PUCK LOVE

LANE HAYES

Copyright © 2025 by Lane Hayes

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This book is a work of fiction. Places, names, characters and events are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, or persons, living or deceased, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

Cover Design by Sleepy Fox Studio

Cover content is for illustrative purposes only. Any person depicted on the cover is a model.

Editing by Flat Earth - Hope Vincent

Proof Editing - Lyrical Lines, Mildred Jordan

*This book is intended for a mature audience.

Two rivals, one secret, and a shot at forever…

Jake

Favorite things and peeps: hockey, family, friends.

Least favorite person in the entire history of the universe: Mason Trinsky.

I have my reasons, but since you’re curious, Trinsky is a showboat and a loudmouth. Sure, he’s a great athlete. Good for him. I accept that we have mutual friends, and I grudgingly accept that he’ll be a coach at Elmwood Junior Camp this summer—however, I plan to keep my distance.

Of course, some wise guy pairs us up for a camping expedition, and everything that can go wrong does go wrong.

Guess who I’m stuck with?

Trinsky

Favorite things and peeps: hockey, surfing, and my kid brother

Least favorite person in the entire history of the universe: Jake Milligan

Look, I might be in the minority, but if you ask me, Jake is a nitpicking diva who wants everything his way. I hope my NHL team crushes his, and this summer, I want my campers to out-prank his. Childish? Nah, it’s all in good fun.

Until it starts to feel…complicated. I shouldn’t care if he’s happy, should I? I don’t want to be Jake’s friend. I don’t want to have feelings for him at all.

The only thing that matters is hockey. It's all about the puck. Not love.

Or is it?

Puck Love is an MM bisexual, small-town romance featuring hockey’s hottest rivals, a hiking trip gone wrong, and a shot at forever…

Trinsky’s brother, Eddie, is loosely based on our dear friend and neighbor.

We love you, Lulu!

Your smile lights up every room. Your easy confidence and open heart inspire everyone lucky enough to know you. We’re so grateful to be part of your life.

1

JAKE

“Love your enemies, for they tell you your faults.”— Benjamin Franklin

Hockey wasn’t complicated. It required mad skills on the ice, strategic thinking, and a high tolerance for pain. But the rules were simple:

Get the puck.

Protect the puck.

Drill the puck into the net.

Repeat.

Unfortunately, I had no idea where the puck was. In my defense, it was hard to see with blood dripping into my eye. At least it hadn’t run down my cheek yet, so I had that going for me. Time was ticking, though, and we needed a goal…like, now.

The familiar scrape of sticks, grunts, and juvenile taunts echoed on the ice as my guys jockeyed for dominance. It was a fierce battle to eke out a win before playoffs. Both teams were going, but we needed this W more than the Condors. They’d had a great season and by all accounts, they’d stayed healthy. We were another story.

My team was counting on me to make something happen, but damn it, my head was pounding in my skull and my ribs hurt from LaMarche’s brutal body check. His minutes in the sin bin hadn’t done us any good. We’d missed four shots on goal and had spent the majority of the power play getting outskated by Denver’s superstars, Mellon and Trinsky. Ugh.

Here’s the thing…I’d known Denny Mellon for years, and I loved him like a brother. Not only did he live up to the hype of being one of the greatest to ever play the game, but he was genuinely a good person who used his celebrity to help underprivileged kids, to fund scholarships, and to speak out about mental health issues and his journey as an LGBTQ athlete. He was impressive and completely down-to-earth.

Mason Trinsky, on the other hand, was just a fucking asshole.

No, he was worse. Trinsky was a conceited dickwad with more confidence than sense. He played dirty and mean and had the audacity to laugh off hits like a seasoned fighter while his opponents limped to safety. Trinsky was a forward who played like a D-man. He was rough and single-minded in his determination to do whatever necessary to win.

According to Smitty, my dad’s husband, who happened to be a former AHL pro, I would have liked Trinsky if we’d been on the same team.

I seriously doubted it.

“You okay, Milligan?” Sergei asked in a heavy Russian accent, bumping my shoulder as he signaled for me to cover him.

I grunted. This wasn’t a great time to admit that my chest ached and the boo-boo near my eye might require stitches. That could wait, and at least the refs hadn’t noticed yet. Puck first.

We just had to outmaneuver Denver’s defense to get to Trinsky, who was currently on a mad dash toward our blue line. Sergei and I were fast skaters, so catching up to him wasn’t the issue. Trinsky’s quick reflexes and the fact that he always seemed to suss out impending danger worked to his advantage. It was as if his radar were tuned in to my frequency.

Danger danger, Jake Milligan is closing in. Right flank, two seconds to impact.

Boom! Trinsky passed to Mellon, who deked around our big guy, Madsen, leaving him in a cloud of dust, cartoon-style. Boston converged on Mellon, squeezing him out. That was it, play killed. But no, not Denny. He created an opening out of thin air and pulled a disappearing act that would have made Houdini proud.

There was no one to stop him now. It was Denny against our goalie. And yeah, Ace was good, but Denny was better.

Unless…I stopped him. All I had to do was shake Trinsky and cut Mellon off from behind.

I bolted forward at full speed, blinking wildly as my vision blurred. Get the puck, get the puck. I was close now. Blood rushed in my head, pounding in my ears. I cocked my stick, angled my hips, and⁠—

Trinsky cut me off with a simple hip check. Not hard or even dirty by his standards, but it slowed me down. “Yo, not so fast, Jakey.”

“Fuck yourself.” I growled in frustration, regained my footing, and hurried after Denny.

But Trinsky was glued to my side now, yapping away. Don’t ask me what he said—it was a mix of gibberish and smack talk.

“Dude, what’s up with you? My kid brother skates faster than you. Someone pissed in your Cheerios, huh? I fuckin’ hate Cheerios. Do you like ’em?”

Denny slowed as he neared the goal, stick poised and ready. Ace was in position, but I had one last chance. I darted left, away from Trinsky, but somehow ended up flying in the opposite direction. And I do mean flying.

I hit the boards with a thump and keeled like a rag doll.

Half a beat later, Denny scored.

The arena erupted—lights flashed, music blared, and raucous fans cheered wildly for their hometown heroes.

I sucked in a pained gulp of air and slowly rose, bracing one hand on my knee. Yeah, yeah, I was fine. Totally fine.

“You okay, Milligan?” someone asked.

The voice was warbled and sounded sort of far away. Not a good sign, but I wasn’t worried. I needed to sit for a minute and do something about my eye. Pronto.

“He’s fine.”

I glanced sideways and frowned. “What the fuck are you doing? Get away from me, asshole.”

Trinsky mirrored my pose, hunched over, hands on knees, his thick brow knit in confusion or triumph…I couldn’t tell which.

“Well…what’s the verdict? Do you like Cheerios or not?”

I growled. “You’re a fucking idiot, Trinsky.”

“Maybe. But I’m an idiot with one more point on the ol’ scoreboard and I—oh, shit.” His handsome face faded out of focus. “You’re bleedin’, dude.”

“I’m not bleeding,” I huffed under my breath, pushing away from Trinsky and the wall.

I skated to my bench, flopped into the corner, and gingerly unfastened my helmet. Blood coated my fingers and dripped onto my jersey. Shit, it was a mess.

I was a mess. I was beat up, bruised, and probably out for the rest of the game. I gritted my teeth in frustration.

Fuck, I felt old. A few scrapes and a cheap shot or ten never used to slow me down, but this was becoming a recurring theme. I hadn’t played my best today…or last night or during the previous game. To be perfectly honest, it was freaking me out. Was this the beginning of the end? It couldn’t be. I wasn’t ready to retire.

I was only thirty-two, and yeah, in hockey years, that was practically ancient, but Trinsky was older, and I refused to retire before that asshat. No way. Not happening.

I had to dig deep and fix whatever was wrong with me and—I froze, bent over my skates, my head throbbing. Shit. Had I really referred to Trinsky as “handsome” in my head?

Ew. What the actual fuck?

I shot a surreptitious glance at the ice and spotted Trinsky battling for the puck on the opposite side of the rink. He had broad shoulders, muscular thighs, and under all that gear, the guy was covered in tattoos. I was your garden-variety closeted bi guy, but Trinsky wasn’t my type. It was a personality thing…in that he had a terrible one. He was pompous, pigheaded, and he loved the sound of his voice.

God, I hated that fucker.

So if my subconscious had accidentally put him in the “handsome” column, that was just another sign that I was off my game, off my rocker, just…off.

I untied my laces and sat up in time to see Trinsky wrestle the puck free and pass it to Mellon, who sped away and charged for our goal…again. I bit the inside of my cheek hard, willing my teammates to rally and do something—anything.

Maurice, our trainer, hustled toward me with a towel and a compress. “Are you dizzy or light-headed?”

“No, it’s just a cut,” I replied absently, my gaze locked on Trinsky.

He was graceful for a big man, but no, he was not handsome. His jaw was too square, his eyes were a weird shade of green, and he couldn’t seem to commit to a beard, so he was always scruffy. And had I mentioned that the guy loved being the center of attention? Because that could not be emphasized enough. Trinsky had the funniest jokes, knew the best restaurants, and had supersized opinions about everything from jock straps to grape jelly.

Trust me, I didn’t want to know this much about someone as irritating as Trinsky, but I didn’t have a choice. We both volunteered at Elmwood’s junior camp.

And let me be clear, Elmwood was my hometown. I’d grown up in the Four Forest area and had been there when Vinnie Kiminski and his best friend, Ronnie, had launched the international hockey camp in our little area of Vermont. I’d been one of the first kids to attend and who could legitimately claim to have been coached by some of the most talented athletes in the sport.

Trinsky was just an opportunistic punk and a⁠—

“You need stitches.”

I jolted. I was so deep into my Trinsky spiral that I’d forgotten about my eye. “Oh. Right.”

Maurice motioned for me to follow him. This was usually where I’d argue that a Band-Aid would work, but I needed space or whatever it took to get Trinsky off my brain.

What was wrong with me?

The press debated the same thing.

I fiddled with the button on my suit coat and pasted a smile on my face for the barrage of reporters waiting for me after the game, microphones primed and ready.

“How are you feeling, Jake?”

“There’s speculation that you might have sustained another concussion. Is that true?”

“Is your eye okay? Looks like you have a few stitches.”

Cameras clicked and flashed. It was claustrophobic in the corridor, but as much as I would have loved to elbow my way to the exit, this was part of my job.

“I’m fine, no concussion.” I chuckled when someone yelled, “Hallelujah!” and added, “My eye is fine. It was just a small cut.”

Total lie. The gash over my left brow had required ten stitches and was already turning blue and yellow.

“Your team has taken a few hits recently. Do you think Boston is playoff ready?”

“Of course.” I was lying again. “We have three games till the end of the regular season, and I know there won’t be much of a chance to rest, but we’re aware of the stakes and we’ll work hard.”

“Denver is looking like the team to beat in the postseason. Mellon is leading the league in scoring, and Trinsky isn’t far behind him. Do you think Boston can handle them?”

I scoffed derisively at the mere idea…even though Denver had literally just kicked our asses. “Yeah, absolutely.”

I flashed a cocky grin that tugged at my new stitches and made my head ache, then hiked my bag on my shoulder and strode for the exit. Security manned the doors, where fans hovered waiting for autographs. I scribbled my name and posed for a few selfies, high-fiving and fist-bumping anyone interested.

Side note: no matter how shaky and beat up I felt, I made time for the fans. Sometimes I still couldn’t believe I got paid an obscene amount of money to play hockey and that I actually had fans who wanted to meet me. I loved the game as much as they did, and I didn’t take a single second of this ride for granted.

But every once in a while, you ran into an asshole or two.

“Yo, Milligan, Trinsky kicked your butt out there,” someone called from the shadows.

“Trinsky’s a beast!”

The urge to flip them off was strong, but I was stronger. I smiled, waved, and let all the bullshit slide like water off a duck’s back.

Denver fans were generally pretty cool to me, which I figured had to do with my connection to Mellon, but I was still a member of the visiting team.

And okay…fine. I’d never exactly hidden my disdain for Trinsky. No, I hadn’t shouted “He’s a fucker” from the rooftops—I just hadn’t denied or downplayed my deep and powerful aversion to the guy.

Somewhere along the line, the media had noticed and some smartass looking for a headline had dubbed us archrivals. It was a conniving ploy to sell tickets, if you asked me.

I wouldn’t give Trinsky a title or label of any kind. To do so would indicate that I gave him a second thought off the ice, and that was a thousand percent false.

Like tonight. The moment I got to my hotel, Mason Trinsky would cease to exist…until the next game.

Or until my little brother brought his name up.

Nathan’s nose scrunched on the screen, so close I could see the light smattering of freckles on his cheeks. “Your face is purple. Dad said Trinsky did it.”

“I’m gonna yell at him for smashing your eye in next time I see him,” Charlotte added primly, her sweet face popping up as she pushed Nathan aside.

“I don’t think it was Trinsky this time. It was La Marche.”

“Does it hurt?” she asked.

I propped my laptop on a pillow and leaned against the cushioned headboard, amused by their earnest expressions. “A little. Thanks for looking out for me, guys.”

“Mwah! I have to go. Daddy’s calling me.” Charlotte blew me a kiss, her dark hair flowing around her as she spun away.

Nathan sniffed, brushing his forearm across his nose. I could hear our dad telling him to use a tissue and Charlotte negotiating bath time with Smitty while Ella chattered in the background. My heart squeezed with a rogue wave of homesickness that made my chest hurt. That was odd.

Don’t get me wrong, I loved my family, but I saw them regularly. Dad and Smitty brought the kids to my games, and whenever I had a few free days during the season, I made the trip from Boston to Elmwood to visit. It gave me a chance to see friends, play with my siblings, and just…chill.

It was good to remind myself that I had a life outside of hockey and people who didn’t care about my stats. Like my goofy little buddy swiveling on a barstool at the kitchen island. Geez, I could practically smell Dad’s homemade marinara and the musty scent of a houseful of dogs and kids. I missed it.

“Let’s see the damage.” Smitty popped into the screen, narrowing his gaze thoughtfully. “How many stitches?”

“Ten.”

“His eye is purple…and blue,” my little brother reported, jumping off his stool, gesturing wildly with his arms. “Want to see my new improved karate kick, Jake? Take that!”

Nathan was a nine-year-old ball of perpetual motion with dark hair, olive skin, and boundless energy who’d recently decided he wanted to be a black belt…like tomorrow. Apparently, that involved a lot of freestyle lunges and hand motions.

“That’s awesome.”

“I could teach you. This will work on La Marche. Hi-yah!”

I chuckled as my stepdad slipped into parental mode.

“Settle down, buddy. We’re not doing karate on anyone. You’re up for a bath next, so⁠—”

“I don’t need a bath,” Nathan groaned as only a truly put-upon fourth-grader could.

Smitty sniffed the air around his son and widened his eyes comically. “Yeah, you do. No sass. Get to it. Papa’s in charge.”

Nathan looked as if he were about to argue, but Smitty’s stern dad energy must have been on point. “Fine. I’ll go, but I don’t want to.”

“Understood. Say good-bye to Jake.”

“Bye, Jake. Love you!”

I swallowed hard and waved. “I love you, buddy.”

“That kid cracks me up.” Smitty grinned like a besotted idiot, stifling a yawn as he focused on me. “Sorry. I was up all night with Ella.”

I frowned. “What’s wrong with Ells?”

“She’s doing better today, but she’s had the flu. Fever, chills, the whole nine yards. I was trying to give your dad a break ’cause he’s been getting up with her and…fuck, I’m tired. He said to tell you he’ll call you back in fifteen minutes.”

By the way, my dad married Elmwood High’s hockey coach and former AHL defensive star, Smitty Paluchek, soon after I’d signed on with Boston, and they’d since adopted three children, Nathan, Charlotte, and Ella. My siblings were nine, seven, and four years old. Kind of strange but super cool.

I’d grown up an only child who’d been shuffled between my divorced parents’ houses every week, so even though I was in my thirties now, this whole “big happy family with oodles of kids” situation was the greatest thing ever.

My mom and dad had been amazing, supportive parents who’d thankfully stayed friends and had gone out of their way to put me first. I had no complaints, but I had to admit, it had been lonely sometimes. I’d always wanted a brother or a sister. Now I had three, and I loved it.

I was the human jungle gym and the adult in the room who always said yes. I brought home treats from the road. Little things like T-shirts, stuffed animals, and coloring books that somehow made me look like a hero. Dad assured me that I was the main draw and that there was no need to ply them with gifts. Maybe so, but I didn’t have anyone else to do things for and…I liked spoiling them rotten.

“Okay, that’s cool. Give Ells a kiss for me and tell her I said I hope she feels better. I’m gonna watch sports highlights and—” I squinted at my screen. “What’s up? You just made a weird face.”

Smitty scrubbed his hand over his mouth and shrugged. “I take it you didn’t see Trinsky’s postgame interview yet.”

“Grr. What did he say?” I reached for the remote and scrolled to ESPN. I muted the commercial and refocused on Smitty.

“Don’t get worked up,” he cautioned. “It’s a little of that rivalry soundbite the press loves and the fans eat up like chicken dinos dipped in ketchup.”

I snorted in spite of the edgy gnawing sensation in my gut. “Chicken dinos?”

“Don’t knock ’em. Those things are tasty.”

“I remember loving them when I was…five. Aren’t you kind of old to be snacking on kid food?”

Smitty snickered. “Nope. I’m a dad. It’s my ticket to reacquaint myself with all the classics in the frozen section. Corn dogs, ice cream sandwiches, Lucky Charms…”

I scoffed. “No way does my dad allow Lucky Charms in the house. Way too much sugar and a—oh, hang on. Trinsky’s mug just popped up.”

Smitty sobered into serious-stepdad-slash-coach mode. “Hey, Jake, let it go. No stewing in negative energy.”

“Yeah, I won’t,” I agreed, averting my gaze to the irritating fucker on the hotel television screen. “Later, Smitty. Tell Dad to call me when he can.”

I disconnected the FaceTime call and adjusted the volume on the TV just as the reporter tipped her mic toward the grinning tattooed asshole rocking a postgame designer suit and slicked-back hair.

“Congratulations on your win tonight. It was a tight game in the second period, but you managed to keep Boston’s scorers contained.”

Trinsky nodded. “We did. I’m proud of our guys. It was a tough game.”

The reporter inclined her chin, her expression dead serious as she continued. “Boston struggled to get through your defense, Jake Milligan in particular. You two had a few terse moments on the ice. Can you tell us about it?”

“Meh, nothing out of the ordinary. He got in my lane, and I removed him.”

“It looked as if Milligan was injured or⁠—”

“Or maybe he’s slowing down. He had a tough time keeping up tonight, eh?” Trinsky flashed a cocky smile and oh, my God—did he really just tell the whole damn country I was slow?

That absolute, total piece of shit.

The reporter’s eyes gleamed. She’d gotten what she’d been looking for without having to dig too deep to get it. “I know you’re rivals with an interesting history, but what do you think about⁠—”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t think about Milligan at all. The Condors are going to the playoffs, and we’re gonna do our best to keep winning for our fans. The greatest fans in the whole bleep league!”

The reporter chuckled and sent the broadcast to the three sports analysts behind the desk in a studio somewhere in Atlanta.

And this was where I should have turned off the TV. I was no fucking rookie. I was well aware of the press’s habit of making heroes and villains on a whim.

In my early twenties, I was their darling. I could do no wrong. I was tough, I was quick, I was agile. The year I turned thirty, they began looking for cracks in my armor. And no, that wasn’t paranoia speaking. It was reality. You could be referred to as a seasoned pro one year, then inexplicably fall into the category of “nearing retirement” the next.

Riley Thoreau, an Elmwood coach who’d retired from the NHL a dozen or so years ago, had cautioned me to block out the noise.

“They’ll announce your final season after every boggled play, whether or not it was your fault. Roll with it, man. Show, don’t tell. They’ll make up their own stories to sell viewing time either way. Doesn’t matter if it’s true. The only thing that’s real is your game.”

Riley was right. But the days my game faltered sucked. I hated losing and having nothing but sore ribs and ten new stitches for my troubles.

What I hated even more was being compared to the one human on the planet I despised. And I guaranteed it was coming in three, two, one…

“Trinsky had a phenomenal game with multiple assists and a goal. He was a powerhouse on the ice and as he mentioned, Jake Milligan was slow,” the smarmy announcer commented in an almost bored tone.

His cohost nodded in agreement. “Milligan’s frustration was palpable. You could tell Trinsky and La Marche had broken through his legendary cool veneer, and that’s not something we’re used to seeing in Boston’s veteran. I know he’s only thirty-two, but is this the beginning of the end?”

My heart sank to my stomach. Turn it off, Jake. Turn it the fuck off.

“Let’s not get hasty,” a third host chided, slapping a hand on the circular desk they shared. “Milligan’s got a few years in him for sure.”

“Maybe, but look at Trinsky. They’re roughly the same age, but he’s playing better. We’ll have to see. The real question is…which team looks good enough to go all the way? My vote is Denver.”

“Denver all the way.”

“Denver, for sure. They’ve got Mellon and Trinsky and without a totally focused and healthy Milligan, Boston has problems.”

