Page 16 of From Coast to Coast

Shit, you started a new job right after getting a divorce?

Ree

It’s been a fun couple of months.

Brody

I’ll say.

The house is so silent, one would think I was alone. I listen hard for a moment, but Remy is either moving around stealthily or not moving at all. I feel like I owe him an apology. I shouldn’t have said anything about the team and just let him figure it out for himself. Now, if he has a hard time fitting in here, I’m going to wonder if that’s because I colored his opinion about the team. It’s not fair of me to project my own issues on someone just because he’s living with me.

Ree

So, wanna send each other dick pics?

I burst out laughing. I don’t know what this guy’s face looks like, but the picture in my head has him smiling—a devilish smile to go with the sense of humor, and a healthy mop of blond hair because, sue me, I have a preference.

Brody

Sure. Kinda seems like I’m at an unfair advantage though. I’ll actually like your dick pic, but you—recently divorced straight man—will probably not get too excited over mine.

Ree

Woooow, ye of little faith! Let me ask you this: are you really 6’7”?

Brody

I think I’m just over that, but, yeah.

Ree

Yeah, I’m for sure going to need the dick pic. Hard, obviously. Want me to go first?

He doesn’t even wait for a reply before a picture comes through. Eyeing my closed bedroom door, I slip off my pants and underwear, sliding down to a more comfortable prone position. Wrapping the fingers on my left hand loosely around myself, I click open his picture. Immediately, my mouth goes a little dry and I have to swallow, working my hand a little faster on my already hard dick.

Ree is definitely a blond based on the smattering of well-trimmed pubic hair around his base. Long and lean, cut, and with a prominent head that I long to wrap my mouth around. His fingers are in the picture, splayed gently around his base as though he was playing with his balls before taking the picture. Somehow, it’s the sight of those long, thin, tanned fingers that send my system into overdrive. Closing the app, I open my camera and take a picture of myself to send him before I blow it and come.

Trying not to think too hard about sending a raunchy picture to a stranger on the internet, I do a quick scan of the photo to make sure there aren’t any incriminating items in the background or on my body. It’s not like I’ve got my jersey number tattooed on my groin, but the picture still makes me nervous. Deciding it’s fine, I send it and reopen the one Ree sent me as I reach my other hand toward my bedside table for some lube.

It’s quick and dirty, and somehow feels better than any other time I’ve jacked off these past couple of years. Fingers still wrapped loosely around myself, I stroke idly as I close the picture and return to the chat. There aren’t any new messages from Ree, just our pair of dick pics floating out there in cyberspace. Locking my phone, I get up to clean myself off in the bathroom.

When I get back to the bedroom, there is a singlemessage waiting for me from Ree:Apparently, I’m not as straight as I thought I was.

Coach readsthe lineup for tonight’s game against Texas. Gritting my teeth, I listen as my name is called for the fourth line. I’ll be paired up with a rookie and eighteenth round draft pick from Kansas. He looks thrilled, and I try to return the smile he sends my way even though my jaw is clenched in anger.It’s early in the season, they’re going to throw random shit at the wall and see what sticks.Across from me, Remy is frowning even though he’s been bumped up from second to first.

The moment Coach leaves, talk picks up as everyone gets excited for the game. Standing, I try to shake out some of the tension knotting my shoulders and to school my features into something less than pissed off. Beside me Zolkov is muttering to himself in Russian, which is a sure sign he’s not happy, either.

“Let it go, Z,” I warn, not wanting him to be distracted by my shit when he’s got a game to worry about.

“Yes, let it go. Because first round draft pick and best defenseman on team should play least amount of time, yes?” he says, rounding on me.

“They put me with a rookie, maybe they’re just?—"

“No,” he cuts me off, shaking his head. “They are trying to freeze you out, and now we shall lose games in the process. Watch. You will see.”

He devolves back into Russian, and scowls at anyone else who tries to lure him into conversation. When we head out to warm up, Gordon, our starting goalie, gives me a light tapwith his stick before taking his place in the crease. I avoid Remy as much as I can, not wanting to see or hear anyI told you so’stonight.

As expected, the line shake-up is an unmitigated disaster. My rookie is weak on the backcheck and loses turnover opportunities that might have ended in scoring chances for us, had we been able to clear the puck to our offensive zone. As it is, I spend the majority of the night playing both strong side and weak side defense, essentially doing my level best to do the work of two defensemen.

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