This is so stupid.
Those four words are stuck on repeat inside my brain as I pace the hall near the locker room’s back entrance. I’ve been waiting for Oakley for twenty minutes now, and now I’m wondering if he agreed to meet me and then ditched out because it’d be funny.
Newsflash, it’s not.
He was still in there after I’d showered, though. Talking to Coach in his office. So there’s still a chance he’s being kept by whatever they need to discuss. So I keep waiting for another half an hour before he finally appears from the locker room.
He glances up, and the curious yet weary expression on his face lets me know he wasn’t expecting me to still be hanging around this late.
“Wow, you’re still here,” he muses before brushing right past me toward the exit.
“I told you we needed to talk,” I say, falling in step right beside him.
“So talk.”
Be nice. If you bite his head off, he’ll never even consider it.
It would be a lot easier to say if I knew he was actually listening. Looking me in the eye to know just how serious I’m being about this, no matter how crazy it might sound.
Grabbing his arm before he reaches the set of double doors to the parking lot, I drag him in the other direction.
“What the—”
“Somewhere private,” I hiss, pulling him down a deserted hallway leading to who knows where. But we’re sure as hell less likely to be overheard by some random person down here than by the main exit.
Once we’re about halfway down the vacant corridor, I come to a halt and face him.
“Private enough for you?” he asks, a fair amount of snark in his tone.
My jaw ticks, another bolt of irritation zapping through me, and I realize this will be a lot more difficult than I thought. Maybe even impossible with the way we constantly take digs at each other.
Plus, I don’t know how to broach this other than blurting my theory out and hoping for the best. Which, with my track record, won’t do much good.
“God, this is insane,” I mutter more to myself than him.
He shifts, leaning back against the wall, and I look up to find a frown line creasing his forehead. “Not exactly the way you wanna lead into something, de Haas.”
“We need to start hooking up more.”
I wince at the words tumbling out of my mouth in a spectacular display of word vomit before I have the chance to figure out the right way to phrase it. And believe me, I’ve spent every minute since he walked into the weight room this morning trying to piece my thoughts together well enough to pitch this idea to Oakley.
And this was not the execution I was hoping for.
Fucking smooth. How can he resist that offer?
Oakley blinks a couple times, studying my face. I do my best not to let my confidence falter under his stare, but it’s hard not to feel completely transparent right about now.
After a few more seconds of watching me, he smirks and shakes his head. “You almost had me there, de Haas.”
Well, fuck. I’d imagined him laughing in my face, but because he thought the idea was as insane as it truly is. Or because he can’t stand me on my best day.
But I never imagined he’d think the offer was anything less than genuine. It kind of pisses me off.
“I’m not kidding about this. It wasn’t exactly the way I planned to ask you, but I guess—”
“Hold the fucking phone,” he says, cutting me off with a raise of his hand. “What happened to our agreement about this never happened?”
I close my eyes and sigh. “I agreed at the time. But it was before we won our first game all season.”
The confusion written in his expression lifts, and I see the second he realizes what I’m clearly struggling to put into words. “You think…us hooking up has something to do with us winning?”
Yeah, I do.
“I’m not exactly sure,” I hedge, sinking my teeth into my lip. “All I know is we were looking like the Bad News Bears of hockey until then. You and I were on two completely different pages on and off the ice, and I swear some of those guys were playing like it was the first time they’d ever held a stick. And then the bathroom happened and everything’s suddenly taken a complete one-eighty.”
He’s silent for a second before coming back with, “What happened wouldn’t contribute to the way everyone else is playing.”
“No, but the way we play would,” I point out. “You know as well as I do, when one person on the line is having an off game, the rest of us feel the effect too. Well, you and I were having an off season until I wrapped my lips around your dick. Completely out of sync on the ice, and the rest of the guys notice shit like that.”
He scoffs out a laugh. “So that automatically means we just keep doing it? Fucking around? Sucking each other off in semi-public places until the season is over?”
“Yeah, I guess it does.”
“You’re delusional.”
My teeth sink into my cheek to keep from snapping back at him, but it still doesn’t keep the iciness out of my tone.
“No, Reed. I’m superstitious. Just like plenty of the guys on the team are. Like you are,” I remind him. “We hooked up the night before a game, then we won. For the first time all season, we tasted victory. And you and I both know you don’t fuck around with what’s working when it comes to routine before games. So that’s why I think we need to keep doing it.”
A long, awful silence falls over us as Oakley continues to stare at me like I’ve grown two heads and he doesn’t know which he wants to chop off first. That alone tells me this is a lost cause, and I’ll just have to find a new way to keep playing well the rest of the season.
I know when to cut my losses, and I can tell this is one of those times.
Running my hand through my hair, I sigh. “Look, it’s fine. Just forget I said anything, okay? I knew the chances of you saying yes were slim, so let’s just…” I trail off with a shake of my head. “Let’s just stick with this never fucking happened.”
