Page 14 of Breakaway Goals
He’d even looked away from Jacob, like once he’d made his peace offering, the guy didn’t even matter.
“I’m telling you, it’s nice to have those magic hands directed at the other goal instead of at me,” Jacob said, gesturing towards Hayes.
“No kidding,” Bram said. “That fucking pass?”
“I thought the goal was way better than the pass,” Hayes said quietly.
Morgan chuckled. “You would.”
“Monty’s got no ego, it’s kind of ridiculous,” Danny teased, ruffling Hayes’ hair, still damp from his post-game shower. Hayes resisted the urge to fix it, because what did it matter how shitty it looked? These were teammates, not potential hookups.
“That’s cute, too,” Calvin said, but his tone was affectionate.
Hayes wasn’t particularly happy with the adjective they kept settling on, but what did it matter? He wasn’t trying to be sexy for these guys. He never wanted any of them to want him—or for him to want them in return. He’d smartly kept his sex life far, far away from hockey.
“I still wanna know how you knew Mo was there,” Noah said.
Hayes shrugged. “I knew I had to go to someone else. They were about to converge on me and I couldn’t keep the puck. I could pass it to Danny or send it to Mo. And I thought if I made a move—Mo’s been around a long time. I had to assume he’d figure out what I was doing.”
“Aw,” Danny said, wrapping a big arm around Hayes’ shoulders. “I’d have figured it out, Monty.”
“Ten seconds too late,” Hayes pointed out sweetly.
Danny just laughed. Hecouldbe an asshole, no question about it, but considering his rep, Hayes was surprised at how little ego he really had.
“Yeah, probably,” he agreed.
The whole table didn’t stick together very long. Calvin and Noah went to the bar to get something stronger than beer. Danny left to talk to Walter, one of the defensive guys at the other table. Even Bram and Jacob found a quiet corner to chat in, leaving just Morgan and Hayes in the booth.
Hayes shifted awkwardly on the bench seat as Morgan finished his beer and then pushed the bottle aside.
“I meant it, you know,” Morgan said, turning to him.
Hayes wanted him to meanallof it—the compliments to his game, the entreaties, the looks, and that strange, unexpected heat that had bloomed between them in that empty hallway.
But he had a feeling he knew what Morgan meant.
“It was a good pass, but a sick goal,” Hayes argued. “You didn’t eventhinkbefore you shot it.”
“If I’d waited, they’d have been on me and blocked the angle,” Morgan said matter-of-factly. “Sometimes hockey is about thinking, but sometimes you gotta just take the shot.”
Morgan’s gaze was knowing and warm on Hayes’ face. “Like you did,” he continued. “You made the play. Didn’t overthink it. Or worry about making it happen. Or what might happen if you didn’t.”
“Yeah.” That was true. He’d shed all that bullshit like a snake shed its skin. Left it behind and refused to let himself pick it up again.
“You don’t usually worry about that shit,” Morgan stated, didn’t ask, as he slumped farther into the booth, arm lifting to the top of the cushion. There was still a good few feet between them. But even though they weren’t touching, Hayes swore he could feel the heat from Morgan’s touch.
“How do you know that?” Hayes asked, only to be contrary. Yeah, Morgan might be kind of an asshole, but what was most annoying about him was that smug certainty he wore like a cloak.
Morgan shot him a look. “Because you don’t. You know what you’re capable of and you do it, regularly. When we play each other. When I watch other games. But you froze today.”
Ugh, Hayes didn’t want Morgan to bring up the jerking off theory again.
It had been humiliating enough the first time.
“It’s not you,” Hayes claimed.
Morgan’s eyebrow rose. “No?”
