Page 48 of Shiver
My legs have already slowed their revolutions as I listen to this conversation. As if this is a precursor for what I’m facing in the days to come, my heart stutters hard.
“This isn’t really the point of my excitement, man,” Caulder says. Glancing at him, I see the faint flush on his cheeks. He picks up his bottle of water and chugs half of it.
“No, it’s not,” Valenti says, grinning. “Sorry for the distractions. That’s fucking awesome news. Congrats.”
“I’m stupidly jealous. My agent isn’t nearly as big as Rigo,” Jipson says, huffing a sigh. He pushes off the machine and wanders to the back of the room as Valenti turns back to his weights.
Caulder looks at me, his expression guarded now. My smile is forced, something I’m sure he sees. “Sorry,” I tell him. “I think it’s great. He’s made magic happen with Ryan in spite of the haters. He’s going to find you a fucking awesome contract, man.”
He nods, but I can see that the excitement that he’d been radiating simmered, giving way to something closed. His eyes darken as he slips from the bike. “Thanks, Egon.”
I watch as he disappears into the locker room. For a minute, I let him go, but there’s a nagging need to follow him. Plucking my water bottle from the ground, I trail behind and find him sitting on the bench with his eyes closed. He’s taken off his shirt and I’m left looking at a slim body of hard, sexy muscles.
Rolling my eyes, I drop next to him. Once, I might have admired his muscles but not for a reason that has anything having to do with whether or not they’re attractive.
Brushing the thoughts aside, I bump my shoulder with his. “What’s wrong?”
“This is what it’s going to be like when I say who my agent is, huh?” he asks.
“That’s not a bad thing for your agent to be known for, Haines.”
“It’s not. And with a company called Pride Sports, I happen to know that they represent a whole lot of gay players in pro sports. I just labeled myself without confirming or denying shit.”
“I—” Words fail me as I consider what he’s saying. “I’ve honestly never paid much attention to a player’s sex life,” I tell him.
Caulder snorts. “Good. That’s not what’s important.”
“Then you also shouldn’t worry about it,” I tell him. “Who cares what people think of you?”
His sigh is long. His shoulders fall and he drops his gaze. “It’s not that easy, you know. Even if you’re only semi-pro, the press and social media are filled with vultures. Anything that they can spin into a story, true or not, they will. I was so excited to have one of the most impressive agents in the industry, it hadn’t occurred to me what I’d just subjected myself to on speculation alone. That’s not the kind of attention I want.”
Is it ironic that these were thoughts that had been recently playing through my head and now the conversation is placed before me? A little too serendipitous for my liking.
I wrap my arm over his shoulders and give him a half hug. “Relax, Haines. All that matters right now is celebrating your success. Forget all the rest for now. As you pointed out, Rigo is one of the most highly sought agents in pro sports. And he wants you! That’s fucking incredible, man.”
As I hoped he would, he smiles at me. “Thanks, Egon.”
The team begins piling into the locker room. Caulder’s news is spread around and as the reception to it should have been initially, it’s with excitement instead of questions about the gay players he represents. By the time we spill out onto the ice, he’s grinning.
I’m surprised that a part of me is jealous. Besides a couple times in junior high, I’ve never dreamed of going pro. That had never been my goal. The only reason I concentrated so hard on becoming good at hockey was in hopes of receiving a hockey scholarship. My parents were barely able to provide me with the gear to play. Most of it I received secondhand or loaned from the athletic department at my high school.
They couldn’t pay for my college, so I needed to find a way to do it on my own. My sole goal from the moment I realized this at 16 was pouring everything I was into hockey while still maintaining decent grades. More than anything, I needed the scholarship. I’d had it all worked up in my head that life would be easy sailing from there.
Obviously, I hadn’t taken into account that college courses were going to kick my ass eventually. It was no longer enough to be kickass at hockey. I needed to be more than the star on the ice. I also needed to be book smart. For a while there, I doubted I was smart at all when everything sounded like a foreign language.
We spend most of practice playing three-on-three scrimmages. The arena is filled with blades scratching ice, sticks slapping pucks, and our good-natured banter as we push each other over and over again.
When Coach releases us, I stand under the shower, listening to my teammates still talking to Caulder about his signing. He’s getting the accolades he deserves now. He’s a fucking great wingman, and I know he’ll go pro. Might have to play the AHL for a year or two but he’ll get there. And he’ll be a damn big name. I’m sure of it.
No one seems to be in a hurry to leave. They are still joking and throwing tape around as we dress and shoot the shit. But I’m not wasting time. I have a hot grad student to get to and beg for him to touch me. Plead for his hot lips around my dick.
“Wolf,” Jipson calls as I’m exiting the player’s entrance door. I turn to look at him. He and a handful of others spill out. I continue to walk backward as I wait for him to say whatever he needs to. “Coming out to celebrate Haines tonight?”
I raise a brow as I pause.
He rolls his eyes at me. “Honestly, man. I wasn’t raining on his parade. Echinnak was literallyjustin the news, and Rigo was by his side. Name association. That’s all.”
“I’ll celebrate with Haines later. I need to study.”
