Page 45 of Fresh Ice
“You kind of do, what?”
“Do this again? I know you said you only wanted to try it once, but it’s good, right?”
Alonso opened his mouth, but nothing came out of it. A part of him had been begging to hear those words, but another… “I don’t want this to affect our friendship, or our hockey. And last time you said it wouldn’t, but then you got all weird.”
“No, I know, but that was more the surprise than anything. I mean, I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want. If this is too much, or you don’t want to do it again, obviously that’s totally fine. But I think I can handle it. If you can.”
Alonso chewed on a nail as he thought. He didn’t understand why Levy wanted to sleep with him when he had so many options available. Why complicate things when Levy could have sex with an Omega that wasn’t on the team?
But…that wasn’t the case for Alonso. And as much as he hated the idea of Levy just doing this for him, it was hard to reject something he wanted so desperately.
And it was Levy who was asking, not Alonso. That had to mean he wanted it at least physically.
“Okay,” Alonso agreed quietly.
Levy flinched, startled. “Okay? You wanna…”
“Yeah. I mean. If you want to.”
Levy took a deep breath, chest expanding with it, broad shoulders rising and then dropping down. Alonso watched him carefully, searching for signs of reticence or regret, but there was a smile curling onto Levy’s face.
“Okay,” Levy repeated. “It’s a deal.”
Alonso nodded even as his heart started racing.
God, what had he gotten himself into?
**********
It just…kept happening.
Despite what they had agreed to, Alonso hadn’t believed either one of them would dare to initiate anything else. The kiss in the hotel room had been so abrupt—happening without any discernible catalyst—that Alonso couldn’t see how it would happen again.
But it just…did.
When Alonso sat and thought about it, he would have to say that the adrenaline of games played a big part, especially after losses. That buzzing feeling that kept Alonso’s legs moving on the ice would find an outlet in victory. In defeat, however, it turned into an angry hornet’s nest desperate for release.
Apparently, the perfect release was Levy.
“That was bullshit,” Alonso complained as he kicked off his shoes in the entryway of their apartment. It was already February, and the team was sinking quickly in the standings. At this point, it would take a miracle to get them into the playoffs.
Levy growled. “That fucking trip.”
“I’m fine, Levs. Let it go,” Alonso urged. He’d been blatantly hooked around the knees right in front of a ref with no penalty called, and Levy hadn’t stopped talking about it since the second period.
“I know you’re fine, but it was still ridiculous,” Levy grumbled.
Alonso sighed, collapsing onto the couch. He was starving but didn’t have enough energy to get up and make some food. “I hate doing press with Gabby. The questions he gets…”
“That doofus from the Williamsburg Times…what’s that fucker even doing in our locker room? Go bother the Cats, you ass,” Levy complained.
Alonso snorted. Honestly, it was nice to see this side of Levy—the part of him that seemed to feel safe enough to be cranky instead of singularly optimistic.
Alonso made his voice high-pitched, mocking the reporter. “‘In your opinion, what does it mean to be the captain of a constantly failing franchise?’ I mean, come on? What does that even mean?”
“Gabby’s a million times better at his job than that idiot is at his, and yet he gets to stand there and bullshit his way through the presser. It’s ridiculous.”
Alonso shook his head. “I don’t know if I want to get on the exercise bike for half an hour or go to sleep for three years.” He groaned, not taking note of the long silence that followed until Levy broke it.