I changed the station and muted the sound, staring blankly at the wall behind the flat-screen. My body hurt, my head hurt, and all I could think was… Fuck.

Just…fuck.

Fuck the reporters, fuck the fucking Condors, and most of all, fuck Mason Trinsky.

2

TRINSKY

Game seven of the Stanley Cup.

We were tied two apiece, one minute and fifty seconds on the clock. The roof of the arena was rattling. Denver’s fans wanted this win as much as we did. Sure, Ontario was good, but we were better. One more lamplighter to seal the deal.

Denny glided along the perimeter, the puck glued to the edge of his stick. He was pure ice, no expression on his face. His focus was laser sharp as he signaled for me to shift. This was it.

I skated into the lane, took the puck to mid-rink, and passed it to Minorsk. I closed in, creating a screen while Denny moved in for the kill.

We had this. I could feel it. The Denver Condors were about to win the fucking Stanley Cup…again.

All we needed was for Minorsk to sling the puck to Mellon, who’d bury it for the fucking win. The crowd would go nuts, but we’d stay in the moment, playing keep away till the buzzer ran out.

I peeked at the clock. One minute, forty seconds, and…

And suddenly, time stopped.

I was on a cloud hovering like a ghost—here and a hundred percent present, yet blissfully above it all. How was this my life? How did I get here? Did I really belong, or was someone finally going to rat me out as an impostor?

I spotted Denny Mellon’s husband, Hank, sitting with NHL legends Vinnie Kiminski, Riley Thoreau, and their husbands, Nolan and JC. Denny’s best friend, Mary-Kate, was there too with a couple of the crew from Elmwood High. It was pretty freaking cool that so many people had made the trek from Vermont to support Denny. I couldn’t see Smitty, but I knew his high school coach had to be here too along with his husband, Bryson, and probably⁠—

Jake.

Yep, there he was. Jake fucking Milligan.

Heat and the usual rush of animosity boiled under my skin, but I quickly let it go. Hey, I could afford to be magnanimous. I was seconds away from winning the cup, not Jake. Not that I wanted to lord it over the asshole, but—okay, maybe I did.

Yeah, I’d been in his shoes a few times, and I knew it sucked to be a spectator when everything in you wanted to be on the ice.

He looked good. A golden boy with intense eyes, edgy energy, a shiny leather jacket, and⁠—

What the fuck?

I tore my gaze away, scanning the stands. La Marche’s wife was doing her signature ear-piercing whistle, Minorsk’s kids were waving their arms and jumping like kangaroos, Collaran’s dad was holding a sign. Okay, fine. I’d admit, I was a teensy, tiny bit bummed I didn’t have a cheering section of my own.

I wished Eddie were here. I wished my mom could handle big lights and noise. It would have been nice to have people I cared about show up for me. I supposed I could count the girl I’d broken up with last month, who was probably in my seats taking selfies. Not the same, but hey, the fans loved me and that was more than enough.

’Cause let’s be real, this was everything I’d ever dreamed of.

This, right here, right now. The lights, the music, the voracious fans, and the clock ticking down the final moments to victory.

It was undefinable. The best damn thing ever.

Wait.

We were still tied, and Minorsk still had the damn puck. What was he doing? I glanced at Denny and winced. Shit. He had two defenders on him now. The play was fucked. I raised my stick and motioned for Minorsk to pass to me just as Ontario’s star forward swooped in, stole the puck, and raced to our goal on a breakaway.

Ontario scored.

Fifty seconds later, it was over.

We’d fucking lost.

Here’s the thing—I wasn’t a maudlin dude. No way. Not my style.

I brought the party, I brought the fun.

Fans could count on silly on-ice shenanigans and wild stories about me in the media. I was the guy who showed up in a flashy car, wearing a sparkly designer suit no one in their right mind would be caught dead in with a gorgeous model on my arm. You know the type—blond hair to her ass, eyelashes for days, and a smile that never reached her eyes.

Was that the real me? Well…I liked attention, but I understood that flash without substance could turn you into a joke, and I was no one’s fucking joke. I could be a clown as long as I controlled the narrative.

I didn’t know how to spin the narrative of our Stanley Cup loss. For some reason, I was having a hard time grappling with major disappointment. I was usually better at finding a silver lining, but damn, I felt really fucking blue.

I’d said all the right things to the press, and I’d been pretty tame…for me. Serious, even.

“We’re bummed. We wanted this for Denver, for our fans. We fought hard and it’s tough to come up short, but we’ll be back stronger than ever next season.”

That should have been it.

But the reporter nodded her head in solemn agreement and asked, “Is there anything you wished you could have done differently?”

Oh, fuck. What a loaded question.

Yeah, I wanted to know if Ontario had out-skated us or if they’d just gotten lucky. I wanted to know if I could have slowed the play. And I wanted to know why Minorsk hadn’t passed the fucking puck.

Of course, those tapes would be analyzed to death in the days ahead. And even though I was curious about Minorsk’s timing, I’d never throw a teammate under the bus. Besides, I hadn’t forgotten that my own head had been in the clouds, daydreaming about a win that hadn’t happened and…Jake Milligan.

I mean…what the actual fuck?

I’d never admit that in a million years. No way.

Not that it mattered. I knew the truth. And it weirded me out that I remembered Jake Milligan’s leather jacket and that I’d noticed that his hair was shorter, yet I honestly couldn’t recall the moment before they’d stripped the puck from us. I’d lost a precious nanosecond on the ice because of that asshole.

Mind blown.

It might sound totally bananas, but I swore somehow, some way, that it was Jake’s fault. Like the guy had pushed a pin into a homemade voodoo doll that looked a lot like yours truly.

Too wacky a theory to voice to a reporter on live TV. Then again, Jake was someone I would happily roll under a bus.

Don’t worry. I stuck to the standard company line. We’d done everything we could, and we were disappointed that it wasn’t enough. End of story.

Except…

I couldn’t stop thinking that Jake had fucked up my win.

Random niggling thoughts popped up in the shower or while I was making coffee or running on the treadmill. Was this a curse? Had Jake messed with my mojo on purpose? Was that even possible?

Illogical, paranoid, unreasonable…yeah, yeah, on some level, I knew I was guilty of assigning blame by association or some shit, but I could not let it go. It was as if I were being haunted by someone who was alive and well.

I was supposed to be celebrating a great season, and sure…I did that, but drunk and high me hated Jake more than sober me did. That asshole had even ruined partying.

Needless to say, the seed was sown.

A week after the big L, my agent lined up an interview for me on a popular podcast hosted by two retired hockey players who’d been teammates of NHL legend Vinnie Kiminski. Fun fact: Vinnie was from the same small town in Vermont as my nemesis. Skeeter and Shawn were very familiar with Vinnie’s internationally renowned Elmwood juniors camp, and they seemed to keep track of the pros who’d coached for Vinnie and his team over the years.

Like me…and Jake.

And they knew we didn’t get along. That wasn’t a secret, but it also wasn’t newsworthy. Not everyone was your buddy, right?

Yeah, well, apparently, the key to a successful podcast was to create a story out of thin air and provoke your gullible, pot-stirring guest into saying crazy shit for the entertainment of the subscribers. And there was no one more primed and ready to deliver the goods than me.

“Take us through that last minute, Trinsky. What was going through your head?” Skeeter prompted.

I adjusted my headphones. “Score.”

They chuckled as if that were the funniest quip ever.

“No, really,” Skeeter chided. “Conference championship fifteen years ago, we were up one with two minutes to go in the third period and all I could think was, ‘I want hot chicken wings…like now.’ ”

More laughter. And this time, I joined in.

“It was bacon for me. Bacon cheeseburger, hold the onions, double fries. Maybe I was subconsciously hungry.” I waited for their bout of hilarity to pass and added, “I’m kidding. I was focused. It’s just that—nah, never mind.”

“None of that. Let it all out,” Shawn prodded.

“What was it? Milligan was in your head, huh?” Skeeter joked.

Wow, good one, Skeeter.

Just like that, I was on the ice in the final minute of that third period distracted by Jake’s hair and his jacket and—Ugh. Fuck this. You know what? They wanted a little something extra to tantalize their listeners.…I could definitely play this game.

A cartoon angel and a devil each sat on a shoulder, duking it out.

Don’t do it, Trinsky.

Oh, fuck that noise. Get it off your chest.

Guess who I listened to?

Easy decision. I didn’t want to talk about losing anymore. The goofball in me wanted to get into the spirit of things and joke around with these guys. I wanted to shake off my frustration and pent-up anger, and just have a laugh.

I eyed the veteran players across the table and leaned into my microphone.

“Okay, fine. There was this glare from the stands and it was driving me nuts. It was a laser or a beacon. I passed the puck, took a peek, and get this…” I paused, my comedic timing on point. “It turned out to be Jake Milligan’s shiny leather jacket.”

Not very funny, I know. But to a couple of hungry podcasters hoping to spin any line into a catch phrase, it was money. Skeeter and Shawn guffawed and as I’d sort of figured, they turned the shiny leather jacket moment into a saga.

“Milligan has it in for you!”

“The feud lives! Milligan scored on that one. Enemy brought down by cowhide.”

It was a tad much, but it was also vaguely humorous. And hopefully, therapeutic.

I walked out of their recording studio feeling lighter than I had in days, and the throng of fans waiting for autographs and selfies pumped me up. Losing had sucked, but it was a temporary setback. I was ready to move on.

Thank you, Jake fucking Milligan.

“Trinsky-Milligan feud is on!” –ESPN

“Denver’s charismatic forward suggests Stanley Cup subterfuge!” –The Denver Post

“Is a rival’s shiny leather jacket to blame for Denver’s loss to Ontario?” –The Hockey News

I snickered as the headlines rolled in, each one more ridiculous than the last. Hashtag Shiny Jacket was trending, some genius social media influencer made up a song that had gone viral, and my jersey was selling like hotcakes.

Jake’s was too, but…whatever.

It was goofy, and to most of the world, it was just good, clean fun.

My agent, however, couldn’t decide if I was secretly a marketing guru or a loose cannon.

“I’m popping antacids like M&M’s here, Trinsky,” Marty groused in a thick Long Island accent. “Your contract is up for renewal. Denver loves you and you wanna stay, but you’re gonna cost them a pretty penny. You gotta play nice to get everything on your wish list. There’s a posse of fresh talent coming up, and you know it. They can get two good rookies for half of what you earn.”

I scowled at my cell. “Oh, c’mon, they love me.”

“Business first, baby. Denver doesn’t like press they don’t control. You oughta know that by now. And don’t get me started on Milligan. Christ, his agent’s office has left me five messages this morning.”

“Overreact much?” I scrolled my iPad in dismay, amused and baffled, and…very aware that my silly shot might have instigated a war. Uh-oh. “It was a joke.”

“Do me a favor and give up the comedian gig. You suck at it.”

“Ouch.”

“I mean it. Go on vacation like your teammates and get out of the limelight for a few months, eh? While you’re at it, get your ex-girlfriend to quit posting shirtless pics of you in compromising poses.”

“Huh?”

“You heard me. Keep your trap shut, have a quiet summer, and let me work on your fuckin’ contract, got it?”

“Got it.”

I hung up with Marty and braved a peek at Chandra’s Instagram page.

Shit.

Sure enough, there were photos of us from last summer sprinkled in with newer selfies from after one of our games that I’d thought were harmless. We’d agreed to be friends, but friends didn’t lick each other’s tonsils and share it with the world.

Now, that might be awkward. No one wanted to have the breakup conversation twice. I wrinkled my nose and blew out an exasperated breath just as my cell vibrated.

“Denny. How’s it hangin’?”

“Low,” he answered. “Are you home?”

“Yeah, but I⁠—”

“I’m here. Buzz me in.”

A few minutes later, Denny Mellon showed up at my door in full disguise—sunglasses, ball cap, dark tee, and jeans.

“Is that really you?” I squealed like a teenage fanboy. “Denny? Denny Mellon?”

He whipped his glasses off and rolled his eyes, pushing past me into the foyer. “Fuck off.”

“Yes, sir.” I snickered as I locked the door behind him.

Sometimes the celebrity angle of our job still boggled my mind. Neither of us traveled around town with an entourage, but we had to be mindful of the possibility of being stopped by fans for selfies and autographs. If time wasn’t an issue, it was fun to meet the folks who bought our jerseys and screamed at their TV screens on our behalf.

One could argue that it was worse for Denny than me. He was the highest scorer and one of the most popular players in the NHL. He was also the youngest out-and-proud bisexual man…who also happened to be married to a man. And his husband, Hank, was a fuckin’ cowboy from Colorado. So yeah, Denver loved this guy.

The entire league did. They were bonkers for Mellon and protective of him in a way that was unprecedented. Ten years ago, a bi or gay professional athlete would have had a tougher time in the public eye. Former players who’d come out—like Vinnie Kiminski, Riley Thoreau, Court Henderson, and Smitty Paluchek—had changed the game.

No, that didn’t mean the world was suddenly rainbow friendly everywhere. I knew for a fact that Denny still dealt with his share of prejudiced dickwads, but he had the support of our team, the organization, the city, and seemingly, most of the country.

As for me, if this were a popularity contest, I’d rank number two with Condor fans. I offset Denny’s serious nature with goofy antics, and I liked to think that my unwavering support for him was a positive influence. Call me ridiculous, showy, and full of myself, but you don’t fuckin’ mess with my friend.

It wasn’t an act. I loved Denny like a second brother. He was an extremely gifted and generous athlete. He worked hard, and he expected his teammates to do the same. However, if anyone was struggling with a shot or going through a slump, Denny was the first one to step up and offer to help. His ability to score at will paired with his trademark intensity and unwavering patience made him the perfect captain.

And a great friend.

My very good friend looked like he wanted to hurt me, though. If this was about Jake⁠—

“Why is ‘Trinsky-Milligan Feud’ trending?”

Oh, come on.

“How should I⁠—”

“Nope.” Denny held up a hand, grunting as he headed toward the great room. “Don’t answer. I know this one. You’re still pissed about losing, and you thought throwing your favorite scapegoat to the wolves would be fun.”

I raked my fingers through my hair and mulled over the accusation. “Okay, fine. That sounds about right. Lighten up, Mellon. It was a joke, and the fact that it has legs at all just means it’s a really slow news cycle. Give it another hour. I betcha a baseball player will get caught making out with a porn star, and my hashtag moment will fade in the wind. Want something to drink?”

He opened his mouth as if to respond and pointed at my living area. “Did you have a party or something? Your place is a mess.”

Afternoon sunlight pierced through the open blinds, ricocheting off the hardwood floors and marble countertops, illuminating the space with a hazy sheen. The beer bottles and empty glasses covering the smudged glass coffee table kind of ruined the peaceful effect the designer had been going for. So did the pillows strewn on the floor and the topsy-turvy sofa cushions that looked as if they’d been used to construct a fort.

I liked to watch TV on the floor. Sue me. As for the bottle collection…I guessed I’d forgotten to throw those away. Hey, it happened. I supposed the debris was a jarring contrast to the sophisticated decor. A designer had asked what I liked, and all I’d been able to come up with was ocean, ice, and the color blue. She’d taken my minimal cues and transformed my condo into something straight out of a fancy magazine.

A huge comfy sectional floated on a blue-patterned rug in front of a mega flat-screen and a wall of windows with views of the river and the Rocky Mountains. It was gorgeous. As in way too nice for me. A housekeeper came by twice a week and yes, she was well compensated.

I grabbed a few empty bottles and tsked. “Hey, I don’t come into your house and gripe about how fucking clean it is all the time.”

Denny helped himself to a water bottle, shaking his head as he uncapped it. “Actually I think you do.”

“That’s ’cause it’s weird to never have a single crumb on your counter. Everyone agrees.”

I dumped the trash into the recycle bin then plucked Denny’s water from his hands and guzzled half of it…just to bug him.

“Asshole.” He punched my biceps and stepped on my foot on his way to get a replacement.

“Maybe, but⁠—”

“Hang on. I don’t care about your epically sloppy condo. We have a problem, and I need your help fixing it.”

“A problem.” I widened my eyes and flopped onto the nearest barstool. My cell flashed with an incoming call from Marty. I turned it over and gave Denny my full attention. “Sounds dramatic. This can’t be about the Hashtag Shiny Jacket moment.”

“No. Well…yes and no.” Denny leaned against the island, his expression unreadable but definitely set to serious. He was a good-looking guy with wavy raven hair and hazel eyes, and he rocked an intense vibe better than anyone I’d ever met. “Your timing sucks. I need to ask you a favor, and that little jab at Jake has just made this very fucking awkward.”

“What kind of favor?”

“We’re down a coach for the Elmwood charity camping trip. Rossman’s daughter had emergency surgery to remove her appendix yesterday. She’s going to be fine, but he doesn’t want to leave home. Totally understandable. I know you’re planning to be in LA in July to see your family before you come to Vermont for Juniors Camp, so the timing might work. I hate to ask, but⁠—”

I waved him off. “Of course I’ll do it. I love camping.”

Denny smiled. “Cool. Thank you. I’ll tell Vinnie you’re in. He’ll be relieved.”

“Well, that was easy. And now you’re going to tell me Jake will there.” I spared him an unimpressed snort. “Who cares? We successfully avoid each other every year at camp. It’s not a problem.”

“Uh…well, I don’t think it’ll be that simple to⁠—”

I scoffed. “Trust me, it is that simple. So…when do you need me?”

“This weekend.”

“That’s soon.”

“Well, the parade is on Saturday, and the coaches’ charity camping expedition starts Sunday. This is the second year of this particular fund raiser where parents and teens have an adventure with their favorite players. We’ll take them to the lake and hike the forest between Elmwood, Pinecrest, and Wood Hollow. Hank has arranged horseback riding activities too. Oh, and JC and Nolan have donated meals from the diner and limitless coffee, hot chocolates, and pastries from Ivan and Court at Rise and Grind.”

I beamed and threw my arms open. “Are you kidding me? Sign me the fuck up! I’m insulted I wasn’t on the original roster. This is so up my alley, it isn’t even funny. I’m packing my bag now and⁠—”

“Rossman’s camp partner is Jake,” Denny intercepted.

Silence.

I grimaced. “Well, switch it.”

“I can’t.”

“What do you mean? It hasn’t even happened yet. Of course you can.”

He sucked in a deep breath and exhaled theatrically. “Look, this is a publicity event too. Jake and I have the same agent…Gary McDermott, who has been trying to get a hold of your agent and⁠—”

“Why?”

“Because you and Jake at the same fund raiser with the kids and parents is nice and all, but putting you together to survive in the forest gives your feud a charitable edge. It’s good for Elmwood, good for the camp, good for the NHL, and maybe good for your careers.”

I was speechless. I sat with my mouth open for a full minute before shaking my head.

“Are you kidding? He’ll kill me. Or I’ll kill him. How is that good for the league?”

Denny shrugged. “Hey, this isn’t my idea. But…it’s sort of my fault that it snowballed into a media circus.”

“How? What did you do?”

He bit his lower lip sheepishly. “Vinnie told me about Rossman, and I suggested you. I didn’t realize he was paired with Jake. Vinnie laughed and said it would be a bloodbath. And great for business. He contacted McD, who’s his old agent too…and the rest is history. I’m here to give you the heads-up. Obviously, you can decline, but…McD will probably find a way to make that into a social media win for Jake. I’m assuming your agent will agree that it’s a good move too. Talk to him, and let me know what you decide.”

I rubbed my hand over my scruffy jaw.

“Bonding with the enemy for publicity. This is like a bad episode of Survivor in the making.”

Denny quirked a brow. “If it’s a hard pass for you, I can make some calls and find a replacement.”

“Yeah, right.” I snorted derisively. “I get the impression I don’t have much of a choice.”

“You started this, dumbshit. You’re Mr. Hashtag Shiny Jacket,” he huffed, chuckling when I flipped him off. “C’mon, seventy-two hours in Elmwood isn’t so bad. You love Elmwood. And there are some good perks…Grams will make you pancakes, JC said he’d throw in complementary poutine whenever you want it, and I’ll hook you up with a private jet in and out of Burlington.”

“Grrr.”

Denny squeezed my shoulder and straightened. “I really had no clue this was a powder-keg situation. Sorry it blew up so fast. I can work on an alternate, but just…think about it and let me know soon. We’re running out of time.”

I sighed heavily. “I’ll talk to Marty.”

“Cool.”

“Hmph. If I magically end up in Elmwood this weekend, I’m gonna need stacks on stacks of pancakes and poutine out the wazoo.”

He chuckled. “That can be arranged. Thanks, Mase.”

Damn, Mellon only called me by my first name when he was at his most serious and sincere. My slight nod of acknowledgment might as well have been a loud “Okay, asshole, I’m in,” but I figured I deserved a few minutes to brood about camping with the enemy.

Talk about a head-spinner. An hour ago I’d been celebrating my Jake Milligan takedown and now…we were going to be camping buddies. Fuck. The only thing that made this wacky idea seem marginally palatable was knowing Jake would hate this a thousand times more.

Maybe a million times more.

I grinned. Good. I could work with that.

