Page 100 of Goaltender Interference

Jesse was doing hand-eye coordination drills with Danny Foley on the far side of the room.

Jesse stood with his back to Connor, in an upright, bent-knee position, ass stuck out and on display in his skintight leggings and shirt. He was about ten feet away from the wall and Danny was about the same distance behind him. Danny threw a reaction ball—a weird, bumpy ball designed to bounce erratically in weird directions—past him at the wall and Jesse had to catch it.

Connor could see why it was a challenge and why it was good training for Jesse. The ball’s trajectory was nearly impossible to predict when it shot off the wall and back toward him. Jesse had to shuffle side to side or lunge to catch it sometimes.

They’d only been going at it for a little while and his back was already drenched in sweat.

The dark fabric clung to his body, especially along his upper back, and Connor could see every flex of his muscles, every shift and bend and dip. But it wasn’t just the appeal of looking at a fit man in tight clothing that appealed.

It was the athleticism, the skill.

It was his sheer stubborn determination to keep going, even when Connor could see him growing more and more frustrated with every bad bounce. With every catch he missed.

It was the way he’d sometimes take a break, walking around for a moment to shake it off before returning, a fierce scowl on his face as he dialed in his focus once again.

Connorlikedthat about him.

He liked that Jesse never seemed to throw in the towel and give up. That was what they needed, what the team had been lacking. That tenacity.

And maybe Connor felt like Jesse was what he needed. What he’d been lacking in his life.

“Yo, you planning to train for the Tour de France there, Lance Armstrong?”

Connor blinked when Bobby Tucker’s face came into focus. “Huh?”

“You’re cycling like you’re training for a fucking marathon, dude.”

“Oh.” Connor glanced down, realizing he was cycling a lot harder and faster than he’d intended. He slowed a little, feeling the screaming agony in his thighs from the lactic acid buildup. “Fuck.”

“You okay there?”

“Ask me tomorrow,” Connor said grimly. He kept cycling for a few minutes, trying to slowly bring himself down. He staggered off the bike with a groan, then forced himself to take a few laps, rather than collapse on the mats like he wanted.

He found Leah Frye, one of the strength and conditioning coaches, who was working with one of the rookies lifting weights.

“Hey,” Connor said, shaking out one leg, then the other. “So I might have overdone it on the bike.”

Leah smirked. “I noticed. That’s why I asked Bobby to come over and snap you out of it. What’s going on?”

“I don’t know. I spaced out, I guess.”

She gave him a skeptical look. “That’s not like you. You sure you’re not trying to work out something that happened on the ice or at home?”

“Well, I wasn’t happy about our last couple of games,” Connor said slowly as he considered the idea, “but that’s not exactly anything unusual for this team lately.”

“And at home?”

“Everything’s pretty good actually. I’ll see the kids tonight. Things haven’t been too bad with my ex lately, Jesse’s settled into the household fine …”

“Yeah,” Crawford drawled as he walked by. “Jesse’s gonna be on the family Christmas card this year. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. Love, Connor, Jesse, Nolan, Evie, and Maura O’Shea.”

“Fuck off,” Connor snapped back. “I don’t ever see you billeting rookies.”

Crawford gave him a skeptical look. “Do you really want rookies living with me?”

“No, definitely not,” Connor conceded before he turned back to face Leah, who had an amused smile lurking on her face. “Anyway, stuff at home is good.”

Jesse was settling in and the sex was great and Connor liked him. Hell, he couldn’t stop thinking about him, apparently.

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