I make a move to turn and walk away—already trying to figure out if there’s some other way to keep my game going well without my off-the-wall idea about Oakley and I jumping into bed together—when a firm grip on my wrist halts me.
He doesn’t use any force to stop me, doesn’t even tighten his hold on me. Like he knows the heat of his skin touching mine is more than enough to keep me here. I fucking wish it wasn’t, but it’s like tasting him the other night was the key to awakening this stupid, hot, achy feeling I get around him.
When I turn and meet his gaze, I catch a glimpse of something similar written in his expression. Just not enough of it to completely erase the wariness also present.
He narrows his eyes at me into near slits. “You’re being serious.”
I blink, nodding once. “Superstitions are pretty much the only thing I take as seriously as hockey. And this could be my last season. Yours too. I just wanna come out on top.”
Or bottom. If he’d prefer it that way.
He gives me a measured look, then lets out a short laugh of disbelief. “You have to understand, this is the craziest thing I’ve ever heard. Especially when we”—he motions between us—“basically hate each other.”
That’s putting it mildly.
“I wouldn’t say hate,” I object, weighing my words. “More like severely dislike.”
“Because that’s so much better,” he mutters, releasing me and crossing his arms.
I shrug. “Who knows. Could be fun.”
A whole lotta naked fun, to be exact.
“I think we have different definitions of fun, de Haas.” He pauses, another laugh bubbling out of him before turning into an uncomfortable cough. “And also, it might not really be my place, but I…I thought you were straight.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say I am, but something inside makes me rethink it. Holds me back from saying the words that have defined my sexuality for the last almost twenty-two years of my life. Now, they seem inaccurate. Yet, so does saying I’m anything else.
I shake my head, a low chuckle slipping past my lips at this ridiculous situation I’ve found myself in. Of course it’d be him—the one person I generally can’t stand on my best day—that my dick would have to suddenly take an interest in. Or be the reason we played like all-stars this past weekend.
Better to be honest, I guess.
“I, uh…” I clear my throat, not sure how to put this into words. “I thought so too. But now, I guess I’m not so sure.”
I’m surprised to find his eyes actually soften around the edges, if even for a split second. Almost like he gets it, not knowing where I stand with my attraction toward men.
Some people might know from the start where they fall in terms of sexuality. The label comes as easy as breathing, and there’s no point in second-guessing it. Not everyone has that luck, though, and the understanding in his eyes screams he’s been here before.
And despite all the animosity still flowing between us, I feel a weird sort of kinship with him forming because of it. Which only has me hoping he might not think this is as crazy as it sounds.
That he might say yes.
“Fucking hell, man.” He blows out a harsh breath. “I’m gonna regret ever saying this, but I enjoyed you, ah, servicing me at the frat house. It was great—”
I snort. “Servicing? Is this the 1950s, or are you just too afraid to say I sucked you off?”
Ignoring my jab, he continues like I never even spoke.
“—but there’s more to this whole proposition of yours than you’ve taken into account. It’s a recipe for disaster, for one, and breaks just about every rule I put in place for myself.”
My skin tingles at the thought of getting Oakley to let loose. It might be even more fun than digging under his skin.
“Rules are made to be broken,” I remind him, earning a glare in return. One that says he’s still uncertain of my asinine idea.
“You would see it that way, but I don’t.” Oakley crosses his arms before leaning back against the wall behind him again. “I don’t fuck around with teammates, de Haas. Or baby bi’s. Too messy for my tastes. And seeing as our relationship is already a shit storm…”
He lets the thought hang in the air between us, adding to the stifling awkwardness already clouding the hall.
As much as I hate admitting it, I get it. The two of us together is probably equivalent to throwing a ticking time bomb down on center ice and expecting it not to blow the whole arena to smithereens.
I’m still brimming with irritation even as I stare at him, silently begging him to say yes.
Doesn’t stop me from wanting him to say it though.
“Your points are valid, and while I respect them, this is bigger than just you and me.”
One dark brow lifts, the corner of his mouth quirking into a smile. “Why am I not surprised you aren’t taking no for an answer?”
Because my brain refuses to register the word. It’s not in my damn programming. Which is something I’m sure Oakley’s had to have noticed in the years we’ve known each other.
Just like I know him well enough to realize I’m never gonna live this shit down. He might not be mad or popping off at me for suggesting this, but I know he’ll use this as ammo in what’s sure to be another six months of torment, bickering, and fights between the two of us.
Remember the time you tried to hit on me and I said no?
I can hear it now.
But if there’s one thing I can count on, it’s that he wouldn’t do it publicly. He’d never out someone. He’s a dickish asshole, but he’s not fucking heartless.