3

JAKE

Asummer breeze in Elmwood felt like a warm hug. It never got stiflingly hot or uncomfortable the way it did in bigger cities. And June was the best. There were no lines at Henderson’s Bakery or at Rise and Grind, and usually no waiting for a table at the diner. Bliss.

Of course, that would all change within a week when the hockey community descended en masse for Juniors Camp. But after six weeks of rest and relaxation, I was ready for it. In fact, I looked forward to trading the natural beauty of the Four Forest area for long days in a refrigerated rink, wrangling teenagers with big hockey dreams.

A guy could only take so much quiet, right?

I smiled at the little kids skipping around the fountain in front of Town Hall and called out a greeting to their dad, a big bald dude who was sprawled on a nearby bench, licking his ice cream cone with purpose.

“Yo, Gino! Chocolate chip?”

He raised his cone in a salute. “It’s the only way to go.”

“You know it.” I gave a thumbs-up and stopped to chat for a minute.

Gino Miller had sat one seat ahead of me in every classroom between first and eighth grade and in homeroom throughout high school, where the teachers had been determined to organize the students alphabetically. I’d liked Gino, but to be perfectly honest, I’d hated sitting next to him. You know that kid who always peeked at your test and wanted to know if he could copy your homework? Yeah…that was Gino.

We were friendly but never besties. I hadn’t been cool enough then, and I totally understood. Gino had been the funniest kid in class—charming, self-effacing, and quick with a comeback or a believable excuse for why he hadn’t turned in a math assignment. Comparatively speaking, I’d been…serious.

There was no way I’d have forgotten my homework. And not because my parents had been overly strict. If anything, I’d been hard on myself. I’d had lofty goals, and according to my dad, the only way to make anything happen was to work for it. Dad had also been a big fan of having a backup plan.

A, I’d wanted to play hockey in the NHL. B, play hockey in the AHL. And C—a very distant C—I’d wanted to invent a revolutionary sports drink or design robots. Or…maybe look into being an astronaut.

Plans A and B came through. I’d played professional hockey for twelve seasons, had traveled the world, and…I’d even won the Stanley Cup. Greatest job ever! I loved it and I’d never regretted the time, energy, or sacrifices I’d made along the way.

However, I’d really needed time off after this past season had ended. I’d been strung out, physically beat up, mentally drained, and totally exhausted. What a difference a few weeks made.

Seriously.

Six weeks ago, I would have tipped my ball cap in a wimpy greeting and hurried on, hoping to avoid unwanted conversation with former classmates I’d fallen out of touch with. Like Gino. He’d married the head cheerleader at Pinecrest High, had three children, and had never lived anywhere outside of the Four Forest area. We had less in common now than we had twenty years ago.

Not only was I single, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been on a real date. And kids definitely weren’t on my radar. But Gino was a nice guy, his kids were cute, the sun was shining, and I was in a great mood for no reason in particular.

He told me about the new pizza his kids wanted to debut on the menu this summer. Something with piles of pepperoni and Ritz crackers. I snickered at his horrified expression.

“Disgusting, am I right?” He shook his head in mock despair.

“Very. But I think Nathan would be all over that.” True statement. My little brother liked anything on pizza…as long as it wasn’t green.

Gino narrowed his eyes. “Why do I think Nathan gave Tommy that bright idea?”

I chuckled, raising my hands in surrender as I stepped aside. “Take that up with Smitty and my dad. Later. I’m gonna grab something to eat at the diner and⁠—”

“Yeah, I saw your big-shot manager roll into town in a sweet convertible. Put in a good word for my nephew, Emmett. He’ll be a senior in the fall and…you know Emmett. He’s got a killer snap shot. It might not get him into the NHL, but if he had the right agent, anything could happen.”

Oh…right. I’d almost forgotten that some folks thought I had secret special insider info to fast-track anyone with a smidge of talent into the pros.

I didn’t, but I gave a thumbs-up, and froze.

“Wait. My agent?”

Gino brushed his meaty palms on his shorts and stood, inclining his chin in the general direction of the diner. “I think that was him. Mr. Slick, hair combed back, fancy suit, shiny shoes…”

“Sounds like McD. See ya, Gino.”

I checked my messages as I continued up Main Street. My social media feed had been filled with crap about my shiny leather jacket sabotage for days. Fucking Trinsky. Most of it was good-natured ribbing, but there were always a few superfans looking for a scapegoat, so the “Milligan sucks” campaign hadn’t really surprised me.

But I’d wondered what had possessed Trinsky to throw my name out during a podcast fluff piece. Sure, we kind of famously didn’t get along, but blaming his lack of concentration at a pivotal game seven on a spectator—you know, the guy snacking on popcorn next to his kid brother and sisters—was a stretch.

What a fucknut.

My agent, McD, had forwarded the headlines with a question mark. I’d responded with an eye-roll emoji. No reply necessary in my opinion. It was immature baiting by an overgrown child publicly pouting ’cause he’d lost. End of story.

Or so I’d thought.

The next day, McD had followed up with a few ideas on how we could use the attention in the media to our advantage. I wasn’t interested. Trinsky was an idiot, and I had no intention of purposely hitching my wagon to his. Was that the right expression?

Not important. I actively avoided Trinsky whenever possible, and I saw no reason to change my policy now.

McD had agreed…which meant he probably wasn’t in Elmwood to see me. He might have business with Denny or maybe Vinnie or—nope…still weird. I made that guy a lot of money. Out of common courtesy alone, McD always let me know if he was coming by even if he was here for someone else.

I pushed the glimmer of irritation aside, determined not to let bullshit I couldn’t control ruin my day. Not today, Satan.

Elmwood was decked to the nines in preparation for tomorrow’s parade for Denny. A Welcome Home banner hung across Main Street, a huge poster of him was plastered on the side of the rink and on the brick façade of the high school, his jersey and number were painted on storefronts, and most of the businesses in town would rename their specials after Denny or offer discounts in his honor.

Pretty cool. My season hadn’t been anywhere near as thrilling as Denny’s, but Elmwood had gone all out for me last month too. The banner, the parade…JC and Nolan had even renamed the diner Jake’s Joint for the day.

I felt undeserving, but no one here agreed. Elmwood was a hockey town that celebrated our famous and semi-famous athletes with hometown-style gratitude. And I had to admit that while the parade and the royalty-for-a-few-days perks were a sweet tradition, the incredible show of support went a long way to healing the sting of loss.

Denny would appreciate this too. Even if it was a bit over-the-top, I mused, snickering at the advert for Denny’s donut holes in the bakery window. Geez, I bet he’d always hoped to have a donut hole named after him.

I waved to Mrs. Turnbull, my third grade teacher. I slapped high fives with a couple of teenagers who played for Smitty on Elmwood High’s hockey team, then crossed the street to the diner and held the door open for my little sister’s best friend, Maggie, and her mom.

Maggie showed me the picture she’d drawn of a hippo, gave me her lunch order and messages for Ella. “Tell her I got pink sneakers. Tell her my headband matches my top. Tell her my dog ate my sock.”

“You got it. See you soon, Maggie.” I fist-bumped the five-year-old chatterbox and said good-bye to her mom, who just happened to be married to the girl I’d taken to prom our senior year.

Small world. God, I loved this place.

Good mood restored, I stepped inside the diner, smiling at the usual welcoming cacophony. A few fist bumps and handshakes later, I said hi to JC at the counter and made my way to a corner table by the window where McD sat with Vinnie Kiminski and Ronnie Moore.

Vinnie was a handsome big guy in his late forties with broad shoulders and dark hair threaded with silver. He’d been a wrecking ball on the ice in his time, and he still looked kind of fierce. Ronnie, on the other hand, was short, heavyset, bald, and had a perpetually sunny disposition. They were polar opposites looks-wise, but the very best of friends, co-owners of Elmwood Rink and Juniors’ Camp, and brothers-in-law.

Vinnie was married to Nolan Moore, who co-owned the diner and a couple of other restaurants in the Four Forest area with JC Bouchard, a French-Canadian chef and NHL great, Riley Thoreau’s husband.

And like I said, McD had been Vinnie’s agent for decades. There was a lot of connection here, so it wasn’t odd for the three of them to share a meal by any stretch, but the number one thing hockey had taught me over the years was to trust my gut.

These three were up to something.

“Sweet, you’re here.” Vinnie scooted to the window and patted the emerald-green faux-leather-upholstered booth in invitation. “I was just about to text you.”

“What’s up?”

“Rossman is out,” Ronnie reported.

It took me a beat to remember that Rossman was my camp partner for the upcoming charity fund raiser this weekend.

Last year Rossman and I had been paired with two brothers and their three kids on a fishing and hiking adventure for two nights in a tent under the stars. On the final day, we’d met in town for a scrimmage at the El Rink. It had been a fun weekend and a lucrative one for the rink and the camp. The money we’d raised had gone toward scholarships and development programs.

“Oh.”

Vinnie flashed a lopsided smile as he shifted to face me on the bench. “Yeah, but we’ve got a backup idea.”

McD and Ronnie exchanged a look I had no hope of translating. And just like that, I was on high alert again.

I stole a fry from Vinnie’s plate and narrowed my eyes. “What are you⁠—”

A disturbance at the entrance jolted the attention of everyone in the restaurant. A twitter of recognition and a few gasps of disbelief were followed by a cheer, but before I could crane my neck to see what was going on, a group of teens pounded their fists on their table and chanted, “Trinsky! Trinsky! Trinsky!”

I swiveled on cue, my mouth open in astonishment.

No…no way.

No fucking way.

Vinnie squeezed my right arm. “Hear me out, Jake. I⁠—”

“This is a joke, right?” I scrubbed my jaw, gritting my teeth as Mason Trinsky high-fived his way into the diner, stopping to sign a napkin and chat with Mr. and Mrs. Cabot, an octogenarian couple who lived across the street from my dad’s real estate office.

I listened with half an ear to Vinnie and McD yammering about algorithms, social media frenzies, and contracts while I observed the smug jerkwad holding court like a fucking rock god.

Trinsky oozed confidence with a good-natured, laid-back vibe. He was a favorite with Denver’s fans who were amused by his showmanship and cocky persona. He was popular with the campers in the juniors program too. But I rarely interacted with Trinsky in Elmwood if I could help it. There were tons of campers and other hockey players around, and I wasn’t a glutton for punishment.

So…what the fuck was happening here?

This was my hometown, my turf, my safe space.

“Two rivals at a family camp fund raiser. Think Amazing Race. Can you see those headlines? It’s awesome, free publicity, and the timing couldn’t be sweeter. Be realistic, Jake,” McD pleaded. “You’re thirty-two going on thirty-three. Ticket sales have been down for two years. And that’s not all on you. Maybe you’re not Boston’s franchise anymore, but you’re still a high-profile star and an asset to the organization. They need you to be more visible, and this right here is a fucking softball. Hockey fans across the league will eat this up.”

“There’s got to be someone else,” I mumbled. “Anyone.”

“It’s forty-eight hours, man,” Vinnie cajoled. “You can do anything for two days.”

Could I?

I had doubts. Big doubts.

4

TRINSKY

If looks could kill, I’d be a dead man.

Right here, right now, on the floor with Xs for eyes.

Jake’s nostrils flared with barely concealed contempt that I met with an uber-congenial grin…’cause I knew it would piss him off. Maybe it wasn’t a bright move. If I was really going to be stuck with this tight-ass for a weekend, it might have been smarter to go the nonconfrontational route and maybe…just maybe…admit that my big mouth was responsible for our current “situation.”

But damn, I didn’t have it in me. Jake was snobby and too fucking perfect…a poster boy for the all-American sports hero. I wanted to wring his neck and⁠—

“No introductions needed here,” Vinnie said, flashing a friendly smile as I pulled up a chair, scooting as far from Jake as possible. “Let’s keep this short and sweet. We’ll meet the day after tomorrow at the rink. The plan is to head to the lake for a couple of early activities before hiking to the campsite. You’re with the Glandiche family—Dad, Grandpa, two fourteen-year-old twin brothers. I’ll email you the interest form they filled out, so you have a little background info.”

“Oh, and Ray Gilbert will join you too,” Ronnie added. “He’s that videographer who⁠—”

“Videographer?” Jake hissed.

“Yeah, the public will want in on the story, man.” McD spread his arms wide. “ESPN, Hockey Network, People magazine…No one knows about this yet. Ronnie and Vinnie don’t want the town overrun by curious fans just as camp is set to begin. And don’t worry about the campers. They aren’t allowed to bring their phones. All communication with the outside world is through the hockey-pro-slash-acting-counselors. You don’t have to worry about leaked conversation or unflattering videos. We’ll control the narrative.”

Vinnie tipped his chin to me. “I’m assuming you’re in since you’re here.”

Truthfully, I had a lot of questions. “Is this supposed to be entertaining? Is there a script or something? There must be. Otherwise, you’ll get a bunch of boring footage of some guys fishing. Sounds like a snooze fest.”

“The story is that you’re together. You don’t have to skinny dip or pick your nose on camera. We’ll have a few competitions, but nothing out of the ordinary. The point is to have fun.” McD’s cheerleader routine didn’t hit the mark.

At all. An awkward silence fell over the table.

Three long quiet seconds, four long quiet seconds, five long quiet seconds…

I didn’t want to be the first to speak. I’d shown up. That was my agreement. If Jake wasn’t on board…not my problem.

“Shoot, I didn’t realize it was getting late. I should go.” Ronnie waited for me to stand and gestured for me to take his place at the booth next to McD. “I told Mary-Kate I’d help her at the bookstore this afternoon. I’ll catch up with everyone tomorrow at the parade.”

More silence.

Fuck this. I motioned for McD to pass me a menu and pretended to study the burger selections. I sneaked a quick peek at Jake, who was quietly seething across the table from me, and something in me snapped. The usual I-want-to-do-whatever-it-takes-to-bug-the-shit-out-of-this-guy times ten. I hated heavy silence almost as much as I hated being ignored. So I shifted on my seat as if to cross my legs, and I kicked Jake’s shin. Hard.

“Oops. Sorry, dude.” I made a yikes face and returned to the menu. “I’ve been jonesin’ for poutine for months. Man, it’s good to be back in Elmwood. Isn’t it, Jake?”

Jake scoffed. “It was until ten minutes ago.”

Vinnie sighed. “Jake…”

“No, don’t do that. I’m in. No guilt trips necessary. I don’t pull out.”

“That’s what he said,” I quipped under my breath.

Jake delivered a reciprocal swift kick to my shin as he stood. “Fuck yourself, Trinsky.”

I bit the inside of my cheek and watched him waltz out of the diner…Mr. Calm and Collected. I should have been annoyed, right? I wasn’t, though. I was…something undetermined. Something that didn’t fit with the expected reaction to your nemesis kicking you in the shin on his way out the door. Dare I call it…giddy?

Maybe even a little horny.

Okay, weird. Let’s leave that one alone.

All I knew was that I was kind of looking forward to the weekend. Bring it.

5

TRINSKY

Iwasn’t at my best at midnight after a day of partying, but with the time difference between coasts, the only way to keep my promise to call home was to FaceTime Eddie before bed. Either that, or try him at ridiculous o’clock in the morning. Eddie wouldn’t mind. He was generally easygoing and…he was an early riser.

A bus came by my mom’s Hermosa Beach house every day at eight a.m. to pick him up for school or summer camp or whatever activities his part-time caregiver advised. Mom always offered to take him on her way to her office in Orange County, but Eddie loved the bus.

It was a sweet, familiar routine. Lou, the driver, greeted him with a secret handshake and his friends, Anthony and Sarah, always saved him a seat. They took the same route and talked about nice things, like horses, funny movies, and foods they liked.

Eddie said they had different teachers at school and they didn’t always see each other for recess, but the bus routine was set in stone. That didn’t mean Eddie wasn’t good about rolling with change. It just took him a little longer to process things and he tended to go eerily silent, content to scribble his thoughts on paper if he felt the need to communicate at all.

Like me, Mom did whatever necessary to avoid the silent treatment.

She’d even agreed to learn American Sign Language. Eddie became obsessed after he saw a movie where the characters signed. One of his instructors suggested enrolling him in a class and in a twist, my kid brother was now a signing machine. Mom had taken online lessons so they’d have alternate means of communication, and she’d talked me into learning too.

I was fucking hopeless at it. And while I hated sucking at anything, I loved making Eddie laugh.

I pasted an over-the-top grumpy growl on my mug as the giggling freckle-faced sixteen-year-old corrected my efforts.

“You do it wrong. Like this.” Eddie pointed at his chest and repeated the hand motion. “I like hockey. Now you.”

“I like hockey.”

Uproarious laughter.

Okay, I’d signed “I like monkeys,” but like I said, I was a sucker for that laugh. It squeezed my chest and made me grin like a fool. Damn, I loved this kid.

“You said monkey. Do it again.”

Ten minutes later, I’d exhausted every noun I’d learned. Plane, train, dog, cat, flower, surfboard, ocean. Eddie wouldn’t let a repeat slide, but I was also aware that teasing skirted the delicate line into impatience and frustration. I didn’t want to upset Eddie…ever.

I wanted him to be happy. Only happy. I wanted a smile on his face twenty-four-seven, and if that meant turning up the goofball meter, so be it.

On my final attempt, I did it correctly and was rewarded with Eddie’s sunniest grin. He was all cheeks with big dimples, and his eyes disappeared in crinkles of joy.

I beamed, propping my head on a pillow in Denny and Hank’s guest room. “Pretty good, eh?”

“Yes. Keep pr-pr-practicing. Now, I have to go. G-good-bye, Mason. Oh, wait. H-how was the parade? Did you like it?” he asked, pushing the fringe of his light-brown hair from his eyes.

“Yeah, it was fun. It would have been more fun if you’d been there. Maybe next year?”

“No, thank you. I’m…I’m too sh-shy,” Eddie stuttered, quickly adding, “What are you doing tomorrow?”

The kid was a master of deflection. If he didn’t want to do something, he diverted conversation like a pro.

“I’m going camping for two days.”

“Th-that will be fun.”

I smiled at his polite commentary. “Maybe. I dunno. I’ll be with strangers and a guy who doesn’t like me very much.”

Eddie frowned. “Why doesn’t he like you?”

“Well…sometimes I kid around, and he doesn’t like my jokes.”

“Oh. Could you be nicer?”

Yuck, no, was my first thought. Or maybe Fuck, no. But the mature big brother in me surfaced in the nick of time. “Yeah, I’ll try.”

Eddie grinned proudly. “Good job, Mr. Cool.”

“Mr. Cool?” I snorted at his teasing nickname for me.

“Yes, Mr. Cool.”

“Gee, thanks, buddy. Hey, I’ll see you soon. Seven more days, and I’ll be home for a whole month. Love you, Eddie.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “You are mushy.”

I threw my head back and laughed. “Maybe a little.”

He signed “I love you,” smiling his approval at my correct reciprocal hand signal. Then, as per tradition, Eddie added, “To the farthest star in the galaxy and beyond,” and disconnected the call.

I closed my laptop, staring into space for a moment as a sweet wave of good juju swept over me. Eddie was good for me. He reminded me that there were beautiful things and genuine people in the world.

And I had to admit, it was nice to know that if I forgot how to play hockey tomorrow, there’d be at least one person out there who’d still think I was a winner.

That person was not Jake Milligan.

“Where’s your hat?”

I gave him the WTF look he deserved and waggled my sunglasses. “I don’t need a hat. I’ve got shades, and what do you care if I have a hat?”

Okay, that was testy and not exactly…nice, but Christ, this guy got on my nerves.

We’d arrived at Elmwood Rink bright and early this morning for a meet and greet with our campers before we set out in vans to Lake Norman for day one on the trail. And by early, I mean really fucking early. I’d done myself a solid by grabbing an extra-large latte on the way…and by not showing up hungover.

The post-parade parties had been epic yesterday. There’d been a town barbecue in the park with wholesome activities like face-painting and ring tosses, and the diner had hosted a burger and shake bash. Later that night, there’d been a private get-together at Smitty and Bryson Milligan’s house for Denny’s family, close friends, and any Denver teammates who’d happened to be in town. Like me.

Bryson was Jake’s dad and that might have been enough to make me think twice about attending, but fuck that. In spite of the fact that he’d spawned an ass bucket, Bryson was a great guy and his husband, Smitty, was too. They regularly opened their home for pre-camp celebrations, so I’d been invited dozens of times.

It was always a good time with great food, good laughs, and lots of kids and dogs running amok. And of course, Jake and I avoided each other. Easy to do in big party situations. The only instance where I’d been forced to acknowledge the dreaded weekend ahead was when Smitty had brought it up.

“Two days in the forest on a camping expedition with teens. You’re braver than me,” he’d singsonged.

“Nah, camping is fun, man,” I’d bluffed. “You should join us…maybe take Jake’s place.”

Smitty had snickered and issued a half-joking warning to be nice. I’d promised to try. I’d woke up this morning and given myself a stern talking to. Don’t let that fucker get under your skin and if possible, be…pleasant.

But he’d nagged me about a hat and blown it. Yeah, this was going to be a long fucking two days, I mused, smacking a mosquito on my forearm.

“Welcome, campers!” Vinnie called out from a rocky ledge next to the lake.

