Page 31 of Goaltender Interference

It got worse from there, when Jesse went into a V sit position, doing some stretch that involved kettlebells and a rope and … Connor looked down at the digital readout on the bike, feeling the sting of salty sweat drip into his eyes as he pedaled harder.

But his gaze drifted up again in time to see the curve of Jesse’s ass when he got into a long split-squat position.

He’s your teammate!Connor reminded himself viciously.Your responsibility. The team dynamics and your captaincy are riding on you staying away from Jesse Webber.

But he couldn’t tear his gaze away. Couldn’t do anything but stare when Jesse shifted into an active warmup, twisting and bending, strong and flexible in a way that made Connor stare dumbly, awed and horny.

It wasn’t like Connor had never seen his tendie warm up before, but it had sure as fuck never been a guy he’d had sex with. All Connor could think about was Jesse’s body under his hands and the sounds he made and …

Connor shifted on the bike, his dick suddenly pinching where it was crammed into his underwear at an uncomfortable position now that he was growing hard. He got off the bike and did a few stretches of his own, just enough to loosen him up and force himself to think of anything but Jesse’s body.

Enough to make his dick soften and his focus return to the task at hand.

Connor kept his head down while they changed in the dressing area and when he was on the ice, he could finally breathe.

Here everything made sense. Everything wasnormal. He was a guy who played hockey and nothing more.

Connor was amused to see Gavin get on the ice too, dressed in a team tracksuit and a pair of skates. He was still good on them, sure and deft, and Connor idly wondered how much he skated these days.

“Alright,” Tyson called out. “Take a few warmup laps, O’Shea, and Webber, you do your goalie thing.”

Jesse laughed, loud and bright, and the sound echoed around the nearly empty rink. “Sure, I’ll do my goalie thing.”

Connor smiled as he skated a few laps, letting his muscles warm up and his body sink into the familiarity of the movement. That smile widened when he saw Jesse doing his little side-to-side goalie shuffle in front of the net they’d set up.

Goalie things indeed.

“Whenever you’re both ready, let’s have you fire some shots at Webber, O’Shea,” Tyson called out.

“Ready,” Jesse called out, hunkering into position. He was a hybrid goaltender, shifting between stand-up and butterfly positions, and he’d been terrible to go up against in the playoffs last season when he’d filled in for Makarov. Jesse was fast and skilled, with a cool, unflappable demeanor that didn’t see him melting down easily.

Wildly different than his personality off-ice.

He was a silly sider too, shooting with his left hand and catching with his right. Most goalies were the opposite.

“Hey, are you a leftie off-ice?” Connor asked, curious. Not all goalies who shot with their left and caught with their right were left-handed, but most of them were, preferring to use their dominant hand to shoot with.

Jesse nodded. “Yeah. I’m a leftie.” He smacked his catcher with his glove.

“Huh.” Because what else did Connor have to say to that? And why did he care anyway? Even if he was now remembering that it had been Jesse’s left hand that had wrapped around his cock, sure and strong as he sucked Connor off.

“You want me to shoot from the neutral zone?” Connor asked Tyson, skating up to the red line. Because work. He was working now. Not fantasizing.

Fuuuck.

“Yeah, that’ll be good,” Tyson said. “Gavin, you feed the pucks to O’Shea.”

And Connor nodded because, okay,nowhe could see why Gavin was out here.

The passes from Gavin came quickly, clean and landing right in the center of Connor’s tape. He fired the pucks at Jesse, scowling when he batted the first half-dozen away like someone swatting and killing an irritating fly, his wide grin clear and bright, even behind the cage of his mask.

Connor began to move more, skating toward the net like he was practicing shootouts, whooping with triumph when he finally got one in over Jesse’s left shoulder, gloved hands and stick raised in the air.

Jesse pushed his mask back and scowled, reaching for the water bottle tucked in the top of the net. “You gotone, O’Shea. You’re not that good.”

“Yeah, I am,” Connor said, baring his teeth. “Watchme.”

Jesse shot some water at him in retaliation.

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