Page 5 of Game On

Crap, crap, crap.

He could not, would not crush on his coach’s cousin. Been there, done that, had the broken engagement to prove it.

Not that Scott had been related to his former coach, but he was a teammate’s baby brother, and Jamie wasn’t shitting where he ate ever again.

Within an hour of the trade being official, Jamie had spoken with the Orcas’ assistant general manager, the director of player development, and someone in player assistance who’d helped him figure out how fast he could get from Charlotte to Vancouver and what he’d need.

He’d also received a call from Head Coach Shore. He’d welcomed Jamie to the team, assured him he’d pick him up at the airport when he landed in Vancouver, and had given him a rundown of his accommodation options.

A personality-less apartment owned by the organization.

The spare room at the home of one of his new teammates, Blair Brawsiski.

The guest house on the property of another new teammate’s home, Dylan Archambault.

A room in Coach’s own house.

A room at Dorian’s.

Or he could do his own thing.

Jamie didn’t think he could find a place to rent in less than twenty-four hours, and living out of an Airbnb or hotel didn’t sound all that appealing. So he’d opted to stay with Dorian, mostly because Coach had mentioned that Dorian had been the first to offer.

But also because... What if the situation with his teammates was as bad here as it’d been in Charlotte? Unlikely, sure—no one here was pissed at him for calling off his wedding to the team captain’s brother.

The day before the wedding, but that was neither here nor there.

At least Dorian was only tangentially involved with the team as Coach’s cousin.

It was Jamie’s own bad luck that Dorian looked like a walking, talking version of his every wet dream. He was tall—more or less Jamie’s own height of six two—and slender but toned, with a pointed chin and a small nose. His skin was winter pale, several shades lighter than Jamie’s more naturally tan tones, and it contrasted sharply with the two days’ worth of stubble on his jaw and upper lip and the rich brown hair that looked thick enough for Jamie to grab onto.

Gulp.

“Where’s the rest of your stuff?” Dorian peered around him. “Still in the car?”

“Nah, this is it,” Jamie said, forcing his mind back on track. “I’ll head back to Charlotte at the end of the season for the rest of it and have it shipped to a storage unit so I don’t clutter up your home.” Assuming Jamie hadn’t found a place to live by then.

“You don’t have to do that. I’ve got the space. We can store your stuff in the basement.”

“I thought you were putting Jamieson in the basement,” Coach piped in, arms crossed over his chest. With his height, thick beard, and broad shoulders, it made him look imposing as fuck.

“There’s no bed down there,” Dorian said.

“You could’ve gotten one.”

“Uh, I’d really rather have a bedroom than a basement,” Jamie interjected, picturing a lone bed among exposed pipes, insulation, and spiders. The stuff a kid’s nightmares were made of.

“Oh, it’s finished,” Dorian said, waving a hand. “There are three bedrooms down there, as well as a full kitchen and a separate entrance.”

Three bedrooms? In the basement?

“Exactly,” Coach said. “Had you put a bed in one of the rooms, Jamieson would’ve had his own apartment.”

Dorian crossed his arms over his chest, matching Coach’s posture, and glared, his eyes going all fiery. “Wouldn’t that defeat the purpose? You’re the one who said you didn’t want him in a sterile apartment. Trust me, my basement is very fucking sterile.”

Jamie had just come from a team where he’d been treated like a pariah after his breakup with the team captain’s brother, and now he had two men arguing over what would make him most comfortable.

He didn’t quite swallow a laugh. His aborted chuckle drew the gaze of both men.

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