Page 73 of Role Model

“Off the top of my head, and remember, it is very early in the morning here, but you could donate to charities that help victims of sexual assault. You could use your social media to promote those organizations, and to provide general support for victims.”

“Okay. Yeah, I could do that.” Troy was getting excited. “What else?”

“Pay closer attention. I was with your father for nearly thirty years, so I know all about seeing someone through rose-tinted glasses and overlooking bad behavior. I’m more careful about who I spend time with now.”

Troy hoped he was already ahead of the game on that one. “I’ve made some new friends here. Kinda. Good guys. Better guys.”

“You can be friends with women, too, Troy. Don’t forget that.”

Troy flushed. “I know. I’m just around men mostly.”

“That might be something worth changing.”

It seemed easier said than done since Troy wasn’t even great at making friends with his teammates, but it was something to consider. He’d add it to his homework list. “All right.”

“It sounds like you’re feeling better already.”

“I am. Thanks.” He decided to end the call before he started crying on a public beach. “I’ve gotta go. I love you.”

“I love you too. I’m proud of you.”

“Bye, Mom.”

He sat with everything Mom had suggested to him for a few minutes. He’d never been afraid of putting in hard work when it came to improving himself physically. It was time to be brave about improving the rest of him.

Harris was a professional, first and foremost, and he would never use his access to the team as an opportunity to ogle NHL stars.

But.

He was, at that moment, on a beach surrounded by very fit, very attractive hockey players, most of whom were only wearing swimming trunks. It wasn’t terrible.

The beach excursion had proven to be more popular than the IHOP breakfast, and there were about a dozen members of the Ottawa Centaurs gathered on the sand in a loud and happy cluster. It was nice to hear them laughing, and to see them looking almost relaxed.

Harris was one of the only ones wearing a shirt, but it was a tank top, so he felt practically naked. He was tossing a Frisbee with Bood and Dykstra, which was a physical activity he was actually good at.

He’d engaged in another physical activity he was good at last night, so he was on a real fitness kick lately. Practically a decathlete.

He’d been trying to go about his day as a normal guy who’d been forced to face his own mortality, and not a guy who had faced his own mortality and then gotten off with Troy Barrett. It was difficult because he kept hearing the way Troy had gasped his name. The way he’d gently stroked Harris’s wrist. Those first careful, precious kisses to the back of Harris’s neck.

And, whoops. He missed the Frisbee.

“My fault.” He jogged after the Frisbee, which had landed a few yards behind him. He picked it up, and when he stood he spotted something that nearly made him drop it back in the sand.

Troy Barrett. Shirtless and sweaty. Walking toward Harris.

“Oh. Hey,” Troy said, when he got close. He glanced around at his frolicking teammates. “What’s going on? Beach party?”

“Beach,” Harris said faintly. It was the best he could manage. He hadn’t actually seen Troy bare-chested in person before and, wow. It was a whole experience.

His gaze traveled over Troy’s wide chest with its smooth, sculpted pecs and dark nipples, down to the ridges of his six-pack abs and the dark trail of hair that disappeared into the waistband of his shorts.

Troy looked toward the ocean. “I should take a dip. I’m a mess.”

“Yeah.” There was sand clinging to Troy’s glistening skin, on his thighs and calves, on his forearms. There was some on his neck. Harris knew that, in practice, it would be awful, but he really wanted to lick it all off.

Then Troy was removing his socks and sneakers, leaving them in a pile with the T-shirt he removed from his waistband. “Wanna come?”

“Uh.” The waves looked really inviting, and Harris couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten to swim in an ocean, but he also didn’t want to take his shirt off.

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