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

  Okay, now I hate me a little too.

  Never thought I’d see the day I sided with Jacobs over anything, let alone his disdain for me.

  I finish putting on my shoes and retying the laces and glance over at him on his bed. He’s put his boxers back on but nothing else.

  And I’m here wanting to climb in next to him instead of going back upstairs to my victory party.

  “About that repeat …” I bite my lip and rake my gaze over his long body again. I linger over the vein in his arm, remembering the way it stood out as he jerked us.

  “Go back to your party, Captain. You probably should make sure none of them up there have drunk themselves stupid and need a hospital.”

  Damn it. He’s right.

  Especially seeing as when I left them, some of the high school kids were getting into it.

  I nod. “Tomorrow night?”

  Jacobs snorts. “Depends on how much you piss me off tomorrow.”

  I pause. “Wait, I don’t know what that means. With normal people, I’d assume it means not to piss you off, but as we’ve established you like it when I make you mad. So …”

  He throws one of his pillows at me, but I duck out of the way.

  “See, I’m so confused. Is that flirting or telling me to go away?”

  He glares at me.

  “Okay, that’s more straightforward.” I make my way to the door, but his soft voice makes me pause.

  “Beck?”

  I turn.

  “Are you not freaking out? Like, even a little bit?”

  I think about that. Am I freaking out I hooked up with a guy? No.

  Maybe I should be?

  But when something feels that good, I don’t know why I would second-guess it.

  I shrug. “I’m always up for experiencing new things. It felt good and I want more. It’s that simple to me.”

  Only, when I’ve said I want to experience new things in the past, dick hasn’t exactly been on the menu.

  Jacobs doesn’t appear to like that answer.

  I look down at the ground. “Are you? I mean, apart from your cock being traitorous to your brain by being interested in me.”

  “It … makes sense. I guess. Reaffirms some things from last year …”

  I want to ask him about Grant, but—

  As if reading my mind, he keeps going. “Before Grant started seeing Zach, I thought … I thought I had a thing for him.” He waves me off. “Came to the conclusion I was mistaken, but now …”

  I want to gloat about being right about him and Grant, but I’m not completely inept when it comes to reading the room.

  He’s got shit going on in his head because he’s Jacobs. He overthinks everything. Except when it comes to the ice. Then he’s fluid and reactive, and he’s instinctually a great player.

  I wonder if hockey is his only escape from that brain of his.

  We stare at each other, locked in some sort of standoff or understanding, I’m not sure.

  “Party,” Jacobs says.

  Right. “I should get up there.” I want to ask him if he’s coming up at some point, but I’m guessing with the way he’s dressed, that’d be a hell no.

  “Remind them that practice is at eight tomorrow, and I don’t care if they’re throwing up, they’re not getting out of it.”

  See, this is why he’d make a good captain, and I … I shouldn’t have gone for it in the first place.

  When I go back upstairs, the guys are in such messy states, only one of them asks me why the swim team didn’t come back with me.

  None of them look in need of paramedics though. So … winning?

  “Their exact words were hockey players are all losers except for King Beck. Sorry.” I get myself a beer from the keg and take a huge gulp, washing away any last taste of Jacobs’s mouth on mine.

  Cohen groans. “And we’re gonna vote this guy to get more ego?”

  I shrug. “Vote how you want. Forget the stupid CUM games even happened.”

  “But … that was the whole point of them.” Cohen cocks his head at me.

  “Vote who you think will actually help the team win next season. Not for who did a bunch of challenges that had nothing to do with hockey.”

  This is my party, but it doesn’t sit right with me because it should be for someone else.

  I put my drink down on Cohen’s side table. “Now, unless someone is bleeding or dying, don’t come wake me. I’m going to bed.”

  I get a whole lot of weird looks, but I can’t even muster the effort needed to be on right now.

  Crossing the hall, I kick everyone out of my room and fall face-first onto my bed, wishing like hell it wasn’t so empty.

