Page 62 of From Coast to Coast

“Oh, and, Gray? I only have one bedroom—my bedroom—which means there’s only one bed. We’ll have to share.”

I fight the grin that wants to appear at that. I’m pretty sure he told me his beach house has no less than four bedrooms, as well as a full gym complete with a two-lane lap pool. I nod solemnly, letting him get away with this one.

“Sharing a bedroom it is, then. You won’t hear any arguments from me.”

“Your bartender won’t mind?” he asks waspishly, mouth tracking downward once more into a frown as he scowls.This time, I lose the battle against my smile. He’s jealous and I am so fucking here for it.

“The bartender—whose name is Matt, by the way—isn’t in the picture. We had dinner one time and that will be the only time. You don’t have to worry about him, Remy, we’re not together, nor will we ever be.”

“I’m not worried,” he says, so quickly it can only be a lie. “You can date, obviously. You should go on dates. If you want. Or not, that’s fine, too.” The blush is back, coloring his cheeks and visible even through the tan he’s held on to in the months he’s been in Canada. “But we’re sleeping in the same bed when you come visit, so don’t go finding yourself a partner in the meantime.”

I’m not sure if he meant that to sound threatening or not, but it came out more pleading than anything. I want to reach through the screen and touch him so badly my fingers burn with the ache. Is he insinuating what I think he is, or am I just projecting what I want him to mean? It sounds like he’s jealous and he wants us to uphold the exclusivity we promised each other while we were fooling around. It sounds like he doesn’t want me to find a partner,because that’s what he wants to be.

Be careful, I warn myself,curious guys don’t stay curious forever. Don’t turn this into more than it is.

“Do you…do you want to only see each other for the time being?” I ask carefully, watching his face closely. “Our teams play each other back-to-back coming up here in January, and we could get together then. And talk on the phone, still, like we already are…”

I try to word it as judiciously as I can. Reading between the lines, I’m asking him to be in a relationship with me, without actually saying the words. I can’t say the words, notto him. If there is one thing he’s been vocal about since I’ve met him, it’s his desire to not be tied back down into a committed relationship, and I don’t think that’s shifted. No matter how much I want to give a real relationship a try with him, it’s not my place to ask him to change.

“Could we?” His voice has a hopeful lilt to it that sends my pulse skyrocketing. “For now? I just…I think I need a little time to think about some things. We could talk in Cali. In person.”

“Sure.”Yes, yes, yes. Fucking yes.

“Okay.” He sighs, and then smiles at me in a relieved sort of way. “Thanks.”

I laugh. How ridiculous—him thankingmeeven though I’m the one who just won the damn lottery. He shuffles to the side again, putting his laptop away, before rising from wherever he’d been sitting and shakily picking up the phone. I get a view of his face from below as he walks through his apartment.

“Where are we going?” I ask, stretching out more comfortably on my bed and tucking an arm behind my head to keep it elevated. He laughs, but doesn’t say anything until he puts the phone down and fiddles with it a little bit. Once he’s got it where he wants it, he backs up enough for me to see that we’re in his bedroom.

“How do you feel about phone sex, Gray?”

“You going to make fun of me if I admit I’ve never tried?”

“Nope.” He grins a tad wickedly. “But I am going to strip down, and if you just happen to enjoy watching, and want to take things further…” He shrugs and takes a measured step back from the camera before untying the laces on his joggers. With his other hand, he slides the hem of his shirt up an inch, baring a slim line of tan belly.

He’s not even partially undressed yet and my dick is already plumping up. Grinning, I settle in; unwilling to take my eyes off of him for a second and content to just watch for now.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Remy

The goddamn gamegoes into goddamn overtime, and because we all apparently suck at our jobs, it’s going to go into a goddamn shootout, too.

Clenching my teeth, I wait for the coaching staff to confer and settle on a lineup for shooters. Every second that ticks by on the clock feels like a sliver being driven into my skin. I don’t know why time is being so unobliging, but if it wanted to speed up, that would be great.

“Calm down,” Zolkov says to me, squirting water over his face and down the back of his neck. “Is just shootout.”

“I’m going to miss my flight,” I respond between gritted teeth. I care about winning the game, obviously, but right now I care about that flight more. I haven’t seen Grayson in person since we played Colorado in January, and I miss him with the same ferocity with which I’d miss one of my eyeballs.

“No,” Zolkov says calmly. “You will not miss flight.We will score and win game and everything will be fine. Calm down,” he repeats, as the coaches come over to give us the lineup, “and score a fucking goal. I am tired of this night.”

Me fucking too.

Zolkov is the first to go with Stevenson following, and then me after that. I really hope this doesn’t drag to four rounds or—god forbid—further.

The fans are losing their collective minds as Zolkov takes his shot, and I’m not the only one who thinks he has it. The fans with rinkside seats lose their shit, pounding on the glass and cheering, but the buzzer doesn’t sound and there is a collective sigh of disappointment from the bench when the goaltender tips the puck out of his glove.

The sigh becomes a massive groan of dissatisfaction when the opposing team scores and Stevenson is unable to follow it up with a goal of our own. We lose and I know I should care a hell of a lot more than I do, but right now all I can think about is the suitcase in the trunk of Zolkov’s car and the fact that in a handful of hours I’ll be able to touch Grayson; hear his voice with no microphone distorting the timbre, and fuckingsmellhim.

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