The sun sparkled on the indigo water behind him, and a canopy of elms offered a stingy bit of shade to the father-son duo huddling nearby, hanging on Vinnie’s every word. The rest of us gathered in a semicircle, backpacks at our feet, blearily clutching our coffee cups.

It was a relatively small group: eight pro hockey players and a medley of families who’d paid for the privilege of a once-in-a-lifetime experience. We were divided into four teams—two hockey stars per family—and according to the itinerary, we’d spend day one participating in a series of competitions at the lake.

“Good morning!” a few chipper campers responded.

“I know, I know. It’s early. I was out of bed before my kids this morning…and the dogs,” Vinnie groused playfully. “Now I know you’ve been introduced to your hockey hero counselors, and we’ve been through the rules and emergency protocols a few times, but I want to remind you that this is a real live forest and not every trail is groomed or safe. There’s one ‘Elmwood expert’ on each team who’s familiar with the terrain. If you have any Elmwood-specific questions, talk to Jake Milligan, Denny Mellon, Court Henderson, and Zach Featherman…who, by the way, just signed with the Penguins. I don’t think the ink is dry on that one. Congrats, man.”

We cheered for Zach, a lanky twenty-two-year-old from Pinecrest who’d been playing for an AHL team based in Florida for a year. He’d been paired with Brick Branoff, an NHL D-man who literally resembled a brick wall. Thick all over with a shock of red hair.

Denny’s partner was Mack Jorgeson, a Swedish player for Seattle who could have been a body double for Chris Pine…only better looking. Court, a retired AHL D-man turned coach was with Jacques Michel, a French-Canadian powerhouse and one of the most popular forwards in the league…after Denny. And me.

The teams had been chosen with care. The families had donated a fuckton of money for the experience with the guarantee of small groups with top-notch athletes. On Team Trinsky-Milligan, we had David, a forty-five-year-old tech exec from California; his two sons, Michael and Milo; and his father, Howard. Six of us total…oh, and a videographer. Ray or Jay? Don’t quote me.

I finished the last of my latte and dumped the to-go cup into a nearby trash bin while Vinnie explained the swim and Jet Ski competitions. Then I hefted my gear onto one shoulder and studied my group.

David, the uber-fit dad with jet-black hair and zero body fat stood next to Howard, a pale-faced balding man in his early seventies, under a tree. Our teens, Milo and Michael, were all elbows and knees in designer swim trunks and expensive sneakers. Ray or Jay was bent over his camera, a mop of curly brown hair shielding his face. His jeans, long-sleeved tee, and Birkenstocks screamed camping novice, but hey…maybe that was how he rolled.

And of course, we had Jake. No description needed, but in case you’re curious, his navy swim trunks matched his ball cap, his backpack, and his Crocs. Yeah…Crocs.

I didn’t actually hate Crocs, but I’d diss ’em ’cause I had the maturity of an eggplant, or so Jake inferred. Besides there was really no way I could be expected to be nice for forty-eight hours straight…was there?

Nah.

“Lookin’ Croc-tastic, Milligan,” I whispered.

Jake frowned and shushed me, which made me want to step on his toes. “I don’t know if this is possible, but we need to come up with a plan to stay out of each other’s way.”

“Easy. I’ll take two, you take two. I call Howard and the kid with braces.”

“Why don’t you want David?”

“Too serious and eager for me. Perfect for you,” I replied, leaning close.

He smelled good, like peppermint and evergreen and⁠—

Geez, was he wearing cologne? Better question…why had I noticed? Maybe I was allergic to peppermint and associated it with terrible things like…uh…the holidays.

Okay, totally false. I loved the holidays, and peppermint was awesome. It was just weird that Jake would smell good and look…

Ugh, it pained me to admit it, but Jake was kind of sort of handsome…today. His summer tan made his blue eyes pop and wove golden strands into his dark-blond hair. I’d only noticed because I was in dire need of vitamin D. And this entire mental sidebar probably meant I was in desperate need of a vacation too.

“Fine. I’ll take David and Milo. Let’s win this.”

I furrowed my brow. “Win what?”

Jake spared me a glance, his lips quirked in vague amusement. “The whole weekend. I know it’s lighthearted fun, but it’s also basic swim and running relays too. Can you swim?”

“Of course I can fucking swim,” I scoffed.

“Cool. If you’re faster on the ground than you are on ice, we should do all right.”

“Are you insinuating that I’m a slow skater? That is fucking priceless.” I snorted.

Jake just smiled and clapped along to whatever Vinnie was yapping about. “If you say so. By the way, you might want to curb your F bombs. This is a G-rated family weekend. Show some class, Trinsky.”

“Fuck yourself, Milligan.”

“Nice one, asshat. You⁠—”

Ray or Jay bumped my elbow as he sidled close, camera in hand. “Oh, don’t stop on my account. This is perfect.”

I gritted my teeth and probably would have said something rude, but I was interrupted by a cheer from the crowd.

“Are you ready to party?” Vinnie hooted, fists pumping the air. “Let’s do this!”

6

TRINSKY

In spite of my dickwad partner and the fact that our team was slow as fuck, it was a good time.

We started out with a few swimming competitions—relay, freestyle, backstroke, that kind of thing. Buoys set the barrier between recreational swim and the deeper portion of the lake more ideal for boats and Jet Skis. A raised wooden platform with a slide anchored the middle area and made for a perfect focal spot to goof around while waiting for your turn.

Team Trinsky-Millidick came in third for relay, second on freestyle, and dead last on the backstroke. Howard was fit and enthusiastic, but keeping up with pro athletes and competitive teenagers wasn’t for the faint of heart. He got winded easily and stopped to take frequent breaks. I could tell he was relieved to move on.

Two boats showed up at lunchtime to whisk us off to the ridge in Pinecrest, where we ate a killer lunch catered by C’est Bon. We played a game of horseshoes and chilled for an hour before heading out on the water to go tubing.

Let me just say that if you’ve never gone tubing, you’re missing out. Hanging on to an inflatable tire tethered to the rear of a boat whipping across the lake at high speed was a seriously good time. We did this with the regular campers at Juniors’ Camp and it was always a big hit with teens. The adults enjoyed it too.

Howard was the only one who opted out. I didn’t think much of it. High-speed water shenanigans weren’t for everyone. His family seemed concerned, but he brushed them off and said he was happy to watch from the ridge. I took turns operating the boat with Denny and hadn’t noticed that Milo, the kid with the braces had retired from the action until Jake pointed it out.

“You’re down two campers, Trinsky,” he announced, trudging to the front of the boat.

I left the wheel to Denny and stood, swaying on my feet as we crested a wave created by the other boat. In the few seconds it took to regain balance, my brain catalogued a barrage of odd thoughts, like Jake’s hair was longer now and it curled at his nape. His body was toned and sleek, and the water sluicing over his pecs was sort of…mesmerizing. I caught myself staring at his abs and⁠—

“What do you mean?”

Jake pushed his wet hair from his face, the sharp line of his chiseled cheekbones exaggerated by the sun. My high school buddy, Chad Billings, had done some modeling for a local surf shop years ago. I used to give him a hard time, though truthfully, I’d been a little jealous that he’d gotten paid to smile in his swim trunks. Chad had been your average California bleach-blond surfer with blue eyes, golden skin and perfect white teeth…and Jake looked nothing like him.

But Jake sort of reminded me of a model just then. And yeah, that thought crossing my mind for even a smidge of a moment bugged the hell out of me.

Not that Jake noticed. He reached for a towel that was lying on a bench, dried his hair, and slung it over his shoulders.

“Milo’s pale and shivering. He says he’s fine, but he’s probably seasick or lake sick,” Jake commented, poking Denny’s shoulder. “Let’s go in. We can change clothes, have a snack, and get ready to hike.”

For the first time in…ever, we were in agreement. I grabbed a spare towel for Milo and discreetly slipped a plastic bag to him in case he needed to ralph before we got to shore.

“Don’t worry. We’ll be on land in a few minutes,” I assured the teen, setting a hand on his arm, flinching at the feel of his too-hot skin. “Dude, you’re burning up. You have a fever.”

“N-no, I’m okay,” he whimpered.

For the record, Milo was not okay.

Neither was Howard.

Both were feverish and obviously ill, and neither protested when we called a van to escort them to Elmwood. David and his son, Michael, opted to stay.

“I spent a lot of money to be here. We’re not going anywhere,” David said, strapping his backpack on.

I shot a questioning look at Jake, who shrugged imperceptibly as if to say, “What can we do?” I was too preoccupied with getting organized for the hike-slash-overnight-portion of the program to dwell on the weirdness of sharing knowing glances with the enemy. Strange stuff.

However, we’d now officially entered the “real camping” phase, and I had to keep my wits about me.

The Four Forest area consisted of four small towns whose borders were delineated by thick forests, winding roads, and the lake. The goal was to hike from Pinecrest to Wood Hollow along narrow trails and arrive at the campsite before dusk. This was wildlife central. We’d been told to stick with our assigned group and be mindful of deer, moose, bobcats, and black bears. There were rules about food storage and general forest etiquette. Don’t leave trash out, and don’t feed the fucking bears.

No problem.

I spent most of the two-hour trek with Michael and friends he’d made with some kids in Denny’s group. Pushing brush aside for the teens while chatting with Denny should have been the perfect diversion, but I was ultra-aware of Jake trudging behind me with David and our extremely slow videographer, who thankfully had brought a pair of sneakers with him.

We paused every so often to give them a chance to catch up. I used that “knowing glance” trick to taunt Jake and for good measure, tapped my watch to annoy him. He just rolled his eyes and cast a meaningful gaze in Ray’s direction. And suddenly, we were communicating again. He was telling me that Ray was out of his element in every way possible—out of shape and unprepared, and damn it, I understood.

And get this, I felt a twinge of remorse that I hadn’t shared the workload. I expected the feeling to fade immediately, but it didn’t. Odd.

“What’s with the camera guy?” I asked Jake once we’d reached the campsite, tipping the ball cap Denny had given me toward the disheveled man limping into the clearing.

“He’s allergic to exercise, and mosquitoes love him,” he deadpanned. “Also, I think we have to watch out for David. He’s either not as fit as he seems or…he’s not feeling great, and he doesn’t want us to know.”

“You think he has the flu too?” I whispered, inching closer to Jake as we observed the middle-aged man chugging a Gatorade.

“Dunno.”

I couldn’t tell you which one of us shrugged first, but it was the tenuous sense of connection I really noticed. Were we bonding over our campers? Undetermined.

We kept our usual distance during the hot-dog fest and the bonfire. Between games of charades and shoveling s’mores in my mouth, I was a busy guy.

But when it was time for bed, I was ready for some shut-eye. I stretched my arms above my head, said my good nights, and wandered to the tents designated for Team Trinsky-Milligan—two two-person tents and one single tent.

“Where’s the other tent?” I set my hands on my hips and surveyed the tents arranged neatly under a giant elm.

David and his son joined me. “I didn’t know there was supposed to be a fourth tent. Whoever claimed the single is already snoring away. Michael and I will take this one. Good night, and thanks for a great day.”

“Good night, Mr. Trinsky,” Michael chimed in, flashing a sleepy smile as he followed his father.

“Just Trinsky,” I mumbled, raking my fingers through my hair. “Just…fuck.”

Look, I was no mathematical genius, but I quickly deduced that we had a big problem. One tent and two guys left…Milligan and me.

I released an exhausted sigh—the kind that originated from my toes—as I mentally sorted through my options. First come, first serve, right? One of us would have to cuddle up elsewhere. Not me.

I grabbed my backpack, ducked inside the low-slung tent, and⁠—

“Sorry, this one is taken,” Jake said, eyes glued to his cell, head propped on his hand as he lay on his side.

My gaze stalled on his broad shoulders and the curtain of blond hair covering his forehead. I expected a flare of rage at his hoity-toity attitude and maybe at myself for not sussing out that the sleeping arrangements were fucked.

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” I huffed. “What the hell happened here? We were supposed to split up between our people. My people got sick, and that means I get this tent to myself and you get to snuggle up with those two…over there.”

I gestured wildly, frustration growing by the second. And why couldn’t I stop gaping at his biceps? His fucking T-shirt was too snug, and I was going to tell him that as soon as he showed his ass out the door.

Jake dropped his cell next to his pillow and cast a weary look my way. “Dream on.”

“Well…you can’t stay here,” I whisper-hissed. “This is mine. Get out.”

He groaned and mumbled something that sounded like, “I wish” as he turned off the lantern.

I blinked like a newborn owl in the dark. “I’m serious, Milligan. I’m not sharing with you.”

Jake chuckled humorlessly. “Sleep by the fire. It’ll be nice and toasty. And if any bears come around, you can be our alarm.”

“This is not a joke. I mean…how do I know you don’t fart in your sleep?”

“How do I know you don’t jerk off before bed?” he countered.

“I do. I definitely do. In fact, I can’t sleep until I jack the python, so…vamoose.”

Jake turned on the light again and leveled me with a scathing no-nonsense glare. “Very fucking funny. Do not jerk off or even pretend to jerk off. It’s been a long-ass day and I’m tired, so just…shut up and go to sleep.”

With one last fierce scowl, he rolled to his side. End of sentence.

Okay, well…it wasn’t as if I had a ton of options. Plus I had a feeling this was a test. No one had counted on two of our campers getting sick, but the new sleeping arrangement was undoubtably a topic of discussion. Sleeping with the bears would only feed unnecessary gossip and let’s be real, I had no desire to duke it out with a four-hundred-pound bear in the dark in my boxers.

So, I guessed I was rooming with the enemy. Fun times.

7

JAKE

“Stop moving around.”

“I can’t help it, I’m restless,” the lump a few feet away grumbled. Trinsky shifted again and sighed. “It’s weird to try to sleep next to someone who hates you. Will I even wake up in the morning?”

“You really think I’m going to murder you in your sleep?” I snort-laughed.

“I wouldn’t rule it out,” he replied conversationally. “How you’d do it is anyone’s guess. I’m way stronger than you, so you’d have to wait till I passed out or…drug me.”

“Unfortunately, I’m fresh out of cyanide.”

“Hmph. You have a Swiss Army knife. You might slit my throat or strangle me or⁠—”

“Christ, you’re morbid,” I intercepted. “I might be tempted to strangle you, but I’m not doing prison time for your ass, so please…shut up and go to sleep.”

Silence.

“Still weird.”

I gritted my teeth and cursed at the universe for putting me in this situation…with this idiot. Good press be damned.

Patience, Jake. Be patient.

One Mississippi, two Mississippi…

“Yeah, it’s weird,” I conceded. “Pretend I’m not here.”

“Okay, I’ll give it a shot.”

I punched my pillow and squeezed my eyes closed. I willed sleep to hit me like a hammer, but the annoying rustle of Trinsky’s sleeping bag made that impossible. “Now what are you doing?”

“You said to pretend you aren’t here, so…I’m doing what I do every night. I’m jerkin’ it.”

I turned on the lantern again and sat upright in a flash.

“You will not fucking jerk off,” I hissed.

Trinsky blinked at the onslaught of light, his eyes crinkling at the corners with humor. My first thought was pure incredulity. How was this happening? I must have done something truly horrible in a previous life to deserve this.

My second thought⁠—

No. Not sharing. It was too disturbing and borderline insane and⁠—

Fine. Trinsky looked…hot.

Look, I wasn’t straight. But I generally didn’t gravitate to assholes.

Whatever.

So I noticed Trinsky’s muscular tattooed torso. So what? The vibrant inked patterns of bird wings, a heart, a thorny rose, and barbed wires gleamed in the dull light, accentuating every contour of his toned pecs and thick biceps. Nothing I hadn’t seen a few dozen times. Trinsky had always been one of the first summer camp coaches to whip his shirt off after a day in the rink or a regular season game or for social media content and promotional BS. Those inked abs, arms, and giant thighs had been featured on countless ads.

This wasn’t my first up-close glimpse of this supremely annoying man, but it was the first time I’d felt a physical reaction to him that wasn’t fury. I mean…that was there too—along with an inexplicable thought that he looked…sexy. And that his twinkling eyes and the dimples on his lightly bearded jaw were kind of…appealing.

Either I really needed to get laid, or there was something wrong with me.

Thankfully, Trinsky was oblivious.

“Oh, c’mon, man. Don’t be a buzzkill…or an erection killer,” he snickered.

I glared. “Go. To. Sleep. And don’t touch your fucking dick.”

He lifted his hands and waggled his fingers. “I was messin’ with you, Milligan. I wasn’t actually going to jerk myself a soda.”

I should have turned the lantern off, rolled over, and put an end to a nowhere discussion with the NHL’s biggest moron, but my gaze snagged on his puckered nipples. I sucked on my tongue, mentally imagining what it would feel like to touch a man.

Not Trinsky, of course. Just…someone with male parts. I knew I was bi, but I hadn’t done much exploring in gay waters. And I had no idea why I was thinking about that right now.

“Uh…good. Keep it that way,” I replied gruffly.

“The problem with you is that you can’t take a joke. Don’t sweat it—I’ll wait till you go to sleep to beat off.”

I slid deeper into my sleeping bag. “Stop being so…you.”

Trinsky reached for the lantern but dropped his hand and narrowed his eyes. “You mean awesome? I’ll try…if you stop being such an uptight asswipe.”

“Right. I think I like you better when you’re joking about your masturbation habits. Now, please shut the fuck up. Today was brutal. I need sleep.”

“Same.” He flicked the light off. “How many times have you been camping in these woods?”

“Dozens.”

“Have you ever come across a bear?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Gulp. Big, small, what are they like?”

“Are you scared?” I teased. Again, I should have rolled over, but…this was harmless chatter. Maybe it would lull the beast to sleep.

“Not if you’re here to protect me.”

“Hmph.”

“I never went camping when I was a kid,” he said softly. “I know this weekend raises money for a good cause and all, but I can’t help thinking these little shits probably don’t appreciate catered lunches, dinners, and hang time with professional athletes. This is uber-elite pampering…except for the threat of bears.”

I agreed with him, and that was another one for the weird column. “Nature is the great equalizer.”

“A thousand percent. It’s why I surf.”

I’d tried to surf in Bali and had almost been taken out by a wave. It was humbling for sure and it was on the tip of my tongue to tell him that it had felt like I’d had a near brush with death, but I caught myself. No sharing major life events with the enemy.

“Why aren’t you surfing now?” I snapped. Great. Way to sound like a petulant teenager, Milligan.

“I’m here for PR reasons. You know, to save your ass.”

“Excuse me?”

“I got you viral, and now everyone wants to know what makes serious Jake Milligan tick. I don’t know if you’ve checked recently, but my agent told me you gained a hundred thousand followers within a week of that podcast. Something about great timing since you’re in contract negotiations too. He thinks I’m good for your career, so…you’re welcome.”

And just like that, I was wide awake, sputtering indignantly. “You fucking pompous piece of lowlife shit. You’re literally the worst thing possible for my career. I don’t want my name associated with yours…ever. Good, bad, or anything in between. Dirty playing and grandiose posturing is the Trinsky brand, not mine.”

“No, your brand is boring, efficient skating, and puck hogging. Emphasis on bor⁠—”

I flung my pillow at him. “I do not hog the fucking puck.”

Trinsky growled as he sat up. “Your most exciting recent game was the one where you limped off the ice with blood on your face. You showed some passion out there, like you gave a crap. Your problem last season was that your team is both too old and too young. The old guys are slow and the new kids don’t feed you shots exactly the way you like it, so you lose and you’re used to winning. And what do you change? Nothing. You’re an ice man out there, trying to put your team on your shoulders. It doesn’t work. But if you had blood dripping down your chin every night at least it would look like you gave a shit and⁠—”

This time, I flung myself at him, scrambling out of my sleeping bag and slamming Trinsky flat on his back. The element of surprise in the dark tent worked in my favor. He fell with an “Oomph” as I straddled his torso, wrapping my fingers around his throat.

He grabbed my wrists and pushed, rolling us sideways and tangling our legs in the sleeping bag. We knocked the lantern on its side, grunting and growling like maniacs in our quest to come out on top. I hadn’t been in an honest-to-God, pull-no-punches wrestling match off the ice in years. And as Trinsky had so obnoxiously observed, I wasn’t known for being a fighter on the ice, either. He was.

A physical altercation with this numbskull wasn’t smart. At all. Trinsky outweighed me by at least twenty pounds of pure muscle. He was scrappy and thick, and I had no hope of winning this fight. But anger and adrenaline were powerful motivators.

I pushed his chest, hiked my thigh over his, then threw a punch that didn’t land before diving for him again. Trinsky caught my elbow and instead of retaliating with a left hook, he pulled me against him, tightening his hold like a boa constrictor.

Note: We were now on our knees facing each other in thin cotton pajamas, locked in a weird-ass embrace. He wasn’t moving, and his tight grip made it difficult to wiggle away.

The darkness added an aura I couldn’t quantify. All I could think was, Fuck, he’s strong, and that thought sent a thrill up my spine and⁠—

Holy crap.

Trinsky’s warm, hard body plastered to mine kind of…turned me on.

No.

No, no, no.

I bit his shoulder, shoving him as he yelped. “Get the fuck away from me.”

