Page 108 of Friendzone Hockey
But then I walk in on him and Casey talking.
“Yeah, Syd says he’s gonna try to come into town to see me. That must mean something, right?” Dash asks. His face is doing that thing it does when he’s anxious, but hopeful; his lips pinch at the corners, his eyes get round as toonies.
When I say my heart sinks that doesn’t begin to cover it.
“Syd? You still pursuing the guy from Rodney’s?”
Dash smiles. “Yeah. I think he likes me, Stace. And he’s older, I feel so grown up.”
The room spins, but I fight to maintain balance. I know he’s seen me looking at him. It doesn’t make any sense. I sneak a hand over my heart, hoping it can do something to keep it from falling out of my chest.
“And you like him, too?”
Casey frowns, looking between us.
Dash flushes. “Yeah. Kinda.”
Yeah. Kinda. Two words that haunt me for the rest of the hockey season.
The Calder Cup run has made this season last a thousand years. Normally, it’s what I live for, but I’ve let my Dash obsession wear me down. Tonight’s game six in the final round with Boston. We’re two games away from winning, hence Coach’s early as fuck impromptu practice. He’s pissed at us for being extra during the last game. It doesn’t help that there’s trouble in Jack-and-Mercy paradise.
I’d like to help, but I have my own issues. All the extra testosterone from these high-octane games is going straight to my dick, and guess who it wants? Pair that with the fact that I’ve been celibate all season. So long as celibate includes my hand—my hand doesn’t count as a person, does it? Anyway, it’s been me and my hand since the off-season.
I’ve participated in the limited socials Coach Meyer allowed this season, but it was for show. I didn’t sleep with anyone, didn’t take anyone home. I’m serious about Dash, even if he doesn’t know it yet. I’m not interested in anyone but him.
There’s just one problem. I’m still a man. My cock’s demanding something. Anything. It’s playing fucking mind tricks on me. Everything Dash does on the ice is sexy as fuck. Things that shouldn’t be sexy like practicing puck handling control, backhand to forehand, and between the legs drills. Backhand skating should not look that erotic.
I’m panting like a dog by the end of practice, and it’s not just the exhaustion. I need him in a way that supersedes rationality.
We’re not there yet, though. We’re so far from there, it’s laughable. All this time, I thought anything I did could give the wrong signals. Now that I want to give those signals, the end goal seems chasms away.
Maybe it’s time to take things up a notch.
As soon as we stumble in the door from practice, Casey, Jack, and Dirk are hellbent on a long nap. My libido hasn’t diminished in the least. If anything, practice was just one long edging session for me. Have these boxers always been this tight? And the rubbing—god, the rubbing. Sweat-soaked cotton teasing my cock just enough to send a current through my groin.
I’ve got to get a fucking grip, and out of these clothes.
“You gonna sleep too, sweetheart? Or would you be interested in a shower? To, uh, to save water,” I tack on at the end. That’s gotta be obvious without saying it, yeah? Dirk says it to him all the time, though, so he might not take me seriously.
Dash smirks. “Sure, Stace.”
“If you two are saving water, make sure it’s clean in there afterward, eh?” Jack says.
Oops. Guess he wasn’t quite out of hearing range yet. Fuck it. Jack can think what he wants to. It’s not like I’m gonna go from nothing to suddenly railing him in the shower, but Jack watches too much porn and probably thinks that’s exactly what’s about to happen.
Circling Dash’s wrist, I drag him with me to the bathroom.
It’s not the first time we’ve showered together. We’re dudes on the same hockey team. I don’t always wait till we get home and often use the showers at the rink. He’s washed my back, I’ve washed his. But this is the first time since my personal green light.
But fuck, am I a douchebag to think it’s okay to do this just because I’ve finally decided we’re good to go on more? I take a breath. There’s only one way to find out. Casey’s right. I can’t spend the rest of my life wondering “what if”. I know they’re words he stole from Coach Meyer, but they’re true.
Besides, this is really gonna be just a shower with maybe a little extra caressing—if he’s okay with it. I’m not gonna suddenly attack him with my dick.
Although, attacking him with my dick is what I’m craving. What I’ve been craving for a thousand years.
I let him undress himself beside me, even though I would have loved to have been the one to pull the sweat-dampened clothes from his body. I work on my own clothes with the tingle of gooseflesh lighting up my skin, and that feeling that someone’s watching me. Is he?
I spin, hoping to catch him. That would work well for me here. Give me the added confidence I need. His back’s to me when I turn around, though. My heart sinks. His lack of interest isn’t helping, but maybe that’s because he thinks I don’t want him to be interested?