I scratch my neck before mirroring his pose against the wall opposite him. “You and I both know this could go sideways and blow up in our faces. I guess I just figured what’s the harm in trying? If we hook up and keep winning, it’s a literal win-win situation. Getting off and getting the W.”
“And losing every ounce of self-respect I have by sleeping with you.”
So that’s what this is about? That’s why he’s so leery of this?
My blood flares at his dig, and I have half a mind to call him on his bullshit about not fucking around with teammates or baby bi’s, when really, I’m the issue. I’d bet if I was any other guy on the team offering this up, he’d jump at the chance.
I grit my teeth and rein in the temper fighting to break free. “You didn’t seem to care too much when I was on my knees for you the other night.”
He rubs his thumb over his bottom lip and smirks. “Call it a lapse in judgment.”
Goddamnit.
I can’t help the glare I aim his way. “Still the best blowjob you’ve ever had if I had to bet my last dollar on it. I’d double down and say it was the hardest you’ve ever come too.”
His grin only widens. “The answer’s still no.”
Fucking hell.
Pushing off the wall, I close the distance between us until I’m standing right in front of him. My hands land on either side of his shoulders, flattening against the wall as I look him dead in the eye, and press in close enough so our thighs brush against each other.
That’s all it takes—that tiny bit of contact—to get the first waver in his resolve.
A sharp inhale causes his pecs to brush against mine, and even through the thin fabric of our shirts, the heat from his skin still sets my entire body on fire.
And in his eyes, I see it. Exactly what I’m feeling.
Want. Need. Desire.
Lust.
It’s all plain as day in those deep brown irises.
My voice comes out grated when I ask, “You sure about that?”
Oakley’s head sinks back against the wall behind him, and I catch the subtle shake of his head. But I also notice the thrumming pulse in his throat and feel his heart racing against my chest, both of which tell another story.
Then there’s the way his cock is thickening in his jeans against mine, and I’m pleased to find what he’s claiming is nothing but a lie.
Knowing he’s as affected by my proximity as I am by his is exhilarating. Intoxicating, even. It makes me want more.
More what? I’m not entirely sure.
More of his time? His attention? The look in his eyes he’s giving me right now?
Maybe just more of this feeling humming in my veins.
“Not even for the good of the team? To get to the Frozen Four? To hold that trophy over our heads and bring home a championship I know we both want? Because that’s what’s at stake right now, Reed.”
His teeth sink into his pouty, pink lower lip, and damn if my dick doesn’t take notice too.
Calm the fuck down. He hasn’t said yes yet.
But those three letters are right there. I know it. They’re sitting on the tip of his damn tongue, so close, I can almost taste them.
If there’s anything Oakley and I can agree on, it’s that this team is one of the most important things in our lives. It might be for different reasons and we might have different goals down the line, but those things don’t matter right now. What we should be worried about is the next game. Then the one after. And each and every one until we’re holding that trophy over our heads.
Which is more than possible. The only thing needing to happen for us to get there is Oakley saying one simple word.
Yes.
I’m fucking sure of it.
I need to get him there. To see things from my point of view, and going off our track record, I’m gonna need every weapon in my arsenal to get through to him.
My tongue darts out, and Oakley’s eyes track it as I wet my lips.
Say yes, Reed. C’mon.
I lean in even closer. As close as I dare.
“I can tell you’re frustrated. Believe me, I am too. You drive me fucking insane, and most of the time, not in a good way. But what better way than to work it out on each other? I’ll even let you go first. Whatever you want.” I run my lips over the pulse point on his throat, just below his jaw as I work my way over to his ear. “I bet you’d like to fuck my face, for real this time. And you can. I’ll get down on my knees for you, here and now, if you say yes.”
My mouth glides along his skin until it hovers against his lips, only a sliver of air separating us. Still too far apart, but close enough to brush when I whisper, “Just say yes, Oak.”
His breath comes out hot against my lips, in harsh pants, like he’s just run a marathon. I feel the same, but also keyed up and ready to go. Ready for him and whatever he’s willing to give me. Which I’m hoping starts with him closing the gap between his lips and mine.
When he grabs the back of my neck, I’m sure he’s about to do just that.
But instead, he uses the grip to switch our positions, pushing me back against the wall. Crowding into me the way I was him, overwhelming me with his presence. And something about the way he just man-handled me…makes me itch for another taste of him. Has my blood humming with need and want like I’ve never felt before.
He doesn’t even have to roll his hips into me for me to feel his cock rubbing against mine, and it makes me want to get both of us naked. Fast.
But as soon as it’s there—the heat and friction I’m desperately seeking—it’s gone.
In its place is a bucket of cold water delivered by the man I now wish I didn’t lust after.
“Not happening, de Haas,” he mutters, leaning back to meet my gaze before stepping back. “Not in this fucking lifetime.”