  I’ve had a taste of Jacobs, and now I want more. I want him beneath me, on top of me … I want him surrounding me. It was the hottest sex I’ve ever had, and it wasn’t even sex-sex.

  It gave me that thrill—that escape I’m always searching for—but now, a mere ten minutes after leaving his room, I realize it wasn’t enough.

  I need that repeat to happen ASAP.

  The kids are all hungover for practice the following day, and so is half of the team. Jacobs and I are running a scrimmage, refereeing for the mixture of team members and camp kids.

  The kids fall more than they skate, and every time someone takes a dive, I cringe.

  Jacobs seems smug about it, but the coaches are pissed. When the coaches ask what happened, I’m sure Jacobs is going to throw me under the bus.

  He doesn’t. He keeps his mouth shut and keeps skating by, but not before I see his I told you so expression.

  I’m already failing as a role model even though I haven’t actually taken the official position yet.

  Maybe Jacobs is keeping quiet because he’s been holding out for tonight as much as I have.

  While I should be keeping an eye on the scrimmage, I keep stealing glances across the ice at Jacobs.

  I’ve been on my best behavior all day because there’s a fine line between riling Jacobs up and him wanting to murder me.

  My newfound enjoyment of manhandling does have some limits. Rough sex, good. Murder, bad.

  Not that I think he’d ever take a swing at me. I just get the feeling he’s been close. A lot.

  I may have relived what happened in his dorm room while I was showering this morning.

  All that power in his body as he lifted me. Me. I’m bigger than him, but he pressed me against that wall and carried me across his room without breaking a sweat.

  No, the sweating came later while he was on top of me. Grinding. And thrusting into his fist while dragging his hard cock along—

  One of the camp kids slams into me, knocking me off my skates.

  Yup, that’s what happens when you’re not concentrating.

  I get up and shake it off, my ego taking more of a hit than my body, but speaking of dumb moves, not two minutes later, Tamm, who’s one of the kids hungover as fuck, gets a lazy penalty for tripping because I don’t think he actually realized his stick was in someone else’s way.

  The other kid—I forget his name—is pissed, and his gloves come off before we can get to either of them.

  I blow my whistle, but now they’re fighting.

  Great.

  Jacobs and I get in there and pull them apart, holding each of them back.

  “You tripped me!”

  I hold on to the kid tighter. He’s trying to fight his way out of my grip.

  “It was an accident, asshole,” Tamm yells.

  “Bullshit.”

  I feel the coaches’ disapproving stares from here.

  This camp isn’t only about scouting future potential players for the school but for team and skill building for those on the current roster. And today’s activity is no doubt testing Jacobs’s and my leadership skills.

  It’s hands-on, and like the coaches said at the start, they’re watching everything.

  I tug on my guy’s arm. “Look, hockey players are notoriously known for being hothe
aded. It’s our one fatal flaw. If you can’t get a handle on it, you shouldn’t be playing. If you hadn’t retaliated, your team would’ve had a power play, but instead, you get your own penalty. You screwed your team. Go. Sin bin. Both of you.”

  We release them, but I escort them off the ice in case they go at each other again.

  By the time practice is over, we’re all exhausted, even the ones who didn’t get hammered last night.

  As we pack up and head off the ice, Jacobs falls in line beside me. “You handled the fight well.”

  I pull up short. “That sounded like a compliment, but that can’t be right.”

  “Forget it.” He goes to walk off, but I grab the sleeve of his jersey to stop him.

  I lower my voice. “Am I coming over tonight?”

  His gaze darts down the chute, and he bites his lip. I want to offer to bite it for him.

  Cohen’s voice travels up the hallway. “Last one in the locker room buys drinks at McIntyre’s.”

  I groan. “I’m going to sound fifty, but didn’t they drink enough last night?”

  Jacobs snorts. “You don’t sound fifty, but you do sound a hell of a lot like my thoughts.”