“You attacked me, ya dirty raccoon. I’m gonna need a damn tetanus shot.”

“Why don’t you get one now?” I snarked, straightening my sleeping bag with military precision, my heartbeat reverberating in my ears.

“Gee, I’ll get right on that. Oh, wait. It’s midnight, and I’m stuck in a tent with an animal in the fuckin’ forest.” His sarcastic tone was so over-the-top, it was funny.

Or it might have been funny under other circumstances. But now…

I had a boner. No kidding. I had a raging fucking hard-on.

I was stunned.

Popping wood at the merest brush of another body, any body, was a condition for teenagers, not grown men in their thirties. I didn’t get it. I mean, I loathed this guy. Trinsky was combative, ridiculous, and annoying.

I swallowed hard, zipped the sleeping bag, and burrowed into the down warmth. Do not freak out. Do not freak out.

There had to be a logical explanation—no doubt it had something to do with exhaustion and the release of pent-up agitation. It had felt gratifying to get some angst out. Unfortunately, my subconscious had just taken it to a weird level.

“You have my pillow. Toss it over.” My voice was deep and gravelly. Shit, that was a sex voice. Any second now he’d call me out for⁠—

“Nope. It’s my pillow now. Night, Jakey,” Trinsky singsonged.

A wave of pure rage hit me. It was feral and base, and came with a side of something primal. I balled my hands into tight fists and cautioned myself not to lunge for him again.

What was my deal? I was even-tempered…ask anyone—but this guy brought out the worst in me.

I wanted to tell him not to call me Jakey and to give me the fucking pillow, right here, right now, like a little kid at a sleepover gone wrong. I wanted to wipe the smug lopsided smile off Trinsky’s stupid face, kick him out of the tent, and let him fend for himself.

Ugh. I just had to get through one night and⁠—

I frowned at the sound of a soft rumbly noise.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” I grumbled, squinting in the dark at my roomie, lying on his back with two pillows under his head, snoring away.

My anger slipped as I studied Trinsky. His features softened in sleep, giving him a deceptively boyish look. He had a tough exterior with his copious tats, muscles galore, a crooked nose, and full lips.

The media called Trinsky charming yet cutthroat, disarmingly nice yet brutally cunning—public persona versus his reputation on the ice. I called him an annoying asshole ’cause it fit. And was there anything more annoying than being subjected to close quarters with an enemy who had the gall to claim that associating with him was good for my career?

This entire situation pissed me off, but I had a bigger problem. I was still hard as a rock. In fact, my dick strained the elastic band of my boxer briefs. I cupped my shaft through my lightweight pajamas and squeezed.

Only the world’s biggest hypocrite would jerk off after giving a lecture about tent etiquette. I knew that. I really did. So I sucked in a deep breath and counted sheep, fingers still firmly wrapped around my pole, hoping to drift off to the sound of the big oaf sawing wood nearby.

No such luck. My cock pulsed insistently. It was uncomfortable as fuck, and no, I wasn’t going to do anything about it. I wasn’t. My hand was just…there. Touching, not stroking.

But after a minute of sweating it out, I had to make a strategic adjustment to avoid chafing.

I slipped my thumb under the elastic, slid my palm over my length, and— Fuck. It wouldn’t take much to come. Just a couple of strokes would do it.

I stole another peek at Trinsky as I oh-so stealthily gripped my throbbing cock and slowly dragged my fist up…and down. Up…and down. My nostrils flared, and my skin tingled everywhere. I tried to think super sexy thoughts to make this quick. Sure, I’d been on an epic dry spell for a while, but my brain could be trusted to conjure porn-worthy pert boobs in wet T-shirts, lacy thongs, and round asses.

Not this time. Trinsky was ruining this with his snoring. That had to be it.

I furrowed my brow, glaring at the insufferable lump in the shadows. He was so…obnoxious. Fuck those muscles and that pouty lower lip. Fuck his strong chin and that ridiculous dimple. Fuck his meaty forearms, his toned abs, and those chiseled V-lines pointing toward his cock like a neon sign. Just fuck him, fuck him, fuck him…

Oh, shit. I was coming…

And coming…

And coming.

Pleasure tingled along my spine, and white light clouded my vision as I shot ribbons of cum on my tee. I gasped with the force of my orgasm, trembling and doing my best not to make a sound.

Holy fuck.

I blinked wildly, licking my lips as I floated unsteadily back to Earth.

Trinsky’s rhythmic snoring cleared the remaining cobwebs. I glanced at his sleeping form, wondering what the hell was wrong with me. Too many things to count at the moment, starting with my cum-stained tee.

I yanked it over my head and cleaned up as quietly as possible. I braced myself for a long restless night but immediately fell into a deep dreamless sleep.

8

JAKE

“Yo, Sleeping Beauty, rise and shine. We got a problem.”

I groaned, rubbing my eyes as I sat up. “What time is it?”

Trinsky crouched on his side of the tent, his back to me. His broad shoulders threatened the integrity of his light-blue T-shirt as he expertly rolled his sleeping bag. My gaze slipped to his snug khaki shorts and⁠—

Oh, no. No, no, no. I had to pull it together. What happened last night could not happen again…ever.

“Nine o’clock.”

“Nine o’clock!” I wiggled out of my sleeping bag in a rush, dragging a hand through my hair. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“I tried to, but you were dead to the world. And now we got an issue,” he grunted, turning to fling the pillow he’d absconded with in my direction.

“What is it?”

“Well, we—” Trinsky narrowed his eyes and pointed at me. “Where’s your shirt?”

My face flushed with insta-mortification as I glanced at my chest. “Huh? I, um…got too warm in the middle of the night.”

He scoffed. “You jerked one out.”

“I did not.” I lied through my teeth.

“Ri-ght,” Trinsky drawled in a teasing tone that made me want to deck him. “Whatever you say. But if you⁠—”

“Just shut up and tell me what’s going on.” I riffled through my backpack for a change of clothes.

“David and his son got sick. Vinnie had them picked up along with their gear twenty minutes ago.”

I froze. “Twenty minutes ago?”

“Yeah, the kid was eating breakfast, went green, and yakked up his bacon and eggs in a bush.”

“Gross.”

“You’re lucky you missed it. His dad made an appearance a minute later, looking like Casper the ghost. That whole family has the stomach flu. If they got me sick, I’m gonna be pissed,” he groused without heat. “I waited for their ride with Denny’s group, but the others started hiking already. We have three hours to get to the next stop. Move your ass, so we don’t fall too far behind.”

I shot to my feet and stabbed his chest with my forefinger. “You should have woken me up sooner.”

Trinsky glowered. “Well, I didn’t know you were such a heavy sleeper. And what the fuck ever. I handled it. You’re welcome. Now it’s you, me, and the video dude until we catch up with the others to reconfigure the teams, so let’s do this.”

One Mississippi, two Mississippi…

I got dressed in record time and brushed my teeth with bottled water. I needed a shower, stat, but the best I could hope for was a swim in the lake somewhere along the hike. I put on extra deodorant, grabbed my gear, and met Denny and Trinsky near the trailhead.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.” I aimed my apology at Denny and Ray, neither of whom seemed bothered by the delay.

Denny shrugged and handed me a small carafe of coffee and a banana. “No worries. Since you’ve lost most of your group, you guys might as well join us. The kids are ready to get moving. Can you drink that while you go?”

“Sure, but what about our tents? Are we supposed to disassemble them or⁠—”

“No, Vinnie’s got someone coming to take them all down and put them up at the next location,” Trinsky said, rubbing his palms and motioning for us to follow him. “So let’s quit dawdling like a bunch of old farts and get the show on the road.”

One Mississippi, two Mississippi…

Denny snickered. “You should see your face. C’mon, he’s not that bad.”

“He is that bad,” I retorted.

“Hmm. I’d be more concerned about the videographer. He’s not much of an outdoorsman.” We watched Ray hobble after Trinsky, wincing in unison when he tripped over his shoelaces.

“At least he’s wearing sneakers today.”

“True.” Denny adjusted his ball cap thoughtfully. “Well, one day and one night to go. You can do this, Milligan.”

I hoped so.

Sleeping in and missing the abrupt exodus of two more campers hadn’t made for a great start to the day, but a little coffee and a break from Trinsky improved my mood immediately. I loved hiking, and I’d been camping in the Four Forest area my whole life. I knew these woods well.

The trail between Pinecrest and Wood Hollow was the flattest portion, and most of it hugged the lakeside—ideal for swim breaks on warm summer days. We’d completed that portion yesterday and were about to embark on the Wood Hollow-Elmwood crest trail.

“Is it far?” Ray paused to take a swig of water with one scuffed Nike perched on a boulder.

“No, just a few miles.” I signaled for Denny to go ahead, hoping Trinsky would join him, but he stopped in the middle of the dirt path and tapped his watch meaningfully. Asshole.

“Miles?” Ray croaked.

I smiled kindly. “It goes fast. There’s a swimming hole with a rope swing at the next ridge. We’ll have something to eat there and run a few games for the kids. Nothing too crazy. From there, we head inland, away from the lake. The trails thin out and the forest gets pretty thick as we climb to the vista point. From there, it’s downhill. Kind of steep, but the views are spectacular. If you don’t get any good footage of Trinsky and me, that view alone will make it worth your while.”

Ray sealed his water bottle and sighed. “I have some decent footage already. Probably more than enough, actually.”

“Oh?”

He wiped sweat from his brow. “Mostly of you bickering.”

I frowned. “About what?”

“You name it. Which camper had the best backstroke, Red Sox versus Dodgers, how to toast a marshmallow…”

“You recorded all that?”

Ray nodded. “That was the job. Thanks for making it easy. I don’t think you agree on anything, and that’s what the PR firm was looking for, so they should be happy.”

“Oh. Right.” I fiddled with my sunglasses and inclined my chin. “We should continue.”

He didn’t seem excited by the prospect, but he shoved his water bottle away and gamely trudged toward Trinsky, who greeted us with a tight smile and ushered Ray to move ahead of us.

“Denny and his team didn’t stop. We’re gonna get lost if you don’t keep up, Milligan.”

“No, we won’t,” I snapped. “I’m the guide here, remember?”

“Hmph. What’s with the slowpoke?” he whispered, tickling my earlobe and sending an unwelcome spark of awareness along my spine.

The memory of my clandestine midnight session with my right hand hit me out of the blue.

I chewed on my bottom lip, gaze forward. “He’s fine. He’s just…running out of steam.”

“We’re supposed be in this together, so maybe we should take turns hanging with him,” he suggested.

Wow, that was…unusually considerate.

“Good idea. Stick with him for a while, and I’ll lead the way.”

“Let’s do this, Magellan,” he snarked.

“Magellan?”

“Yeah, don’t you know your history? Ferdinand Magellan was Portuguese, but he led the Spanish expedition that discovered the strait that makes it so you can pass from the Atlantic to the Pacific. Don’t ask me where it is, but⁠—”

“Chile.”

Trinsky raised a brow. “Oh, look at you. Guess you know shit too.”

This was where I’d make a snide comment about remembering basic junior high history, but I went with the truth instead. “It was a recent Jeopardy question. My dad and Smitty love that show, and I can’t escape it when I visit them.”

“Ahh. Well, I’m a history genius on the side.”

“Really?”

“Nah, my kid brother is my history dealer,” Trinsky said offhandedly, turning with a nod to Ray, who’d circled back to us. “You ready to hike?”

Ray held up his cell triumphantly. “I am now. That’s the first interaction between you two that didn’t sound murderous. If you can get me to civilization, I’ll forward this to PR and call it a day.”

“You’ve been recording us on your cell?” I asked dubiously, though I knew that he was the only one besides the guides with a phone since he wasn’t technically a camper.

“I have a camera built into my rucksack to capture candid, real-life moments too. Nothing scripted.” He grinned, obviously pleased with himself. “Yes, this is exactly the content I was hoping for.”

And with that, Ray headed off, a lighter bounce in his step.

“Huh. If the video man leaves early too, this is over. We should call a ride for him and be done with it. What do you say?”

I bit my bottom lip, shifting my gaze from our lone charge, practically skipping up the trail to Trinsky, who was…staring at me.

“Do I have toothpaste on my face?” I licked at the corner of my mouth, unthinking.

He cleared his throat as he rubbed his scruffy jaw. “No, you’re just…hairy. I’ve never seen you with a beard. It doesn’t look terrible.”

“Was that a compliment?” I snarked, tugging at my baseball hat.

“Sure, bud. If I was gay, I’d totally do you.” Trinsky winked, squeezing my shoulder before trotting after Ray.

And me? I couldn’t move. My reflexes failed me—my jaw dropped, and my feet felt like cement blocks.

I knew better than to take anything Trinsky said seriously. He was an attention-starved clown who got off on shocking anyone unlucky enough to be stuck in his sphere. But last night had happened, and I was leery of something unpleasant lurking in some shadowy region of my brain.

I might despise him, but that didn’t negate the uncomfortable truth that I found Mason Trinsky weirdly compelling. I supposed that was proof that it was possible for me to be simultaneously disgusted and fascinated by…him.

Yuck.

9

TRINSKY

Milligan was being weird.

Too quiet.

He’d basically stranded me with Ray, the slowest hiker ever to hike throughout history, and for that, I was kinda pissed. Denny’s group was nowhere in sight, and the other two groups had most likely reached the swimming hole and were probably feasting on delicious stacked turkey sandwiches from C’est Bon.

My stomach growled on cue. I put one foot in front of the other, wiping my brow with the hem of my tee. Fuck, it was hot today. I stopped under a giant tree and dropped my backpack before yanking my shirt over my head.

“You’re going to get eaten alive.”

I arched my brow. “Oh, so you do speak. I thought you’d taken a vow of silence or something.”

Jake rolled his eyes. “I did. Seriously, though…put your shirt on. The mosquitos are savage.”

“Do you have repellant on you?”

Jake sighed heavily, slipping his bag from his shoulder. He rummaged in the side pocket and tossed a small bottle at me. “Here you go.”

I called to Ray to wait up as I uncapped the bug spray. “Wait. This is lotion.”

“Mmhmm.” He opened his water container and took a swig.

I frowned, watching his Adam’s apple slide in his throat. “Uh, okay. You can do the honors.”

Jake screwed the top on his water. “What honors?”

“Lather up my back, Milligan.” I shoved the bug repellant into his hands.

“Oh, this is good.” Ray set his bag on the ground and stalked forward, training a camera on us. Not a cell—no, this was real high-tech equipment. “And action.”

Jake snorted. “Yeah, I don’t think so. Let’s keep moving, gentlemen. We’re about a mile away from the next meeting spot.”

“Dude, this will take ten seconds. I’ve already sweated through my shirt. Do me a solid. Please. I’ll owe you one,” I cajoled.

“You’ll owe me ten.”

Our eyes caught and damn it, the air crackled between us. It had to be the heat. Of course, that didn’t explain the pulse in my cock, but I’d chalk that up to general horniness.

“Fine.” I turned around, aware of Ray circling us like a bird of prey in my periphery.

Jake moved closer. “I am not happy about this.”

“I’d do it for you.”

“I wouldn’t want you to. God knows where your hands have been.”

“Very funny,” I singsonged.

“Jake, will you step in, please? I need you both in the shot,” Ray directed.

“You heard him, Jakey. Step up and—whoa! Ray, watch it, man. You’re gonna trip and⁠—”

Too late.

Ray toppled over a low boulder and slid down a rocky embankment with a yelp.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Jake and I raced to the shallow ledge and spied Ray struggling to sit up in a nest of pine needles.

“I’m okay,” he said, raising a hand to temple. “But I’m bleeding. Is this blood?”

“Got you covered,” Jake assured him. “Hang tight.”

Jake grabbed his backpack and skidded down the muddy slope like a surfer. I followed, hot on his heels as he pulled a first-aid kit out and kneeled next to Ray.

Oh, yeah, that was blood. A lot of blood.

I crouched low beside them. “What can I do?”

“Call Vinnie for an emergency pickup. I can dress the wound, but he hit his head hard, and we can’t rule out a concussion.”

I paced to a nearby tree trunk to call Vinnie and give him our SOS, sharing the coordinates Jake had reeled off. I relayed what had happened while I observed Jake cleaning Ray’s wound as he spoke to him in a low, reassuring tone. If Milligan was freaked out by the blood trickling along his forearm, he didn’t show it. He was cool as a cucumber, grace under pressure.

“They’re on the way,” I reported. “We’re supposed to meet the rescue crew in the clearing. Vinnie says you’ll know where that is.”

“Yeah. It’s less than a mile away, just before the swimming hole.”

“A mile? Are you fucking kidding me?”

Ray cast a bleary-eyed glance at me. “I’m okay to walk, you know.”

Said the pale-faced dude who looked as if he were about to pass out.

“How are we gonna do this?” I whispered for Jake’s ears only.

“One of us will have to carry Ray’s gear and the other will walk with him.” Jake inclined his chin at his bag. “I’m running out of gauze. Will you grab a T-shirt and rip it?”

I was relieved to be given a task…any task to keep my hands busy and my focus off the blood dripping down Ray’s face. I was an unrepentant adrenaline junkie. Give me fast cars, wild roller coaster rides, and big-ass D-men coming after me while I raced toward a goal all day long. But any hiking trip that ended with a gory bloody scene in the woods was no bueno.

I dug through Jake’s bag and pulled out a balled-up tee. “Here you go.”

“Not that one.” His gaze was trained on Ray’s wound, but I could have sworn he was blushing.

I found another tee and tore it into strips at his nod of approval. “Can I do anything else?”

“Yeah, get the antiseptic out of the kit and help me dress his elbow,” he replied. “Please.”

I did as instructed.

And when I ran out of ways to be useful, I cleaned up the extra makeshift bandages and stuffed them into Jake’s backpack, along with the tee he’d vetoed.

Now, don’t ask me what I was thinking here. Sure, I got a strange kick out of sparring with Jake, and I could admit that I had a tendency to take things too far. However, this was a high-stress situation—not a great time to taunt a foe.

But I didn’t do well with strained silences either. I was the guy who tried to lighten bleak situations with a little humor. That was my only explanation for opening my big mouth and blurting, “Yep, you jerked it last night.”

If looks could kill, I’d have been a stone-cold goner.

Jake clenched his jaw. “Do you think that you could grow the fuck up for a few minutes here? I actually need your help, asshole.”

My skin went hot with shame, and let me tell ya, that hadn’t happened in eons.

I nodded. “Sorry. Sorry. What can I do?”

“We have to climb up the ravine and get on the path.” Jake pointed at the small ledge above us.

“Got it.” I scratched my head. “But shouldn’t we run through concussion protocol first? See if he knows how many fingers we’re holding up…that kind of thing?”

“I can see you fine,” Ray chimed in. “I’m okay. I’m just sore, and my head hurts.”

“Let’s get moving, or they’ll never find us.” Jake stood decisively, zipped his bag, and hiked it over his shoulders. “We have a short climb, Ray. Lean on us and we’ll get you out of here.”

It took some serious effort to get out of that ditch. It wasn’t deep, but the ground was slippery with wet leaves stuck to mossy rocks, and we had to make sure Ray didn’t lose his footing. He claimed to be fine, but he was dingy as fuck and he swayed with every step he took.

We split duties when we reached the path. I carried Ray’s gear while Jake played sherpa, chattering nonstop with the video man as he guided us to the meeting point. He asked questions meant to keep Ray talking: Where are you from? What’s the weather like? How long have you been a videographer?

Milligan’s version of concussion protocol was effective. Ray chattered about winters in Michigan and how using an ancient camcorder at his sister’s wedding had shaped his career path. Trust me, it was not a riveting conversation, but it did the trick and kept Ray engaged, his mind focused on something other than his woozy head and scraped knees and elbows.

I grudgingly admired Jake’s take-charge attitude and calming demeanor. Not to say that I couldn’t have handled this minor shit storm on my own, but I probably would have been gruff and panicky. And I sure as hell wouldn’t have known where I was going.

This was no straightforward trail. The winding maze of trees with low branches and forked paths required an expert guide who knew this forest well. That was definitely not me.

By the time we reached the clearing forty-five minutes later, a red van was waiting. Two EMTs greeted Jake with fist bumps and took over, checking bandages and vitals before whisking Ray off with his belongings.

The handoff was so seamless that it didn’t register that I was alone with Jake Milligan in the middle of the fucking forest until the van was well out of sight.

“Why didn’t we hitch a ride with them?”

Jake fastened the strap on his backpack distractedly. “They’re going directly to the hospital in Pinecrest. It’ll be faster to hike to camp and go from there…if you’re planning on leaving.”

“They don’t need us. Our campers dropped out sick, our PR spy got injured…”

“You should go, then.” He shrugged nonchalantly and met my gaze with a challenging glint in his eyes. “Of course, someone will mention that you bailed early, and they’ll wonder why. They might even assume you gave up, which means…I win. So yeah, by all means…go.”

I frowned. “Fuck that.”

“I thought so.” His indulgent smile did something funny to my insides. Like it literally gave me a stomachache.

“You’re really fucking annoying,” I growled.

“Ditto. C’mon, we’ll stop at the swimming hole on the way. They’ll be long gone by now, but⁠—”

“Do you think they left us lunch?”

