Page 8 of Off Sides

“Kill me now,” I groan as I force my body to move and roll over, then hiss when my knees smart from the burn the belt gave me.

“Carp?” the voice from last night questions. “Like the fish?”

No no no no no.

Why?

What did I do to deserve this?

“It’s short for Carpenter,” Bryce says, offering me a hand so I can sit up, which I take.

A hand comes down on my shoulder on the opposite side of Bryce, and I don’t have to look to know it’s him.

“Carpenter . . .” There’s a smile in his voice, and I really wish I could disappear right now. “I’m Nick.” He puts his hand out for me to shake. “It’s nice to meet you.”

I glance up at him, so fucking close I could lean in and kiss him.

And I want to.

This pull in my chest to be closer to him, the need to be pressed against him, is so fucking strong it steals my breath. I’ve never experienced it before. That romance-movie attraction to another human.

His eyes sparkle as he watches me, and his lips twitch into a small smile.

I shake his hand back, not wanting to let go of the connection.

“Joey.” I swallow, my gaze still locked on his. “My name is Joey.”

Nick nods, his eyes dropping to my mouth for a second, and I run my tongue over my bottom lip.

“You okay?” he asks again, meeting my eyes.

“Uh, yeah. I’m fine.” I look at my knees and huff. It’s not too bad, but they’ll probably scab up a bit, making running and squats difficult.

“Do you guys know each other or something?” Bryce’s voice cuts through the silence, reminding me we aren’t alone, and I jolt.

He says yes at the same time I say no, making my face heat once again. What the fuck is wrong with me? I’m a fucking hockey captain, for Christ’s sake. I am not a timid person.

Wrapping my hockey persona around me, I straighten my shoulders and look at Bryce. “We’ve run into each other before but never introduced ourselves.”

Bryce nods his understanding and offers me a hand up. With my hands in Bryce’s and Nick’s, I’m lifted off the gym mats. My muscles protest and my head swims a bit at the quick change of position.

“I’m good, thanks,” I tell both of them and reluctantly pull my hand from Nick’s. Losing that connection is a physical pain I feel in my chest.

Bryce offers his hand to Nick to shake and introduce himself. “Hey, I’m Colin Bryce. We play hockey, you?”

“Nick Wyhe, football.”

Fuuuuuuuuuuck. He lives in the jock dorms. He has to. We’re a Division 1 school, so all the contracted athletes live in the jock dorms.

Bryce and I shake hands with the other guys Nick came in with, making quick introductions before they head to change.

“Yeah, I’m done for the day,” I tell Bryce, grabbing my shit.

“Thank fuck,” he huffs and follows me to the dining hall. I’m hungry and need to get away from the gym.

We get in line and serve ourselves breakfast, mostly sticking to our diets, and find a table to sit at. The thing I like about Bryce is he doesn’t feel the need to fill the silence with bullshit, so we can just eat.

I’m almost done when Brendon Oiler and Paul Johnson—two guys on the hockey team—come in and sit down with us. Oiler is talking constantly, but I have no idea what he’s talking about.

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