  “We’re reading each other’s minds now? That’s so …”

  “Gross.”

  I laugh. “What are the chances of getting out of going to McIntyre’s?”

  “About the same odds as we had getting out of those stupid challenges.”

  I purse my lips. “So, we could do it, but it would be suspicious.”

  “Yup.”

  “Rain check or has your freak-out kicked in?”

  “I’m not … freaking out.”

  Mmhmm, and that sounds so believable too. “If you say so.”

  We head down the corridor to the locker room, but just before crossing over the threshold, I stop and shove Jacobs forward.

  “What the f—”

  “Oops. I guess I have to pay now.”

  The assessing look Jacobs throws my way makes me instantly uncomfortable.

  So I ignore it and head straight for my cubby.

  We strip down in the locker room, and I tell myself not to look in Jacobs’s direction even for a second.

  How Grant went four years in a locker room surrounded by dicks without getting hard I’ll never know.

  I’m only interested in one dick, and knowing it’s only twenty feet away, my cock is trying to reach out like a homing beacon.

  Don’t look over there. Don’t look over there.

  “What the fuck is that on your shoulder?” Rossi yells.

  I spin and find everyone looking at the bite I left last night.

  I have to suppress my proud smile. Turns out, he wasn’t the only one who was in a marking mood.

  Jacobs’s fingers trail over the bite. “It’s nothing.”

  “Is that where you disappeared to last night?” Cohen asks. “To hook up? I thought you were sulking.”

  Jacobs gives him the finger.

  “Who was she, then?” I say, still fighting like hell not to smile.

  “No one special.” He cocks his head. “Wasn’t even that good, actually.”

  I burst out laughing because I know for a fact that’s bullshit.

  “Must’ve been good for her if she left that,” Cohen says.

  He has no idea.

  13

  Jacobs

  I knew it was only a matter of time. When I’d gotten through changing this morning without anyone noticing, I’d hoped I was in the clear. But then Rossi had to go and see it, and now they won’t shut up.

  When we arrive at the bar, we order drinks and take up a booth in the back. I’m still not sure how to feel about Beck shoving me into the locker room first earlier. My pride wants to be pissed, but my bank balance is definitely grateful.

  Beck grins from beside me as Cohen starts his shit again.

  “So what was the vamp like? I’m surprised she didn’t suck a tasty guy like you dry.”

  My lips twitch. “Nah, that’s next time.” I let my gaze flick to Beck’s, and if I’m expecting the thought of sucking me off to panic him, I’m sorely mistaken. He still looks down for it to happen. And goddamn it, so am I.

  I watch as Beck’s tongue quickly darts over his lips before he turns to Cohen. “Tasty guy? You sure there’s still nothing to tell us?”

  Cohen flips him off, and I laugh along with the others. Cohen’s never gonna live all that kissing shit down now.

  Beck’s distraction works because now the heat is off me and on Cohen. I take advantage of the distraction and lift my glass to my mouth.

  “Well played,” I mutter.

  His thigh presses harder against mine. “Wouldn’t want you found out, would we?”

  I hide my cringe, but that doesn’t stop his words from hitting hard. Last night, I’d been a bit caught up in what happened and said some things that were unfair to him. Do I want the guys to know? Hell no. Do I want that at the expense of Beck feeling like shit?

  I mean, I don’t think anything I say could make that happen, but I still feel like a dick anyway.

  I down the rest of my beer and slide out of the booth to make my way back to the bar. It’s not like I can apologize, but at least buying him a drink might make me feel a little less like shit. I can’t afford to treat everyone here, but one isn’t going to kill me.

  The bartender slides both drinks over as someone takes the spot to my left. I don’t even need to look to know it’s Beck. His expensive aftershave gives him away. I fight back my smile and nudge one of the drinks over.

  “Topher,” he gasps. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

  “Just take the damn thing.”

  “It’s poisoned, isn’t it? I didn’t realize you wanted to be captain that bad.”