He snorted. “For us and the bears? I doubt it.”

Oh.

“I have a better idea. Let’s skip the swimming and go find the others. I’m hungry.”

Jake shook his head. “I’m covered in a stranger’s blood. I’m cleaning up first. I have some protein bars and fruit in my bag if⁠—”

“Yeah, yeah. I do too. How far is the swimming hole?”

“Another half a mile.”

“Oh, my fucking God.” I exhaled theatrically.

“My thoughts exactly. So let’s get this over with, shall we?”

We didn’t speak at all on the way to the swimming hole. I grabbed my earpods from my bag and zoned out to classic rock as I followed Jake through the ubiquitously winding trail. I was hot, hungry, and irritable. The louder the music, the better I felt about this fuckery.

But my mind still wandered to weird places. Jake’s shoulders were seriously broad and his waist was tapered, so he looked more like a runner or an Olympic swimmer than a hockey player. His thighs were thick and muscular, though, and his ass was— Whoa!

Okay, yeah…he had a nice ass. Let the record show that I only noticed ’cause I was forced to walk behind him for miles. We were going to have to change that up on the next leg, I mused as Jake pushed through a low canopy of trees and stopped short.

I ran into him and glowered. “What are you⁠—”

“We’re here.”

I stepped around him, mouth open. “Wow.”

The swimming hole was an idyllic lagoon surrounded by impossibly tall trees on three sides and a sheered-off crater on the other. Water trickled down the rocky formation, feeding fresh water into the large pool. Chirping birds, the rustle of leaves in the summer breeze, and gentle whirling water were the only sounds. The rope swing hanging from a low branch was the lone nod to civilization.

“Incredible, huh?”

It was more than incredible, it was surreal. I felt as if I’d stepped into an impressionist painting with the softest shades of blue sky, wispy greens, and deep shades of indigo.

“Yeah.” The footprints on the muddy water’s edge were the only hint that our campers had been here recently. “It’s so clean.”

Jake dropped his backpack on a rock and stripped off his tee.

“There’re strict rules about leaving trash behind. Whatever you bring, you have to take with you. That swing is the only thing allowed to stay. My dad was responsible for that. He hung one for me when I was five or six. He’d bring me and my friends out here to swim and play pirates and stuff. We loved it.” He kicked his shoes aside and unbuckled his belt. “But the forest rangers wrote him up for littering and destruction of property, or something ridiculous, so he had to remove it. The following year, he petitioned to install a new swing with the understanding that it would be taken down by the end of September. It’s an annual tradition now. Smitty built that one. I helped him and Dad put it up and⁠—”

“Dude. Great story, but why are you nuding up?” I intercepted, tearing my gaze away just as Jake hooked his thumbs under the elastic band of his black boxer briefs and pushed them low on his slim hips.

He snorted. “I have swim trunks. Relax.”

Relax. Right. Why had I asked that?

We were athletes, for fuck’s sake. We changed in locker rooms in front of dozens of guys every day. Our old goalie, Petey, had no shame whatsoever. He’d waltz around with his junk out, toweling off as he gave his version of the game’s highlights. No one paid any attention. We were all mini exhibitionists, and no one cared.

But my heart was beating too fast again. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was having a reaction to…Jake.

No, that was hunger. I needed to eat something. Anything. Now.

I rummaged through my bag for a protein bar, glancing up just as Jake stepped into a pair of Hawaiian print trunks. His wiggled his hips, lifting the thin fabric over his perfectly round ass.

And my mouth was suddenly as dry as the Sahara.

I tore open the package and chomped a bite of some peanut butter concoction that tasted like dust, my pulse skittering wildly. Low blood sugar was no joke. I must have been on the brink of madness. Nothing else made sense.

“Could you go any slower? I’m tired of looking at your butt,” I groused around a mouthful of protein bar.

Jake gave me a WTF look as he pulled up his trunks and headed for the rocks. He climbed to the top of the biggest one, gave an up-nod, and took a flying leap into the dark water.

He emerged with a whoop, flinging his hair and grinning like a fool. “Come on in.”

“No, thanks.”

“Suit yourself.”

Okay, maybe a little physical exertion was exactly what I needed. I chowed the rest of my protein bar, changed into my swim trunks—with my back to Jake, ’cause I was still being weird—then did a cannonball into water so frigid my balls shriveled on contact.

“Fuck! It’s freezing, asshole,” I yelped, treading furiously to keep my limbs moving.

Jake’s laughter rang like a bell, echoing in the cavernous enclave. It wasn’t vindictive amusement at my expense, though. No, this was pure joy and appreciation for something that brought core-level happiness. I had a feeling this was Jake Milligan’s happy place. Interesting.

“It’s a little chilly,” he agreed, swimming toward me.

“A little? I’m gonna start talking like Mickey Mouse in a minute.”

Jake chuckled. “You just have to keep jumping to warm up.”

He got out of the water and jumped in again, practically landing on top of me this time. I growled and instinctively went after him, diving under and pulling him with me. I wasn’t sure how deep it was, but I was a strong swimmer and Jake obviously was too. He shook me off easily and tackled me the second I resurfaced.

We went round and round, wrestling like schoolboys. We even used the swing as a catapult, lunging aggressively and dunking each other till we could barely breathe.

It was…fun. But he didn’t appreciate the sucker punch to his biceps that sent him flying near the rocks. He didn’t hit anything, but he was pissed with a capital P.

“Shit. I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

Jake glared, chest heaving. “I’ll live, but you can go fuck yourself.”

Ugh. No one frustrated me more than Jake fucking Milligan.

I was a nice guy. I was fun, loyal, friendly. I could communicate with almost anyone…except Jake. I never got the balance right with him, and the frustration made me clumsy. And angry. I wanted to fight him, knee him in the nuts, wring his neck.

My toes curled for purchase on the mossy rock as I grabbed his arm. I wasn’t sure why or what I was thinking. I should have let him go, dried off, and prepared for my upcoming torturous hike with the enemy.

I loosened my grip and glared. He returned my glare times ten and huffed, so I reached out to give him a good shove and lost my footing. My hand slipped from his chest to his throat…and I didn’t let go.

Surprise flared in his eyes and probably mine too. Then his breath hitched, and get this—he dragged his tongue across his bottom lip. And it was…sexy.

Like really fucking sexy.

Holy shit.

What was going on?

My cock swelled in my trunks on cue. I was light-headed, dizzy with a feeling so intense, I was in danger of passing out. I wasn’t angry anymore…I was turned-on. Maybe I had been for a while, and this was me finally cluing in.

Confusing for sure, but I wanted to touch him, and damn, he looked as if he were totally on board. Could that be true?

No. No way.

Jake’s gaze dipped from my eyes to my mouth and⁠—

Oh, fuck.

I crashed my mouth over his.

And I gotta tell you…time stopped. Like it had in the fateful moment during the Stanley Cup game—only with much more dire consequences.

We stood frozen with our lips fused for what felt like a small eternity. Any second now, he’d push me off the ledge or I’d push him. I’d have to pretend it was an accident, and I didn’t know if that was true. I didn’t know anything. Except that his lips were soft and the scrape of his bearded jaw felt nice and⁠—

I gasped, snapping my eyes open and blinking like an owl. Neither of us moved a muscle. We stared, each willing the other to say something and break the spell.

“I didn’t—I don’t…”

Jake nodded. “Yeah, I know. That was…adrenaline.”

“Uh-huh. Yeah. That’s it.”

He bit his bottom lip as he stepped onto the soil, water sluicing down his body. I looked away quickly and followed him. I dug a towel from my bag and slammed it over my face.

Jesus. Now what?

I’d never kissed a man in my life. Never. I’d never wanted to. It made no sense that I’d throw myself at the one person who despised me as much as I despised him. No sense at all.

But I think that just happened. Shit.

I dried myself and tied the towel around my waist, slinking the clingy wet swim trunks off.

By the way, my cock was embarrassing the hell out of me. It was a beefsteak molded to thin cotton, leaving me nowhere to hide. I wasn’t the type to blush, but I was warm all over. We’re talking from the tips of my toes to the roots of my hair.

I dressed as quickly as possible, wracking my brain for neutral topics, knowing I was unlikely to get out of this unscathed.

Just as I was about to go into full panic mode, Jake tossed a banana at me and grunted. “Eat something. You’re obviously hungry.”

I nodded, tearing into the banana like a caveman as we returned to the trail.

We hiked in silence for a good mile or so. I cranked up Led Zeppelin, Rage Against the Machine, and any other angsty song on my rotation with heavy drumbeats and screaming guitars. I didn’t want to think or talk. I wanted to get to camp and get away from Milligan, stat.

I wasn’t needed here anymore. I’d get a ride into town, book a flight to LA, and spend my summer at the beach and with Eddie. And I’d get laid…like immediately.

Sex…with a woman. Chandra would probably love to hear from me. It had been a while. She was a fan of mindless, meaningless screwing with no strings, no big conversations, no⁠—

I plowed into Jake’s back and tripped over a root, dislodging one of my earpods. I was too distracted by the sudden deafening quiet to register that we were inches apart. The hair on his forearm brushed mine, sending that same fucking tingle along my spine.

“Why’d you stop?”

Jake put a finger to his lips, lowering his backpack as he pointed skyward to the canopy of greenery. “See that woodpecker? He and his friends are the architects of the hollowed trees in this part of the forest. This is where Wood Hollow gets its name.”

I shrugged my burden from my shoulders too, and squinted, but I didn’t see the bird until Jake got into my space and gave me coordinates. And now we were standing closer than ever. Yeah, it was innocent this time, but tell that to my racing pulse.

Shit, it was happening again. A haze of desire clouded my mind, and I was a millisecond from freaking the fuck out. Hold it together, Mason. Hold it⁠—

Too late.

I pushed Jake and growled. “Give me some fucking space.”

I expected a burst of anger, a “Fuck off,” and a continued stroll through the enchanted forest. What I got was…not that.

Jake shoved me hard against the nearest tree, a hand on my throat, one leg between my knees. “You started this, asshole. You did it…not me.”

“Did what?” I bluffed, gaze drifting to his plush lips.

“You kissed me.” Jake’s eyes flashed and burned.

He was gonna punch me. I knew it, and I deserved it.

“I didn’t⁠—”

He slammed his mouth over mine.

Shock gave way to an inferno of lust so intense, I was sure I was on fire. Our lips were mashed together…zero finesse. This wasn’t a kiss; it was a power play. This was him, pinning me to the boards, fighting me for the puck. And he wasn’t going to win, damn it. No way.

I reached out, fingers crooked on his neck. Jake swatted my hand and caught both wrists, roughly lifting them above my head.

“We’re even now. Don’t fuck with me, I won’t fuck with you, got it?”

Holy crap. I’d never been harder in my life. My cock was knocking against my zipper like a sledgehammer, begging for release. All logical response deserted me. Fight, laugh, tell a joke, make a snide remark. Nope, I had nothing.

Jake let go, nostrils flaring as he stepped aside.

And I pounced. You didn’t think I’d let him win, did you?

I covered him like a blanket so we were chest to chest, nose to nose, breathing each other’s air. I couldn’t say who made the first move this time…maybe it was a mutual thing. One second we were in the middle of a staring match and the next, we were doing battle with our mouths.

There was nothing sweet about it. We were fucking velociraptors, sucking, biting, and clawing. Jake’s lips parted and I pushed inside, tangling our tongues in a frenzy. He met me thrust for thrust, angling his chin to deepen the connection. And damn, it was hot.

I liked the way he tasted—fruity and minty…and masculine. I sucked his tongue, breaking for air to lick his neck. I didn’t want to lose contact. I needed this. I wasn’t going to ask tricky questions…not yet, anyway. I was content to feast on his lips for as long as he’d let me, and take care of my cock later.

That was the idea till Jake tugged free, hooked his fingers in my belt loop, and pulled me close enough that there was no mistaking that we were both mightily turned on. The glide of his erection against mine was a game changer.

I mean, making out was innocent and harmless. No, I’d never done it with a dude and even now, I wasn’t convinced I wanted to kiss Jake. I’d wanted to hurt him, make him feel rough and unhinged. But my dick was getting involved, and that was a terrible idea.

“Oh, fuck,” I groaned as he tilted his hips again.

“I’m…that’s…”

Jake grabbed my ass and just like that, we were humping and grinding. His lips, his tongue, his steel pole nudging mine…over and over. And oh, God, I was gonna shoot. I was so close.

I unbuckled and unzipped, pushing my shorts and boxer briefs out of the way. My cock swayed between us obscenely, precum glistening on my tip. I braced one hand on the tree behind Jake, dropped my head to his shoulder, unthinking, as I stroked myself.

Three pulls in, I was flying. I turned to avoid spraying my load on him and roared, shivering with the force of my orgasm.

My breath came out in a jagged rasp, my heart pounding in my chest. I licked my swollen lips and slowly straightened, glancing at the bulge in Jake’s shorts.

“Aren’t you gonna do something about that?” I panted.

“No.”

“Yeah, you are. I come, you come…it’s only fair.”

Jake arched a brow. “It’s not a competition.”

“No, it’s human nature. Your dick is trying to cut a hole through your shorts. Take care of it.”

“You’re insane. I don’t know how we got here, but⁠—”

“Me either,” I interrupted. “I don’t like you any more than you like me, and I’m not gay or bi, so this has to be an anomaly. Maybe it’s a matter of blowing off steam.”

“You think so?”

“Dunno.” I shrugged and gestured at his crotch. “What’s the matter? Do you have an ugly dick or something?”

“Excuse me?”

“Some guys aren’t blessed in the penis department. Too small, too skinny, too warty, too⁠—”

Jake huffed. “My dick is very normal, thank you very much.”

“Glad to hear it.” I yanked my tee over my head and used it to wipe my hands. “Do something about that so I don’t feel self-conscious, will ya?”

“You’re a piece of work, Trinsky,” he huffed, fingers resting on his belt loop.

“Do you want my help?”

I was sort of kidding. Honestly, this was all new territory, and when in doubt, I joked. It was a low-stakes joke too, ’cause there was no way Jake would let me near him again. No chance in hell—and I was okay with that. This was confusing, but it had happened and we could close this chapter…as soon as he took care of business.

Jake didn’t reply, but he unbuckled his shorts, pulled out his very above-average-looking cock, licked his palm, and stroked himself.

Another first: I’d never watched a man jack off.

Okay, sure, in porn. There was always a scene where an actor admired some beautiful woman with his hand on his cock. But I’d never thought, Wow, he’s fucking gorgeous. Yet here I was, dick still out, staring at my nemesis, admiring every twist of his wrist, the subtle squeezes, and the gleam of precum smeared along his length. It was literally the hottest thing I’d witnessed in my life. Ever.

I’d call it fascination for now. That was an inadequate description for sure, but I had no frame of reference here. This was new but not bad. I was a captive audience and like it or not, I felt curiously invested in his pleasure.

Jake’s eyelids slipped to half-mast as he upped his pace. His biceps tensed and if he bit his bottom lip any harder, it was going to bleed. I stepped in front of him and pushed my thumb into his mouth, knowing there was a decent chance I’d lose a digit. His eyes fluttered as he sucked it, and a second later, he exploded, shooting ropes of cum over his fist.

And fuck, that was incredible.

I stood like a statue, cataloging details like the pulsing vein at his temple, the crease in his forehead, his death grip on his junk. If I’d thought watching him fall apart would snap me out of this spell, I was sadly mistaken. I was buzzing with energy like a superhero with a newfound power.

Was I bi?

Maybe. Possibly. I didn’t know, and I had so many questions.

But this was Jake, the absolute worst person in the universe to explore a potential major self-discovery with. I chewed the inside of my cheek and tossed my shirt at him.

Jake mumbled his thanks, righted his clothing, and set his backpack on his shoulders. “We should get going.”

“Yeah.”

We hiked in complete silence, busy with our own thoughts. I wondered if he was freaking out. Hell, I wondered if I was. I didn’t think so, though. If anything, I was bewildered, and…in awe. I replayed our make-out-slash-mutual-jack-off session over and over in my head, cautioning myself not to fixate on Jake’s ass. It wasn’t easy.

When the path narrowed, it became impossible. I called out for him to stop so I could pop my earpods in and zone out.

“What’s wrong?”

“I lost an earpod.” I felt my pockets, dropped my bag, and sifted through a few compartments before I remembered. “It’s somewhere around the sex tree.”

Jake’s lips quirked in mild amusement. “The sex tree.”

“Not sure what else to call it,” I admitted, taking a swig from my water bottle. “Want some?”

He thanked me and tipped the bottle, baring his throat as he sipped. A bead of sweat glistened along his Adam’s apple, and somehow, that gave me a chubby.

Was I turning into a vampire now? Unlikely, but how the fuck was any of this possible? I looked away quickly, vaguely worried for my sanity.

“That was a mile ago,” Jake said.

“Figures.”

“We’re close, and the terrain levels out after the next hill. I texted Denny to let him know what happened so they wouldn’t worry and send out another rescue crew…”

Of course he had. That was the smart, considerate thing to do. And Jake was always smart, considerate, careful, and methodical.

I’d expect nothing else from someone who was generally well liked by fans and respected by opponents. A fucking prince. Bo-ring. I didn’t know if the boring part was true anymore, but I couldn’t think while he jabbered on about fuck knew what.

“Are we going to ignore the sex-tree incident?” I interrupted.

Jake went still. “I—yeah, I think we should.”

I nodded. “Yeah. Okay. Yeah.”

Good plan.

Or was it? I wasn’t sure about anything anymore.

10

TRINSKY

We arrived at the campsite by midafternoon to a chorus of cheers, mild concern about the medical emergency, and lighthearted teasing about surviving a few hours alone in the woods without killing each other.

“I thought we’d have to comb the forest for bodies,” Court joked.

Everyone laughed, including Jake and me. Then we brushed over the ordeal, groused about missing lunch, and went our separate ways.

We no longer had a team to supervise, so we joined others. I went with Denny and his crew; Jake joined Court’s group.

Yes, I’d thought about chucking it in and leaving, but there was enough going on that I felt useful. And truthfully, I wanted to keep an eye on Jake. From afar. What if he unintentionally said something incriminating? He’d agreed that we should forget what happened, but he could change his mind and…then what? If I’d learned anything in life, it was that you always had to be prepared for the “then whats.”

No, I didn’t want to do anything mature, you know, like talk to him and make sure we were a thousand percent on the same page. I was counting on my powers of perception to recognize any hint of a freak-out. As far as I could tell, Jake was his cool and calm self, though.

The Wood Hollow campsite looked like last night’s, but it had other amenities, like a volleyball net, bocce balls, a croquet set, and access to horseback riding at a nearby barn for those interested. I stuck to volleyball and croquet, and hung out with a ragtag group of athletes and dads who wanted to talk hockey by the fire. Jake played bocce ball, rode horses, and made s’mores with the kids.

We were in the same orbit, but our paths didn’t cross.

Till bedtime.

“One tent,” I deadpanned. “Again? Seriously?”

Jake released a tired sigh. “Yeah, they took all unnecessary gear and…here we are. You can always get a ride to Elmwood. It’s not far.”

“Me? Why don’t you go? You have a house in town, right? You can just walk home,” I huffed, lifting the canvas barrier and crawling inside. I peeked my head out and waved. “See you on the ice, buddy.”

I zipped the flap closed and unfurled my sleeping bag.

Jake unzipped it, tossing his bag through the opening. “I signed up for this. I can’t leave.”

“Well, I’m not quitting.”

“Quitting what? It’s over. Go home,” he replied in a deceptively bored tone.

“No, I don’t trust you.”

He scoffed. “Why? What do you think I’m gonna do?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “The possibilities are endless.”

“Uh-huh. How about if we agree to a single narrative for the press?” Jake gestured with air quotes. “ ‘We had an interesting two-day camp excursion, faced a couple of perilous moments, but managed to work together. We’ll save any real drama for the regular season hockey. The end.’ Whatever footage Ray has should corroborate. Thoughts?”

I wrinkled my nose. “I never use words like narrative, excursion, or perilous, but…okay. Fine.”

“Good.” He kicked off his shoes and slid into his sleeping bag fully clothed in PJs and a T-shirt, dimming the lantern and rolling over.

I thought about turning the light on just to bug him, but I wasn’t in the mood to stir up shit. I just wanted to sleep this unsettling feeling away. If I’d played this better, I’d have been in a cozy room at the Black Horse Inn, getting some shut-eye before hopping on the first flight outta here. Instead, I’d opted to stay…with Jake. And it wasn’t because I gave a shit about appearances.

I needed to know why. Why him, why now, just…why?

“Do you really think that was adrenaline gone wild?” I asked. “You know…at the sex tree?”

He sighed in the dark. “Go to sleep, Trinsky.”

“I’m serious. Has that happened to you…prior to today?”

“No.”

I let the silence gather for a few minutes, and tried again. “Are you gay?”

“No. Are you?”

“No.” Another silence. “Are you bi?”

“My personal life is none of your fucking business,” he replied in a deceptively mild tone.

“It kinda became my business when you stuck your tongue down my throat.”

Jake turned abruptly, his profile illuminated in shadow. “You kissed me. You started it. Not me.”

