Page 17 of The Poster Boy
As much as I loved home ice, traveling to other venues and playing in different cities was something I loved just as much. The energy in different arenas, the crowds, the fact that we seemed to have fans in every city.
When we got our gear, Boone took his hat off and zipped it into his hockey bag. He only wore it during flights. Hockey players were weird and superstitious, and Boone’s airplane hat was one of his quirks.
I hated to admit that Myers cleaned up nice. I tried not to look at the way his suit fit the curve of his ass as he bent and reached for his bag. But I knew what that ass looked like under those pants. I knew what those shoulders looked like bare and covered in soap. I hated that I knew because I couldn’t unsee it.
Sometimes I’d chance a hookup. There were plenty of guys who’d do a hockey player on the down low. Even a couple other hockey players who weren’t like Myers, out in the public and hounded by the press.
Because my attention had been on Myers, I’d almost missed the clamoring throng of his fans, all of them with cameras and questions about how he liked his new team. Even though he’d answered that question to other news outlets and wanna-be journalists. But Myers was always all too happy to smile for the cameras.
He stopped in front of the little scrum of reporters momentarily. They were still peppering him with questions when the last of the bags hit the carousel. Coach O’Neil had to go pry him away from his adoring fan club so we could get on the bus.
“He’s such a pain in the ass,” I said to Boone, knowing he would likely chew me out for it but not caring.
Myers tossed a look over his shoulder, and I swear I saw his smile falter before he turned away.
Next to me, Boone shook his head. “You’re a real asshole, Jay. Cut the kid a break, will you? It’s not his fault how shit went down, and he’s just trying to make the best of a bad situation. Whatever your issue is with him, it’s stupid. Let it go.” He put his hand on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze to show me that while he might think I was an asshole—I was—that he still liked me.
“Okay. Fine. You win. I’ll let it go.”
“Good boy.”
He ruffled my hair because I’m not the only one capable of being an asshole. We got on the bus, and I took my seat next to him, thankful that we were in the front and I’d seen Myers closer to the back, and I wouldn’t have to look at him all the way to the Saddledome.
Chapter 9
Marek
I’d never had an easy time with people disliking me when I was a kid, and it hadn’t really gotten any easier as I got older. The only difference now was that most of the time I was too busy to give much of a shit what people thought of me. But Jay fucking Brookbank wouldn’t cut me a single break. He’d hated me from the minute I met him, probably long before then, and I was tired of the way he glared at me when he didn’t think I was looking.
I avoided him in the dressing room, as much as you can avoid someone anyway. He’d stopped glaring at me, though. Now he wouldn’t look at me at all. Which was fine.
I stuffed my feet in my skates and crammed my anger down to the pit of my stomach where it would fester as I sat on the bench all night. No big deal. So Jay hated me. So what? It wasn’t like he was the first person. But he was important to the team. Even though he was grumpy and standoffish, the other guys respected him. Jay Brookbank was one of the hardest working defensemen in the league. When he wasn’t in the penalty box, he was a demon on the ice. Satan in a suit.
Damn, he’d looked good. There was no denying that. I had a weakness for a good-looking man in a suit. And Jay was smoking hot. His slightly crooked nose and healing lip from a fight he’d gotten into on the ice at our last game only added to his appeal.
Andrew stuck close to me during our warm-up skate. He threw a couple chirps my way when I stretched my muscles.
“You goalies amaze me. So bendy.” Andrew leaned a little closer so he could talk a little quieter. “I bet your boyfriend likes that.”
“Boyfriend? What boyfriend?” My love life had been shit before the whole hooking-up-with-a-celebrity fiasco, and I’d stayed firmly out of the game ever since. I’d deleted all my hookup apps and concentrated on playing hockey and showing up for interviews wherever my manager told me to.
“Come on, a good-looking guy like you? I bet you have guys lined up around the block.”
I shot Andrew a half smile. “Yeah, I have to beat them off with a stick.”
“If you’re beating them off with sticks, no wonder you’re still single.”
I stopped what I was doing and stared at Andrew for a good long second. “That was fucking terrible.”
He grinned at me. “I know.”
Coach herded us off the ice after that and back to the dressing room. Fans had filled the seats, and I’d seen another row with rainbow flags in the stands. Whatever bullshit I’d gone through with Clark, being traded, and other players hating me for no reason, the fans made it worth it.
That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt to know that Jay hatedme. I didn’t like being hated. I didn’t think anyone did. But it was an itch under my skin. Because I wanted him to look at me but not glare. I wanted his attention because I always found the worst possible man to have a crush on. And I’d crushed on Jay long before I was traded.
Everyone took their place on the bench. Laughter surrounded me, but I wasn’t part of it. The team was nice to me, but so far the only person I felt was my actual friend on the team was Andrew. Boone did a good job at being captain and keeping his friendship with Jay separate from his role as team leader, but no matter how nice he was to me, he was still very much Jay’s friend.
Coach O’Neil came in and blew his whistle, shutting the whole locker room up with one quick, shrill burst.