  “Or maybe I wanted to buy you a drink, so I bought you a drink.”

  He cocks his head. “That doesn’t sound right.” Beck reaches over, but I snatch his hand before he can touch me. He starts to laugh. “Sure, holding my hand in the middle of the bar is much less suspicious than letting me touch your forehead.”

  I drop his hand and quickly dart a look back to the guys. I’m being a dick again, I know I am, but if they haven’t shut up about the bite thinking it came from some random chick, what if they knew it came from Beck?

  “You’re giving me ‘fuck me’ eyes again,” Beck taunts.

  “What?”

  “You know how that glare does it for me.”

  He’s not bothering to keep his voice down, but none of our teammates are around and the people close to us aren’t paying attention. I relax a little. “Practice must be painful for you, then.”

  “Very. Don’t think I missed the way you couldn’t take your eyes off me earlier.”

  “I was just waiting for you to fuck up.”

  “And yet it ended with you complimenting me. I thought hell had frozen over.”

  I give a short laugh. “It won’t happen again.”

  “Oh, I know it will.” He steps fractionally closer. “I’m not talking on the ice either. In a couple of hours, when I’m on my knees, it’ll be all ‘Beck, you’re the best I’ve ever had.’”

  I choke. I’m not sure on what, but goddamn, that imagery … And of course Beck isn’t freaking out whatsoever. To live with that kind of confidence would make getting through life so much easier.

  I wonder what it would be like, to not be constantly questioning everything. To not lie awake for hours, after Beck crept out of my room, and wonder what the hell happened. If having his dick in my hand went a long way toward breaking down some of the walls between us, what the hell will happen after I’ve had his cock in my mouth? Will we suddenly be best buds? That’s ridiculous.

  My dick doesn’t seem to care though.

  It doesn’t care if I like the guy or not, it just wants more.

  And if that means sucking his cock … My dick twitches. Yeah, I’m down for that.

  I’ve had those types of fantasie
s before, only I was imagining a different hockey player at the time. I wanted it back then, and Beck’s my chance to finally explore those questions about myself.

  Before Beck can say anything to mess with my resolve, I drain my glass and nudge him forward. Feeling like I’ve lost my damn mind, I steer him toward the hall that leads to the bathrooms and has a door to a side alley.

  Praying the door isn’t alarmed, I ease it open and when no sound rings out, I grab Beck and shove him through. He clearly hasn’t caught on by the time the door clicks closed and I push him against the wall. My knee slides between his legs.

  “Couldn’t wait, huh, Topher?”

  “Actually I really needed to shut you up.” I grab his face and press a hard kiss against his mouth that he quickly returns. And goddamn, the guy can kiss.

  It occurs to me this is the first time I’ve kissed him and it not have been a total surprise. This time it was planned, this time I knew what was coming, and even though it was my call, it still catches me off guard. It’s like I forget exactly how good it is until his lips are back on mine, making me shake with need.

  I groan and grab one of his legs to hitch up over my hip.

  “Okay, how are you so damn strong?” he pants.

  “Farm boy.” My lips find his neck, and he lets out that laugh he does when nothing is funny, but he’s too overwhelmed for any other reaction.

  “Why the fuck is that so hot?”

  “Because it tells you I’m good with my hands.”

  We’re both hard as hell, but Beck’s eyes have already taken on a glazed look that’s beyond addictive, so I force myself back. I’m not about to do something as dumb as blow him in an alley, but seeing the effect I’ve had on him has me feeling a bit smug.

  “See you inside.”

  “What? What about …” He gestures to his erection.

  “Maybe it’s time you learned how to work for something.”

  I leave him there and make my way to the front to get back into the bar. Thankfully, my dick cooperates because the ache fades by the time I’m back at the table. It takes Beck longer, and the smile I’m wearing when he finally returns feels so similar to the one he’s usually giving me, I can’t help but laugh.