True.

“Maybe I’m bi,” I whispered, mostly to myself.

“It’s not that big of a deal. A lot of people are. Good night.”

Silence.

“If I am, I’m surprised it would be you. I mean, I guess you’re attractive, but you’re not feminine…at all. And you have a fucking beard. You’re…a guy.” I ignored his muffled half laugh and continued, staring up at a seam in the canvas lining of the tent. “I would have thought I’d notice men more too. I haven’t. It’s always been women for me. I like women.”

After what felt like a twenty-minute pause, Jake rolled to face me, the whites of his eyes glinting. “It was one time, and there were extenuating circumstances. It doesn’t mean anything has changed for you. So quit overthinking it.”

“Good advice, except I don’t usually overthink anything. Have you ever kissed a guy before?”

“Why are we doing this, Trinsky?”

“That’s a yes.”

Jake gave a humorless snort. “Yes. Okay, yes, are you satisfied?”

My heart beat a little faster. “When? How often? Just one guy? Do I know him?”

He sighed again. “I’m bi, and that’s all I have to say. Good night.”

“You’ve fucked guys?” I winced at my adolescent squawk.

“Jesus, Trinsky. Shut up and go to sleep.”

“There’s no chance I’m going to sleep now. I need to know everything.”

“No, you don’t. We’re not friends.”

“No, but what we did technically made us…the L word.” I pulled a comical face, grateful he couldn’t see my expression. “For a hot second anyway.”

“The L word. Lawyers, longshoreman, lifeguards…”

“L-o-v-e-r-s,” I spelled out.

He chuckled lightly. “For fuck’s sake.”

“Whatever. I need help here. A little information. I gotta know if this is a one-off or if I’ve tripped into something I’d never known about myself. Believe me, I’m not happy you’re the one I need to consult. It’s fucking mortifying.”

Jake’s sleeping bag rustled as he propped himself on his elbow, mirroring my pose. “Sexuality is fluid and natural. Despite what society tells you, it’s not strange or unusual to be attracted to someone of the same sex. Nor is it odd for sexual awareness to crystallize later in life. There’re plenty of stories of men and women who were happily married to someone of the opposite sex for years before⁠—”

“Switching teams,” I finished. “Okay, but I’m thirty-three, not ninety-three. This is not later in life. And I am not attracted to you.”

“Cool. Then you have nothing to worry about. Good night.” Jake snuggled into his sleeping bag and turned his back to me.

Fucker.

If my mind had been reeling earlier, it was on a runaway train now.

Jake was bi. He’d been with men…sexually. He wasn’t freaked out. This wasn’t new to him. He had experience, and he knew what he was doing.

Jake fucking Milligan had the upper hand here, and I had more of a problem with that than I did with the concept that I too might be bi. Yes, I was aware that was messed up, but that was how shit always seemed to go with us.

I was also aware that I’d never know for sure if I was bi unless…

“We have to do it again.”

11

JAKE

Thank God it was too dark to see clearly in the tent. I liked to think I had a good poker face and could keep my emotions under control, but Trinsky had a particular talent for getting under my skin. I could handle him on the ice all day long. I knew the rules there.

Here? Not so much.

“Good night,” I repeated tersely.

“All right. Then where would you suggest I go to experiment?”

Ugh. I smacked the pillow and turned toward him again. “I don’t fucking know. How about online?”

“Is that what you did?”

“No.”

“Jake…give me something. How do you know if⁠—”

I sat up in a rush and growled in frustration, enunciating every word of what was beginning to feel like a mantra. “I don’t fucking know! I kissed a guy in Barcelona when I was sixteen. I was on a family trip, traveling with my mom and my stepdad. The guy worked at the hotel pool and flirted with me every day. He was funny, good-looking, and he didn’t know anything about hockey. That was enough for me. He was my experiment, and he proved what I’d suspected…I’m bi. Now will you fuck off and leave me alone?”

Apparently not. “So you had sex with a Spanish guy? Huh.”

“No, I kissed a Spanish guy. And a British guy,” I added. “We actually did a little more, but that was a different trip.”

“Oh. Did you blow him…the British guy?”

“No, Mason.”

I swore I could feel his smile from a few feet away. It did something funny to my insides and made it difficult to maintain the mental distance I needed to get through another night with Trinsky.

Today had been a colossal mistake. Extremely hot albeit a big, bad idea.

And here we were again.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but it sounds like you’ve done more with me than anyone else with a dick. I think I’m honored.”

“Don’t be,” I huffed.

“Well, it doesn’t change the fact that you know something about yourself that I’m just grappling with today. I mean, geez, I might be…bi.”

“Congratulations. Your dating pool has just doubled.”

Trinsky snort-laughed. “I can’t do anything about that unless I retire tomorrow.”

“That’s not true. There are plenty of out bisexual players now.”

“No. There’s Denny, and he’s exceptional. Everyone else has retired. I wouldn’t want the spotlight he’s had to deal with ’cause of his personal life. Maybe it’s the same for you. In my case, I’m not even sure the bi-ness is true. Like I said, you’re the only one I’ve ever⁠—”

“Got it. Unfortunately, I’d have to charge you for a repeat.”

“That’s cool. I’m loaded.”

I snickered at his ludicrous bravado. “It’s hard to believe there’s room for me, you, and your ego in this tent.”

“And my dick. Which is also huge…as you now know.”

“Average,” I teased.

“Everyone’s a comedian. Even average hockey players,” he singsonged.

“Oh. Now who’s a comedian? Are you sure you want to compare and analyze stats?”

“Fuck, no. Mine are better for sure, but⁠—”

“Fuck off, Trinsky,” I grumbled, hating that it was true. He’d had a better year than me by a long shot, and that definitely wasn’t something I wanted to think about.

“I like it better when you call me Mason.”

Great. Now I was smiling. “Good night, Trinsky.”

He hummed. “Fair warning…I’m absolutely gonna jack off.”

“No, you aren’t.”

“Yes, I am.”

“No, you aren’t. And if I turn on this light and your hand is in your underwear, I’m…”

“You’re gonna what? Spank me? I could be into that.”

Me too.

My cock swelled in my boxer briefs. No, no, no. He had to stop talking…now.

“Trinsky…”

“I dated a girl who got off on spanking. She wanted to be over my knee, insisted on calling me daddy…the whole shebang. Not my go-to kink, but it was hot.” The sound of shifting fabric permeated the tent, followed by tapping.

I turned on the lantern. “What are you doing?”

He blinked, holding his hands up in surrender. “Nothing.”

“You were jerking off.”

“Unless I’m a ventriloquist jerker, I don’t think that’s possible.”

I gave Trinsky an irritated look, hating that my traitorous body responded to his inked muscular chest, mussed hair, and stupid grin. I wanted to punch him, but I laughed ’cause…ventriloquist jerker?

“Maybe not, but—keep your hands on top of the covers,” I chided.

“Make me.”

It was a juvenile dare, a playful tease. I didn’t have to take the bait. I knew better. I was smarter than that.

Okay, maybe not.

I pushed my sleeping bag out of the way and pounced, straddling his thighs as I grabbed his hands. Trinsky grinned like a madman before bucking me off and rolling on top of me. I used all my might to switch our positions, gasping at the feel of his hard cock through two layers of cotton.

We stared at each other as if weighing options and consequences, and deciding at the same time that this wasn’t over. Not yet.

Our mouths collided in a punishing grind we slowly softened to a real kiss with parted lips and frenzied tongues. I feasted like a starving man, sucking and licking, molding our hips and sliding my aching shaft alongside his.

It was like the forest again but better. The element of total surprise had been replaced by a hedonistic quest to know what it felt like to be with a man. At least, that was my story. I wasn’t thrilled that Trinsky was my partner in this, but on the other hand, he was exactly what I wanted—thick, muscular, edgy. Even better…I knew Trinsky didn’t expect anything from me. He had as much to lose as I did.

I set aside my preconceived notions and years’ worth of dislike, and let my baser instincts rule. This was all about my cock. And his.

“This feel okay?” I whispered, tilting my hip against his, my arms caged on either side of his head.

“Fuck, yes.”

Mason cupped my ass, slipping his fingers under the elastic of my PJ bottoms and boxer briefs. I groaned. His hands were huge, and he wasn’t gentle in the slightest. He pawed at my bare cheeks, pulling them apart and squeezing. Maybe he’d never been with a dude, but he obviously had experience and he wasn’t afraid to try something new.

He made me feel brave.

“Let me touch you. Take ’em off.” I snapped his briefs meaningfully.

“You too.”

I obeyed, draping myself over him before my nerves gave out and I remembered who he was and why this was a terrible idea. I spit on my palm and curled my fingers around his shaft.

“Is this okay?”

“Yeah, it’s good,” he choked out.

I stroked him from base to tip as I ravaged his mouth and humped my leaking cock in the crease of his upper thigh. Fuck, I was on fire. My grasp on my control was tenuous at best. I upped the tempo, biting his lips as I chased my release.

“Oh, fuck,” I grunted.

Trinsky pushed his meaty mitt between our sweaty torsos and took us both in hand.

“Feels so…so fucking hot,” he purred, opening his legs wide as he fondled my balls with his free hand and traced the sensitive skin of my sac. “I want to touch everything. Is this okay?”

“Fuck, yes. I’m coming.” I gritted my teeth as I spilled my load on his fingers and abs.

I must have set off a chain reaction. He tensed, tightening his grip on our cocks and thrashing his head back. He pulled me against his chest and muffled his roar in the crook of my neck. He was still too fucking noisy, so I fused our mouths to shut him up. He took over immediately, holding my face as he tickled my tonsils, ravaging me from below.

Everything about this was intense…from the press of our spent cocks to our swollen lips and the scent of sex in the tent. I was so thoroughly depleted and yet, I couldn’t get enough. And I didn’t want to be the first to call uncle. Weird thought, but Trinsky and I were always in competition. It was what we knew. This wasn’t post-bliss making out. It was a battle for dominance, and even though I was on top, I had a feeling I was losing.

I broke the kiss on a sharp exhale and fell sideways, careful to leave a few inches between us.

“You know we have to do this again,” Trinsky rasped.

I let out an amused half laugh. “Give me a few minutes.”

“M’kay. Christ, there’s jizz everywhere. Thanks a lot, Milligan.”

I chuckled, leaning over to dig through my bag for the tee I’d used last night. “Here you go.”

“You sly rascal, you. I knew this was a cum rag.”

I ignored him, somehow knowing his teasing banter was post-sex excess energy or maybe nerves…or both. Trinsky was constantly moving, talking, and no doubt, his brain was always churning. I used to think his ego required a captive audience and nonstop attention, but after a day alone with him in the wilderness, I realized that he had no real off switch. No doubt exercise helped—hockey, hiking…sex.

Oh, my God. I’d just had sex with Mason Trinsky.

Our cocks had been up close and personal, and my cum was on his chest. I’d kissed him, touched him. He’d opened his legs for me, and damn, now I wanted to fuck him. I wondered if he’d let me. Doubtful, but⁠—

“What exactly do you want?” I blurted.

I could have sworn I heard him swallow.

“Uh…what are you offering?” he countered.

I curled onto my side. “I don’t know. I’m thinking out loud.”

Trinsky was uncharacteristically quiet. “I guess I’d take whatever you wanted to give.”

“No hesitation?”

“Well, you’re catching me in my birthday suit after a mind-blowing orgasm, so I’d probably give you the code to my safe if you ask for it right now. Tomorrow…might be different.”

“How so?”

Trinsky snorted. “Well, I’ll probably remember that you hate me, for starters.”

“I don’t hate you.”

He laughed aloud. “Greatly dislike? Don’t bother sugarcoating it, man. Our mutual disdain is the reason we’re here.”

“True. Our PR team should see us now.” We both snickered at that. And yeah, it felt jarringly…harmonious. I exhaled with a shrug. “Okay, maybe we’re not each other’s favorite person.”

“Understatement. The first time I call you Jakey at the juniors’ camp, you’ll want to chop my balls off and when I beat you to the puck in a preseason game, the analysts will place bets on how long it’ll take till we’re in a full brawl on the ice. This is—I don’t know what it is, but it might only be tonight and I think that has to be okay. Right?”

My brain: Absolutely, a hundred thousand percent right. No question.

My body: This is it? For real? No. Just…no.

Thankfully, my brain did the talking for me. “Yeah, for sure.”

Trinsky rolled into my space and shoved a hand between my legs. “Cool. I wanna touch your dick again. Let me get you hard.”

I swatted him away but didn’t fight when he jumped on top of me, sumo-style. We sucked face and writhed like horny teens. And if one thing led to another, so be it.

Look, I wasn’t a fan of loose ends, and having a nebulous connection with someone I battled against on the ice was downright dangerous. But maybe that was part of the attraction—the danger, the thrill of the forbidden with someone who had as much to lose as I did.

This was the extent of us—one night in an alternate reality where bringing my enemy pleasure was my only goal.

Tomorrow, everything would go back to normal.

12

JAKE

“Can you push me higher?”

I widened my eyes in dismay at the bossy pipsqueak in a floral sundress. “How high?”

Charlotte pointed north. “To the sky.”

“All right. One trip to the moon coming up.” I grabbed the plastic swing seat and held it at my shoulders, pursing my lips as my little sister laughed like a loon. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, yes, yes!”

I lifted her above my head, eliciting a squawk and a new round of giggles before I ran underneath it, sending Charlotte flying at a ninety-degree angle.

“Jake!” Dad marched onto the deck with Ella at his heels and scowled. “Be careful! That’s too high.”

“No, Papa! It’s fun,” Char insisted, kicking her little legs in the air. She started singing a Disney princess song at the top of her lungs and swaying her ponytail, supremely confident and without a care in the world.

“Me too,” Ella said, running to the swing set. “Swing me high, Jakey.”

“You got it.” I melted. I couldn’t help it. My little sisters were the freaking cutest things ever.

Needless to say, Ella’s version of “high” and Charlotte’s were a little different.

Dad fussed anyway. “Be careful.”

I gave him the “Oh, please” look he deserved but dutifully kept Ella’s swing moving at a slower pitch.

“Where’s Nathan?” I asked.

“He’s helping Smitty choose pool toys to take to Vinnie and Nolan’s house for their barbecue. You’re coming, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I was planning on it.”

Dad and Smitty usually hosted the annual barbecue welcoming the slew of professional hockey players to Elmwood for Juniors’ Camp, but Vinnie and Nolan’s new pool was a big draw. Smitty claimed he was bummed they’d stolen their party away, but I think they were both secretly happy to pass the baton. My old childhood home was generally party central, crawling with neighborhood kids and friends.

The house was a lot more lively than it had been in my teenage years. I’d had my hockey buddies over occasionally, but I’d also spent a couple of weeks a month with my mom. I hadn’t thought about my father being lonely here till I’d moved away for college. And then he met Smitty and…let’s just say, the house was unrecognizable now.

It was still neat and tidy ’cause Dad was a stickler for organization, but it was a family home filled with toys and dogs and laughter…lots of laughter. There was always food on the stove or yummy leftovers in the fridge, always a kid or three on hand screaming with glee when I walked in the door. It was pure chaos.

I had a perfectly nice house on the edge of town with a brand-new kitchen and a huge private yard that abutted the woods, yet somehow, I preferred this. My place was a sweet respite from the mayhem, but…it was kind of lonely. Here, there were no unused rooms where silence clung to the walls like lost ghosts.

“Good. I could use help keeping an eye on our swimmers,” Dad said, squeezing my shoulder.

A word about Bryson Milligan. He was a handsome man in his fifties, tall and lean with salt and pepper hair. Dad was a successful real estate agent, a devoted father, and the nicest guy in the Four Forest area. Ask anyone.

He was the type who went out of his way to be involved in the community. He’d signed up for every volunteer position in town from bingo master to high school dance chaperone, and donated to every cause. Dad was quick with a smile and had a knack for remembering names. When I’d been a kid, everyone had gushed about how lucky I was to have such an amazing father.

They all loved my mom too, but she was an Elmwood native who’d never had to worry about fitting in. I’d never thought about how difficult it had been for him to be a single gay divorcee coparenting a kid in a small town where everyone knew your business. But he’d never complained. In fact, my dad had gone out of his way to make his entire life revolve around me.

And I knew it.

I’d always known there were sacrifices—fun-filled weekends curated to fit whatever activity I’d shown interest in as a child had been interspersed with long days alone for him. He’d never seemed to mind driving me to hockey practices or traveling to games all over the East Coast. To me, it was our thing. Mom was there too, but she had an outside life with her new husband that I hadn’t really been part of. And that was fine by me.

Dad had me…and together, we had hockey.

I’d been a pretty sensitive kid, though, and I’d sensed his loneliness, but I hadn’t known how to help. Mom had told me not to worry so much. That Dad just wanted to see me play…and hopefully win. She’d added the part about winning as a joke, but at some point, I’d decided that I owed it to him to win. To be the best.

I’d scoured the crowd looking for him before every game, waving with a big toothy grin in my bantam years to a subtle, cool kid up-nod in high school. I’d celebrated every win with my father and commiserated every loss. He’d been with me when I found out I was drafted to the AHL and then the NHL. Passing him the Stanley Cup after our win a few years ago had been one of the biggest highlights of my life. It was his win too.

We’d done it together.

I hoped to do it again, but let’s be real, time wasn’t on my side now. I’d been in the league for over a decade and it showed. I nursed my knees every day, all year round, and did my best to avoid major collisions after my last concussion had sidelined me for two months last year. I couldn’t afford to be off the ice. There were too many young talented players gunning for my job, wanting their shot at glory, and I wasn’t ready to give up. Life after hockey wasn’t something I wanted to contemplate.

Who would I be? What would I do? It had been hard enough to acknowledge Dad didn’t need me to play for him anymore. His life was full. He had Smitty, Nathan, Charlotte, and Ella, and I was happy for him. And for me. I’d always wanted to be part of a big family, and I had that now.

But in a funny way, I was still alone, wishing for a reason or purpose greater than myself.

Yeah, yeah…this was where the “Maybe you should try to meet someone, start a family of your own” advice usually poured in. I got it. A lot of the guys who’d come up in the league with me were married with kids. Some were already on their second or third marriages.

Me? I didn’t date much…never had. Hockey had always come first. It wasn’t that I preferred the occasional quick liaison with a stranger, but it was easier. No muss, no fuss.

Maybe it was time to try an app. I needed to think about something or someone else, stat. Someone who wasn’t Mason fucking Trinsky.

The fact that I’d replayed everything we’d done and said over and over in my head for days on end was downright disturbing. It was novel and new, and it had felt amazing to flex my bi muscle for the first time in years.

But Trinsky? Ugh.

“Okay, kiddos. Looks like we’re good on floaties and noodles!” Smitty marched into the yard with an inflatable rainbow unicorn around his waist and an armful of those Nerf-like swim noodles.

Nathan skipped in front of his dad, wearing Ella’s floaties like boxing gloves on his fists. “Woohoo! I helped blow them up for you, Ells.”

“I want the unicorn,” Charlotte called out.

“No, I want the unicorn.” Ella frowned, wiggling in her swing. “Will you slow me down, Jakey?”

I did as she asked and helped her jump off the swing, then stepped aside to avoid getting caught in the midst of a mini war on pool gear just as my cell buzzed in my pocket. I was going to ignore it, but as predicted, Ella burst into tears when Charlotte took the unicorn while Dad assured her there was another one for her.

Smitty and Dad could handle this crew, I mused, slipping my phone out.

“Hey, McD. What’s up?”

My agent whistled in response. “Who knew that a damn camping expedition would turn into a publicity boom? Me, that’s who.”

I slumped onto the nearest patio chair and groaned, head in hands. “Oh, brother.”

About that. McD was right. The post-season hockey lovers were hungry for news, and they couldn’t resist an orchestrated press ploy featuring two rivals forced to camp together. So cringeworthy.

According to…everyone, the video footage Ray had taken before his fall was a gold mine of snippy commentary and frequently bleeped-out zingers. He’d even managed to film us from the pit, adding to the lore of Team Trinsky-Milligan. The public had loved that we’d set aside our differences to help someone in need almost as much as they liked the consistent trash-talk.

The PR firm assigned to this “story” had interviewed the campers who’d vouched that we were a volatile pair, and that everyone had been shocked we’d survived not one but two nights in the same tent unscathed.

Of course, if they knew what had really gone on in that tent, they’d have been really shocked.

But no, I wasn’t going to think about that. Or any of it.

I was in it for good publicity for Elmwood and…myself, I supposed. McD insisted that I needed it so…cool, it was done. Time to move on.

“I need you in LA this week.”

“Los Angeles? That’s nice, but I can’t. Juniors’ Camp starts Monday and⁠—”

“No can do. You’ll need the week off. Get this…” He paused for theatrical effect. “They want you on the Hey, LA show.”

I frowned. “Me? Why?”

“Trinsky’s from Southern California, and LA loves their native athletes.” Oh, for fuck’s sake. “They want to interview both of you and before you say no, you can’t. He’s involved with a charity for kids based in Los Angeles, and he’s supposed to do a plug for them. I’m not sure if it’s an image-boosting project for him, but you’ll look like a schmuck if you don’t show up.”

