Page 1 of Game On

CHAPTER ONE

Dorian Shore had a problem.

And that problem was hockey with a capital H.

Up until a few months ago, he would’ve said the same thing about hockey players too. Then he’d gotten a job as the social media coordinator for Vancouver’s NHL team, having applied partly because he was bored and partly for the social media experience it would give him for the new business he was about to launch.

And the players? They were hyper-focused. Intense. Driven.

And really fucking nice, which was an about-face compared to the kids he’d played with during the one and only season he’d been forced to play hockey when he was six, before he’d fully learned how to skate. The other kids had picked on him for his lack of skill, as well as being the tallest and skinniest guy on the team.

Dorian was still tall and skinny, but he’d grown into his body, and now it was a source of pride. He knew he looked good.

So yeah. Dorian had come into this role with a certain bias that had been blown to smithereens. He didn’t love being proved wrong, but he could admit that his past experience had soured his taste for the sport. Not that he planned on donning skates to partake in a game anytime soon, but he could watch one now without a ball of residual anger and anxiety crowding into his chest.

Score one for maturity.

On his computer, one of the NHL players he’d interviewed recently for a social media reel sat in front of a wall-to-wall NHL Hockey banner. “My favourite joke? Okay, okay, here’s one. What’s the difference between a golf ball and a G-spot?”

“Christ,” came Dorian’s disembodied voice from behind the camera. “Do I want to know?”

The player waggled his eyebrows. “A guy will actually search for a golf ball.”

The Dorian in the video snorted a laugh. So did the real-life one who was editing the interview to turn it into a snappy PG-rated piece of fluff that fans would fawn over.

What was that he’d been thinking about maturity?

Not that Dorian knew anything about G-spots. He was as gay as a crowd at a royal wedding.

“That’s not really that funny, you know.”

Dorian snapped his head up. When had Stink Eye Stanley arrived?

And why had he sat directly across from Dorian when most of the other seats in the organization’s open-concept office in downtown Vancouver were empty?

“It’s a little bit funny,” Dorian said.

“It’s really not.” Stanley gave him the stink eye for which Dorian had nicknamed him, propped massive headphones over his ears, and buried himself in his laptop.

Dorian gritted his teeth. He did not need this bullshit in his life. He’d gotten enough of the third degree at home growing up with parents who constantly expected more and better and for Dorian to be as perfect as his older siblings.

Super fun.

“Did I spit in your coffee or something?” he snapped.

Stanley pulled one earphone away from his ear. “What?”

“Never mind.”

Dorian was tempted to follow through on his question and demand what Stanley’s problem was, but honestly? He didn’t care. Stink Eye Stanley had hated him on sight since he’d first started working for the organization a few months ago, and Dorian didn’t care enough to change his opinion about him. Some people just rubbed each other the wrong way. End of story.

Besides, Dorian’s boss loved him, and he was really the only person who mattered.

Speaking of his boss, Mark poked his head around the corner that led to the executive offices. “Dorian? Got a second?”

His back tensed so quickly he almost gave himself a neck spasm.

And hated himself for it.

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