a mess.

  Do I want to be friends with Beck? I don’t even fucking know. What I do know is every time he says, well, anything, it draws my attention to his mouth, and that shit is dangerous territory.

  Since when do I get this whipped over one stupid kiss?

  I lie in bed, staring into the dark, as I consider what my next move will be. Beck’s right. I could tell the guys he got caught and I’m the one who bailed him out. I could tell them he didn’t end up doing it at all.

  I open the photos on my phone, realizing he didn’t take any of his own. Dumb move on his part.

  Or trusting?

  I tell my conscience to fuck off as my finger hovers over the delete icon.

  I’m not sure how long I lie there, staring at the picture of him, but I know if I delete these photos, it really will be all over.

  And the part of me that doesn’t want that is starting to get really loud.

  So instead of being smart, instead of going after captain with everything I have, instead of putting Beck back in his place, I take a deep breath, then pull up Cohen’s number.

  And hit Send.

  10

  Beck

  The countless options on the hookup app I’m flicking through are all the same. No one is catching my eye. It’s like a Netflix menu. Maybe there’s too much to choose from. Or, more accurately, it’s like a buffet offering only potatoes.

  I love potatoes. Yay carb loading. But … I don’t only want potatoes.

  I seriously need out of my head. I haven’t had sex since summer break started, and I’m starting to think I’m in a relationship with my hand. The problem with that is I’m so scared of commitment I don’t want to get to the point I have to amputate it so we can break up.

  It’s not that I’m in a slump. I could go out and hook up easily. I’m in an interest slump.

  There’s only one mouth I’ve wanted since Jacobs kissed me.

  That asshole unleashed something with his tongue, and as much as I want to hate it … I can’t.

  I have no idea how to deal with that for two reasons. One, he hates me. And two, oh yeah, he’s a dude.

  But mainly the hating thing.

  I’ll be the first to admit in high school, I was one of those ignorant assholes who’d say things that would make me cringe now. I remember at our graduation, our principal actually said in his parting speech, “I had no idea the word gay had so many meanings.” It made us all la
ugh, but looking back on it, shit, what a bunch of fuckheads.

  It wasn’t until my freshman year at CU where I met the great hockey god Foster Grant I realized how words can affect people.

  He was a sophomore and could pull seniors in line. Because he had the talent and skill to back it up on the ice.

  We all looked up to him from the beginning.

  He never hid his sexuality, and he wouldn’t let any of us get away with giving him or anyone else on the team shit about it. No fag-bombs were dropped in our locker room because Grant took a stand.

  And that’s how it should be.

  Seeing him be open about who he was gave me a new appreciation for the notion that anyone can love anyone.

  He said to me once that attraction isn’t a choice.

  I might not have exactly understood that until recently.

  Jacobs may hate me, but I love it when he snaps at me. And that scowl? At first I thought I liked it because I’m an attention whore and I didn’t care what form it came in. Now I’m wondering if I like it because it makes him look … gorgeous.

  I groan and rub my hand over my face.

  A commotion out in the hall catches my attention. When I open my door, Cohen’s standing there with a giant smile on his face.

  “No. No more challenges. That last one was a close call.” I go to shut the door in his face when he grabs my arm and pulls me into the hall.

  “Your new captain!” Cohen yells and holds up my hand.

  New what?

  The rest of the team and the campers cheer.

  They fill the hallway in excited chatter, but I’m still so confused.

  I glance around, looking for Jacobs to explain, but he’s not here. I even glance behind me to make sure they’re talking to the right person.

  “Say, what now?” I ask.

  “You did it!” Cohen shows me the photo of me trashing the bronze catamount.

  “Wait, how did you …”

  “Jacobs sent it last night after you both ditched coming to the bar.”

  “Oh.” He sent it? Why? It’s not like I got to finish the job.

  “Celebratory party!” Cohen yells.

  Just as he announces that, the elevator doors open down the hall and in comes Rossi and Jacobs with a keg.