Page 63 of Goaltender Interference

Arkady had looked a little wide-eyed and terrified when they met at the rink for the first time during camp, but his eyes had lit up when Jesse stumbled through a Russian greeting. He didn’t speak Belarusian and he wasn’t what anyone would call fluent in Russian either, but he’d picked up some shit from Macky and Elena.

Since then, Jesse had been doing his part to make life easier for his teammate.

Kady—as Jesse had dubbed him—had looked pathetically grateful to speak to anyone in one of his native tongues, even someone as inept as Jesse. He’d agreed to come out to the pub tonight too and although he probably didn’t have a clue what the guys at the table were saying now, he was laughing and looked more relaxed.

Then again, that might be due to the alcohol they kept pushing toward him.

Well, whatever worked.

“You’re good with him,” Connor said thoughtfully, nodding toward Kady as they stood by the bar, getting more shots for the team.

The team had played golf this afternoon, had dinner at a casual restaurant on the wharf, and were now at an Irish pub. It seemed like a place the team was familiar with, if the greetings fromboth the staff and the patrons had been any indication when they walked in.

“Who? Kady?” Jesse asked, absently scoping out some of the other people at the bar. It was an interesting mix of people. The pub was far from upscale—more working class than anything. Everyone was dressed casually; even the women were in jeans and there wasn’t a high heel in sight.

Way different from the places they’d usually gone to in Toronto, where they’d been in VIP lounges. Then again, the Fisher Cats had been a lot more worried about being approached in public by fans and photographed. Not to mention spied on.

Jesse suspected people here knew exactly who they were, but there seemed to be an unspoken code to leave them alone.

Of course, maybe that was because the season hadn’t officially started yet.

“Yeah. When did you learn Russian?” Connor asked.

Jesse snorted. “I don’tknowit. I can throw out some words is all.” Most of them dirty and/or inappropriate, to be honest.

“Still.” Connor looked him up and down. “He seemed like he was having a good time hanging out with you today. That was really something, Webber.”

“Thanks, O’Shea,” Jesse said absently, eyeing a woman around his age wearing snug denim. She was bent over to take a shot at the pool table and presenting quite a nice view.

Under other circumstances, he’d be over there in a heartbeat, offering to help her with her form. Or—he watched her break cleanly—in this case he’d probably ask her for tips. She was a way better player than he was.

“Would you fucking stop checking that woman out and help me carry these?” Connor grumbled and Jesse glanced over to see Connor trying to juggle two trays that Jesse hadn’t even noticed were ready.

“Sorry,” Jesse said automatically, then narrowed his eyes at Connor. He dropped his voice, using the motion of grabbing one tray as an excuse to lean in. “Dude. Are youjealous?”

“No.” But Connor’s ears were red when he turned toward the table.

Jesse snickered, letting his gaze linger on Connor’s ass inhispair of snug jeans while he walked away. God, he was so fucking predictable. Jesse so much aslookedin someone else’s direction and Connor got all huffy about it.

Hilarious.

Unfortunately, training camp had wrung both of them out so much in the past few days they’d hardly managed more than sloppy handjobs in the shower one evening and some lazy making out and rubbing off together yesterday.

Which was a shame, because the kids would be back tomorrow night and Jesse knew Connor wouldn’t fool around with them in the house. Jesse couldn’t blame him, not when they had no idea their father was bi, but it wasdefinitelygoing to put a damper on their sex life.

Oh well, at least there was tonight. He couldn’twait.

Cheered by that thought, Jesse carried the drinks over to the table, then slid into the circular booth beside Connor, passing out shots to the guys who wanted them.

Connor held up his shot. Something with whisky in it, though Jesse couldn’t remember the name. “To the new season!”

Everyone toasted, then downed their shot. They’d bought a variety and Jesse had gone for a Lemon Drop.

It slid smoothly down his throat now, tart and sweet, and he made a happy hum. When he lowered his glass, he saw a sputtering Connor with a face nearly the same color as his hair and beard.

“You okay there?” Jesse asked, wondering what had gone wrong.

“Fine.” Connor thumped his fist against his sternum. “Just went down the wrong pipe.”

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