Him (Him #1)(70)

“I do?” I’m dumbfounded. A part of me hadn’t expected Pat to actually come through for me.

“It’s an assistant coach position, defensive coordinator for a major juniors team, so you’d be working with kids ages sixteen to twenty. The interview is just a formality, though. The league was highly impressed with your level of experience.”

Well, goddamn. I guess all those years of coaching here at Elites are coming in handy.

“I…” I don’t know what to say. But then I realize there’s an important question to address. “If I’m in Toronto with…” I clear my throat. I’m not ashamed; it’s just that I’ve never had any practice talking about this. “What if there are other men like Mr. Killfeather?”

Pat yanks a piece of paper from his shirt pocket. “This is the league’s anti-discrimination policy. I looked it up. Everything is, uh, covered.”

I skim the words on the page. The league has pledged not to discriminate on the basis of race, religion, creed or sexual orientation.

“That’s…helpful,” I say, and Pat grins. “July twenty-eighth, huh?” Shit. That’s next week, and three days before I report to Detroit. If I report to Detroit. The thought of showing up at training camp grows less and less appealing the closer it gets to the date.

Do I want to play in the pros?

Or do I want to help young, talented kids get to the pros?

“Braddock needs an answer by the end of the week,” Pat tells me. “They had another candidate they were considering, so if you decide not to interview for the gig, they’ll most likely give it to him.”

My mind is still reeling, indecision surging through me. I should really talk to Wes before I do anything. He made it more than clear he won’t be dating anyone when he’s in Toronto. He told me to go to Detroit.

So yeah, I need to talk to him before I make any decisions.

But I have a sinking feeling I know exactly what he’s going to say.





33





Wes





Canning is acting weird. He barely said a word during dinner, and then he vetoed my suggestion about catching a movie in town, saying he just wanted to go back to the room.

As we climb the dormitory steps in silence, I wish I knew what was going on in that sexy head of his. He doesn’t seem angry, or even upset. More like worried, which is so unlike Jamie it worries me.

“So what did Pat want to talk to you about earlier?” I’m trying to make conversation, but my question has the opposite effect.

“Just some coaching stuff,” he answers. And then he clams up again.

I smother a sigh and follow him up to the second floor, admiring the way his faded jeans hug his ass. We’ve been in shorts and flip-flops all summer, but it’s surprisingly cool out tonight, so now I get to experience Jamie in jeans. He looks f*cking spectacular.

“Wanna watch something on your laptop?” I ask as I enter our room. “Cassel sent me this hilarious video of—”

His lips are on mine before I can finish that sentence.

Jamie pushes me up against the door and jams his tongue in my mouth, and I instinctively kiss him back despite the WTF bells going off in my head. He grips my waist and grinds his lower body against mine, groaning roughly.

Jesus Christ. I’m not sure where this sudden onslaught of passion came from, but my dick sure appreciates it. After a minute or two, I’m an iron spike behind my zipper. Jamie notices, and his hands are almost frantic as he fumbles for the button of my jeans.

“Owe you a blowjob,” he mumbles.

Right. The shootout. I’d forgotten about the prize. Not that it matters, seeing as we blow each other regularly without needing a shootout to justify it.

He tugs my pants and boxers down my hips, sinking to his knees with damn near desperation. The alarms in my head blare louder.

“Hey.” I thread my fingers through his hair to still his frenzied movements. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing yet.” He licks the head of my cock, and I see stars. “But I’m hoping this will get into me pretty soon.”

Then he takes my entire length in his mouth, proving without a doubt he’s picked up a few new tricks this summer. He can deep-throat like a champ now, and normally I’m all over that.

Tonight, something feels off.

His urgency thickens the air. I lean back against our door and try to give myself over to him, but in spite of his magic mouth, I can’t quite focus. Slipping a hand under his chin, I urge him upward. “Come here.”

Jamie gives one more good suck, which I feel down to my toes. When he stands, I turn us around so his back is to the door. Cupping his chin in both hands, I examine his gorgeous face. His cheeks are flushed, and his big brown eyes are full of some emotion I can’t quite read.

I’m going to find out what’s up, but first I kiss him. Once. Twice. “Canning,” I whisper. “We don’t f*ck until you tell me what’s on your mind.”

His eyes drop. “I might coach next year,” he says, his voice hoarse.

“Really?” That’s an idea I didn’t know he’d considered. Depending on the job, it might be an interesting solution to his goalie woes. Though a part of me still thinks he’d be nuts to throw away a professional hockey career. “Where?”