Page 21 of Goaltender Interference

“Hey, are you pissed at me about this?” Luke asked, frowning. “Because I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Huh? No.” Connor shook his head and tugged on a T-shirt. “Thinking about what a fucking mess Webber has made of things. Which seems to be his entire MO.”

Which was maybe the understatement of the century.

Luke snorted. “Right? I mean, not that I blame him for some of the rockets he was stripping off with in June.Damn. The kid can pull some tail.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t care how many people he gets naked with,” Connor pointed out, desperately trying to ignore the thought of how nakedhe’dgotten with Jesse a few months ago. Naked and sweaty and … Connor cleared his throat. “As long as he does it behind closed doors this time.”

“Yeah, you want a parade of that shit in and out of your house all season?” Luke asked, looking amused.

Connor groaned, because he hadn’t even thought about that. Was he gonna have to put up with Jesse fucking every goddamn person in the greater Boston area in his own home?

“No fucking way,” Connor snapped. “He can go totheirplace.”

Though, he couldn’t decide if that was better or worse. At his place, he’d be able to rein in the worst of it.Theoretically.

“Damn. Tough landlord,” Luke said, oozing fake sympathy. “Wonder why they didn’t askmeto keep an eye on the kid.”

“You’d have him joining a biker gang within a week.”

“Fuck off,” Luke grumbled. “I’m not in a gang. I just like to ride.”

“Yeah,women,” Connor shot back.

The conversation mostly devolved into pointless chirping after that and it wasn’t until they walked out of the HCI practice facility and into the bright sunshine that the conversation returned to Jesse Webber.

“So when is your problem child goalie supposed to make it here anyway?” Luke asked.

“He’s back on the road now, so later today? I guess?” Connor shrugged. “But who the fuck knows? A lot can happen between Buffalo and Boston.”

CHAPTER SIX

Jesse’s eyes felt gritty and dry by the time he finally pulled up to the address in his GPS. The street was dim and quiet—unsurprising for nearly four in the fucking morning.

Jesse’d had the drive from hell. He’d thought he was in the clear once he got past the border but on I-290 somewhere in upstate New York, he’d gotten stuck behind an overturned truck that had spilledlubeall over the interstate.

Jesse had nearly sprained something laughing when the cop diverting traffic told him what had been spilled. It was industrial lubricant for some factory or something. Not like the expensive shit Jesse had in his luggage.

But still, it was funny as fuck.

Between that and brief stops for gas, food, and stretching, it was so fucking late. But he’d made it to Boston in one piece, so that was something.

Now, Jesse looked around, trying to decide where to park.

It all seemed to be street parking, which made him grimace, but he finally found an open spot across the street and half a block away from Connor’s place.

Whatever, it was fine for now.

Jesse got out, stretching, groaning at how stiff he felt.Fuck, he was going to need to spend a couple of days recovering from the drive. Maybe he should have listened to the people suggesting he hop on a flight and hire someone to drive his car.

But he hadn’t liked the idea of anyone touching his baby.

He patted the car’s roof lovingly, then paced up and down the sidewalk as he pulled out his phone. Connor had sent a whole-ass novel about what to do once he got there and he couldn’t remember any of it.

He searched through the messages and frowned when he saw that Connor said his place was a white townhouse. That didn’t seem right.

Jesse jogged across the street and squinted at the sign on the side of the building. That was number nine alright. So why did it look like a fucking red brick apartment or condo building?

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