“But he’s the one from LA. They don’t need me.”

“Like it or not, you two idiots have chemistry. Don’t you see? That’s why this so-called feud gets press. You’re both good-looking jocks who play a notoriously rough sport, but you each have a soft spot for kids and giving back to the community. Sappy or not, we have to take advantage of public interest. This is good for you and your career,” McD insisted for the thousandth time in an unapologetically firm tone.

“And what am I supposed to say on TV?”

“That camping together was an enlightening experience or that it was all about the kids. I’ll work on some verbiage and make it easy. But listen, that’s only one of the reasons I need you in LA.” McD cleared his throat, his excitement bubbling through a cellular connection. “The Kings are interested.”

“In what?”

“In my Aunt Martha’s quilt collection,” he snarked. “You, Milligan. They’re interested in you. They’re losing a star forward next season. Phillips is retiring, and they want a big name. You fit the bill. I know you don’t want to leave Boston, but here’s where I remind you that this is all part of the negotiation process. So pack your bag. I’ll have my secretary book you on a private jet tomorrow.”

“That’s…too soon. I can’t do that.” I scrambled to my feet. “Vinnie needs⁠—”

“Vinnie will do a flipping cartwheel. Just let him know you’ll be pimping Elmwood with your new best friend, Trinsky. I have business in Atlanta, so I won’t make it to the taping, but I’ll be there for our meeting with the Kings. See you in La-La Land, Milligan.”

I slipped my cell into my pocket, my heart hammering as I watched Dad and Smitty laughing uproariously at the kids chasing the dogs who’d stolen their swim noodles.

This was chaos. The fun kind of life-affirming sweetness that left you with a warm heart and good feels.

A week in LA with at least one day that included my “new best friend” was chaotic chaos or evil chaos—something unsteady, uncertain, and…dangerous.

Trinsky and I hadn’t left on bad terms, but I’d been counting on at least four weeks of calm in Elmwood before he arrived for his yearly coaching stint. I’d even thought about taking those last two weeks off to go on a real vacation—maybe a trip to Europe or the Bahamas or…anywhere that he wasn’t.

But apparently, evil chaos had won this round.

13

TRINSKY

My navy sport coat was so tight at the shoulders, I was in danger of busting at the seams. I couldn’t decide if I needed to lay off the Doritos or ask the wardrobe guy if I could borrow a spare jacket. Or go without.

“You’re fab as is,” the willowy assistant assured me.

I tugged at the sleeves awkwardly. “Are you sure? It feels a little snug.”

“Snug as a bug in a rug with a jug of jalapeño margaritas,” he chirped. “That’s a good thing. Now let’s get you to makeup. This way, sugar.”

This was painful. Not the jacket, but the whole…Hollywood “You look like someone I should know” vibe. Not my scene at all. If there was one consolation, Milligan seemed even more uncomfortable. I’d tilted my chin at him in greeting in the studio lobby, ignoring the jumble of nerves in my stomach. I swore it was the whole live-audience TV thing and not my model-handsome nemesis standing a few feet away, smelling of woodsy cologne and expensive leather.

Jake wore a plaid suit coat with a white oxford shirt, no tie. His dark-blond hair was artfully mussed. He was the picture of casual elegance with his stupid blue eyes and friendly demeanor, and…I couldn’t curb the visual of him above me, his arms shaking when I’d gripped his cock.

That had happened. And almost two weeks later, I wasn’t sure how I felt about it.

Okay, untrue.

I felt very good about orgasms as a rule. I didn’t feel so great about Jake, but I honestly had no regrets. If anything, I owed him a huge thank-you for opening my horizons along with my zipper. I’d gotten off with a dude and it had been…amazing.

I was curious enough to want more but aware that it couldn’t happen…unless it was with Jake.

Again, not a great option. He hated me. To his credit, he was trying to be civil today. He’d shaken my hand and said something about how weird this was, and I’d agreed. Now, here we were, waiting for a PA to call us into the studio for the live taping with orange powdery shit on our faces that was supposed to even out our features. Whatever the fuck that meant.

“Did they give you a script?” Jake asked in a low tone, his gaze locked on the sparkly hosts with giant smiles grinning at the audience.

“A script? No. I think we’re just supposed to answer a couple of inane questions and try to keep it entertaining.”

“You’ll have to do the entertaining. I’m too nervous.”

“You?” I could have admitted that I was too, but I was hardwired to needle him. “Why? You’re on TV all the time.”

Jake nibbled his bottom lip anxiously. “Not like this. These people don’t care about hockey.”

“Well, then make them care. I don’t want to carry this whole two-minute segment myself. I mean, yeah, I’d probably kill it. In a good way. That’s not a brag. I’m just good on my feet and⁠—”

“Okay, you can shut up now,” he huffed under his breath.

I held my hands up in surrender, chuckling lightly. “Hey, I’m just surprised Mr. Perfect doesn’t want to talk about himself. That’s all.”

Jake flashed an irritated glance my way. “Yeah, well, I—you’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”

“Doing what?”

“Pushing my buttons and bugging the hell out of me.”

“Who, me?” I fluttered my eyelashes, smirking at his growl of frustration. “Nice suit, by the way.”

Jake plucked at his sleeves and licked his lips. “Stop talking.”

“You’re supposed to say thank you. That was a compliment, asshole.”

“Thanks, but I’m pretty sure you’re messing with me.” He scowled at my eye roll, adding, “And since when are you involved in a children’s charity? I read up on it and I was impressed at how much money you’ve made for underprivileged youth. I had no idea.”

Don’t ask me why that bothered me. Jake’s low opinion of me wasn’t news, but I objected to the inference that I was a self-centered prick.

I bristled in my too-snug sport coat and leaned in to whisper into his ear. “I touched your balls and squeezed your dick till you came, Milligan, but that doesn’t mean you know shit about me.”

He clenched his jaw, his eyes blazing. Whoa. He wanted to punch me. Or shove me against the nearest wall and fuck my mouth with his tongue and⁠—

“All right, gentlemen. Let’s get you on set. Cameras are rolling.”

We snapped to attention and walked side by side onto the sound stage, the air crackling with awareness and recognition.

Fuck me. I wanted to provoke him, aggravate him, make him want me.

This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

The interview was short and uninspiring. The Hey, LA hosts were Shelby, an eighties runway model with golden locks, a tiny waistline, and red lips, and Stan, a soap opera actor whose year-round tan went well with his silver-streaked hair. Shelby and Stan were pretty and bubbly, and both were decent at feigning interest for two to three minutes at a stretch.

“I don’t know if I could handle close quarters with the enemy. How’d you do it?” Shelby asked, fanning her lashes like hummingbird wings.

“Why did you do it?” Stan added with a sardonic, cheesy grin.

“Enemies is a strong word,” Jake replied. “We’re competitors, and we’re passionate about our jobs.”

“And winning,” I interjected, waggling my brows. The audience laughed and thankfully, it got easy from there.

We talked about coaching juniors in Elmwood, youth programs in general, and the importance of giving back. It could have been all polite and boring, but I made sure to give the network what they were looking for. We weren’t going to brawl on network television. Zingers would have to do.

“What was the hardest thing about camping with an adversary?”

I hummed as if carefully considering the question. “Milligan sings in his sleep.”

“I do not sing in my sleep,” Jake huffed.

“Off-key.”

Shelby snickered. “Would you do it again?”

“Only if I had earplugs,” I countered.

“How about you, Jake?”

Jake nodded. “Setting aside differences for a good cause is always worthwhile.”

Our unrelentingly upbeat hosts beamed on cue. “Well said. Thanks so much for stopping by.”

I smiled into the camera and flashed a secret sign to Eddie. “Thanks for the invitation.”

“Next up we have…”

Twenty minutes later, we signed autographs for a few hockey fans, washed off the orange paint, and shared an elevator ride to the main lobby.

I handed my ticket to the parking attendant and motioned for Jake to do the same.

“I ubered here. I haven’t driven in LA in a while, and I didn’t want to get lost or be late for this.” He pulled his cell out and scrolled for his rideshare app. “It went okay, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, it was a good fluff piece.” I plucked my sunglasses out from the inside of my sport coat along with a few bills for a tip. “Where are you staying?”

“Uh, some hotel on Sunset. I have to look up the address.” More scrolling.

I stepped off the curb as my Porsche rolled up, unclear what the etiquette was now. See you in Elmwood in August? See you next season? Or just…adios?

I handed money to the valet, stealing one last glance at Jake before uttering the two sentences that would alter my life…forever.

“Hop in. I’ll give you a ride.”

14

JAKE

Trinsky cranked the volume on a rock song I didn’t recognize and drove west, one hand casually draped over the steering wheel, the other tapping a beat on his thigh. He’d removed his sport coat and rolled up his sleeves before we’d left the studio, griping about being hot and uncomfortable.

Ironically, I was the uncomfortable one now. Instead of soaking in the California sunshine on a beautiful summer day, I was hopelessly distracted by his beefy inked forearms and strong profile. Damn it, I should never have gotten into his car. I couldn’t be in his vicinity and remain neutral. It was impossible.

He either irritated me or turned me on. And that second one tied me in knots. I didn’t like that this feeling hadn’t gone anywhere. I’d been counting on a change of scenery to serve as a reset button. We didn’t have to be friends or even enemies. We could be ambivalent acquaintances.

But my skin didn’t overheat around other ambivalent acquaintances, and I didn’t blush like a teenager at the memory of what we’d done in that tent…and against that tree, and…

I lowered the volume and twisted in the lush leather seat. “You’re killing my eardrums.”

“We can put on a little yacht rock if that’s your jam.”

“I do not listen to yacht rock. I don’t even know what that is.” I snorted.

“It’s corny dad music. Although…some of it’s okay,” he conceded. “What do you listen to?”

“Everything. I’m on a podcast kick now.”

Trinsky lifted a brow. “Me too. My brother hooked me up with a good history one. The latest installment covers the Etruscan civilization.”

“Etruscans? That’s…interesting.”

He knit his brows and cast a quick look my way. “It’s fucking fascinating shit. Did you know the Etruscans were master metal workers, and they did these amazing murals? The Romans didn’t like them, though. Not sure why. Gotta tune in to the next podcast to find out.”

My lips curled of their own volition. I did not find him amusing at all—I tried not to, anyway. “You’re a dork.”

“A dork! Ha. I haven’t heard that one in a while.”

“If the shoe fits.”

I noted the swaying palms lining Wilshire Boulevard, the coffee shops, banks, and boutiques with colorful awnings. I’d been here dozens of times for games and had done all the touristy things, but the city was so sprawling that I never really felt like I knew it. Boston was charming, sometimes edgy, yet steeped with poignant history while LA had a vibe all its own. It was glittering and pretty with a deceptive coolness cloaked in smoke and mirrors. Nothing ever was as it seemed. Sometimes it was better, sometimes not.

Like Trinsky.

“You’re a funny one, Jakey,” he singsonged, squeezing my knee.

I yelped and smacked him, which made him laugh and made me want to strangle him. It was better than the floaty, woozy feeling in my lungs. But the ensuing silence was suffocating. I simultaneously wanted to jump out of the car and stay here, with the road stretching on for miles.

No, I didn’t want to say good-bye. It was an unfamiliar feeling where Trinsky was concerned…and I still had so many questions.

I wanted to know more about the charity he was involved in. Where did he live? Did he have a lot of friends in the area? What about a girlfriend? Shit. Did he have one of those? Was that secret hand sign he made on air for her? Why would I care? Did I care?

“Hey, what was that secret signal?” I flubbed through my own version of one. “Was that for your girlfriend?”

He stopped at a red light and glanced over with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You jealous?”

“Fuck off.”

But also…yes.

Trinsky chortled merrily. “I don’t have a girlfriend. That was for Eddie…my brother.”

“Oh. Sign language?”

“It’s sort of an inside joke. Eddie is learning ASL. I know more than I let on, but it makes him laugh when I intentionally fuck up, so…I do.”

I smiled. Mason Trinsky knew sign language, listened to history podcasts, and was involved in a children’s charity. Who the hell was this guy? At least two of those three things were connected to his brother, which indicated he was close to his family. Geez, he might be a dick on the ice, but he was proving to be less of one in his real life.

“That’s pretty cool,” I admitted. “How old is your brother?”

“Sixteen.”

“Does he play hockey?”

“No,” Trinsky replied.

“Mmm. I thought maybe hockey ran in the family.”

He snickered. “Dude, I’m from Hermosa Beach. We have surf and sand…no ice.”

“How’d you get started? No, never mind. I’ve heard the story.” We’d spent too many years in the league and countless summers of camp together. I might not know much about his personal life, but I knew his hockey origin story. “Your friend’s dad worked the Zamboni for the Kings practice rink and used to take you after school.”

Trinsky gasped in faux surprise. “You googled me!”

I rolled my eyes, the way I always seemed to do around him. “Dream on. You’ve told that story to every group of teenagers in Elmwood since you started coaching summer camp.”

“Ah, well, it’s a good story. I used to bring Eddie with me to the rink when he was younger, but his balance wasn’t great and he’d get frustrated. He’s better now, but he’s more of an ocean guy. I told him we’d go surfing tomorrow. That’s always fun.” His lips quirked at the corners. “You should come.”

“Surfing? I haven’t been on a board in years.”

“Body surfing. Eddie doesn’t like boards.” He stopped behind a Jeep and grumbled. “Traffic sucks. I hope you didn’t have to be anywhere soon.”

“Nah, I don’t have any plans.”

Trinsky did a double take. “Are you hungry?”

“Uh…yeah, I could eat.”

“Cool, we’ll go to my house.”

I sat taller in my seat. “Your house?”

“Yeah, I have to jump on the freeway, but it’s not that far. And Bianca stocked my fridge yesterday. We’re talking…stocked. I need help doing justice to her enchiladas. Might as well be you.”

“Bianca.” I wrinkled my nose in confusion. “Is she your girlfriend?”

He snorted derisively. “Bianca is my housekeeper who also happens to be an amazing cook.”

“Weren’t you dating a model?”

Trinsky did one of those obnoxious side winks. “You totally googled me.”

“No, I didn’t. Did you—did you tell anyone?”

“About us? Oh, yeah. For sure. I broke up with my ex a few months ago, but I called her last week and told her I banged a dude and liked it. Now she wants a threesome. I got my agent to get me on this TV thing with you, so I could offer you a ride and ask how kinky you get. It was all going according to plan, but I guess the ruse is up. Phew. Weight off my chest, man.” He pounded said chest like a caveman and veered onto the freeway entrance.

“You’re very fucking funny,” I deadpanned.

Trinsky lost it.

He hooted, slapping his palm on the steering wheel. “You’re the best target. So easily offended. Lighten up, buttercup. I don’t have a girlfriend and no, I didn’t tell anyone I touched your dick. Sadly, that means no threesomes for us…if that’s where your kink lays.”

“Lies, not lays.”

“Shut up, Milligan,” he retorted almost affectionately. “You know I’m playing with you.”

“You’re a freaking child.”

Trinsky grinned. “And you’re a freaking stick-in-the-mud. How do you feel about enchiladas?”

“I love them.”

“Good. You’re forgiven. Now, hang tight. Let me show you what this baby can do.”

And with that, he revved the engine, zipping around slow-moving traffic at a hundred miles per hour, singing his lungs out to a Pearl Jam classic.

I was annoyed.

Totally…absolutely…annoyed.

And a little charmed.

At least now I could blame my racing pulse on the Porsche and if my smile felt too big for my face, well…I liked fast cars and Pearl Jam too.

Trinsky’s Hermosa Beach house was—well, it was…

“This is…nice.”

I bit my lower lip as I surveyed the opulent surroundings of the tri-level mafia villa meets California coastal chic abode. The floors were a mix of travertine and hardwood, the kitchen counters were dark granite, and not one, but two crystal chandeliers hung above an enormous island. The barstools were white leather, and there was a zebra-print rug under the glass table in the breakfast nook.

The best word to describe his place would be ostentatious.

“Don’t sugarcoat it. This house would have been Tony Soprano’s dream beach house, and you fuckin’ know it. Tacky as shit, but I’m only here a couple of months out of the year, so who cares?” He tossed his keys to the granite island. “Want something to drink? You name it, I’ve got it—beer, soda, water, wine.”

“Water is fine. Thanks.”

I passed through a stone archway and wandered to the wall of windows in the adjoining living room. The house was definitely not my taste, but no one could fault the view. His great room was on the second floor, offering privacy from boardwalk traffic as well as an incredible panoramic view of the Pacific Ocean. The soft earthy sand and turquoise waters softened the harsh interiors and in a funny way, balanced them out.

“Here you go.” Trinsky handed over a water bottle and motioned to the patio. “I’m gonna nuke some enchiladas and change into shorts. Pull up a chair outside. I’ll meet you in a few.”

Ten minutes later, he set a platter of warm enchiladas, rice, beans, and tortilla chips on the table, looking infinitely more comfortable in workout shorts and a snug-fitted Denver Condors tee. I hated that I noticed his pecs and the flex of his biceps as he flopped onto the chair across from me and slipped a pair of Wayfarers on. And I really hated that my first thought was, Damn, he’s hot.

I thanked him for the cutlery and napkin, and gaped at the feast…to avoid gaping at him. “Holy crap, this is a ton of food.”

Trinsky shoveled three enchiladas onto his plate and spooned rice and beans on as well. “Uh-huh. Bianca spoils me. She has a huge family, like five kids and fifteen grandkids, and the minute I tell her I’ll be in town, she doubles whatever is on the menu and stuffs my fridge with the best Mexican food you’ve ever had…guaranteed. Don’t be shy.”

I was pretty hungry and there was a lot of food, so I went for it. We made idle conversation about the beautiful weather, the fat seagulls stalking beachgoers, and Bianca’s amazing culinary skills.

“I didn’t know I liked enchiladas this much. Please pass my compliments on to the chef,” I gushed.

“You got it. Her chile relleno is even better. And don’t get me started on her tamales.” Trinsky dragged a chip through sauce mixed with beans and rice. “I’m lucky and I know it. If Bianca ever gets tired of me, I’ll be reduced to cereal and mac and cheese. Thank God she loves me.”

“You sure you aren’t dating her?” I teased.

He kicked my chair and scowled. “Show some respect. She’s old enough to be my grandmother, and she’s more like a second mom to me…who I pay to cook and clean. My house and my mom’s.”

I pushed my plate away with a contented sigh. “Your mom lives close by?”

“Yeah, just a few blocks away.”

“Hmm. Do you have other siblings, or is it just you and Eddie?”

“Just us. I never knew my dad, and Eddie’s dad fucked off a week after he was born,” he replied.

“Sorry, that sucks.”

“Meh, you can’t miss what you’ve never had. My mother has epically terrible taste in men, so I really doubt my bio dad was a standup guy. And Eddie’s…” Trinsky let out a low whistle, shaking his head in disgust as he sat back in his chair. “That dude was a scumbag. I know he wouldn’t dare make a surprise appearance, but if he tried, I’d fucking tear him apart, limb from limb.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Some people shouldn’t be allowed to procreate.” He scooted forward, leaning an elbow on the table. “If you ask me, there should be a mandatory test for any prospective parent. Maybe no one is perfect, but if you’re a human disaster zone, you pass your parent card to someone worthy and move on. No exceptions.”

“I want to agree with you, but I think my dad considered himself a human disaster zone before I was born.”

“Your dad? No fucking way. He’s like…the original Mr. Perfect.”

I chuckled. True, my dad was a perfectionist, and if Trinsky noted that I’d followed in his footsteps, I wouldn’t deny it. But my dad was pretty awesome, and everyone knew it. Including Trinsky.

“He’s a good man, but he had demons to conquer. Everyone has baggage, I suppose.”

“What’s yours?” he asked.

“That’s a little personal.”

Trinsky huffed. “I just shared my enchiladas with you. Be nice. You don’t have to tell me what’s in the large suitcase. I probably can’t handle that shit anyway. Give me something from your travel-sized bag.”

I pursed my lips in amusement. “Easy. I’m bi, and I had a sexual encounter with my rival.”

“Funny thing…I got the same problem. And you know what’s worse?”

“What?”

“I don’t think I hate him. Not that I ever really did. It was more that I was annoyed as fuck with him, and I thought his face was totally punchable.”

I barked a laugh. “Oh, yeah? He sounds terrible.”

Trinsky nodded solemnly. “Very fucking terrible. The dude is hot, though. I just wish he didn’t get on my last nerve. Weird, ’cause I’m usually a pillar of patience—very reasonable, very chill. He, on the other hand, is allergic to fun.”

“I am not allergic to fun,” I grumbled.

“What makes you think I’m talking about you?”

“Good question. Are you?”

He flashed a devilish half grin. “I am. Want to know something wild?”

“Yeah…what?”

“I’m not sure that I like you, but I’m kind of obsessed with this queer sex stuff. I’ve done my homework every night since I left Elmwood. I started with basic definition and graduated to video tutorials. It’s been enlightening.”

I swallowed hard, my gaze tracking his tongue gliding across his lower lip. “I bet. So, you’re really fine with what happened…in the forest?”

“Fine is not the right word. I’m…horny.”

I snickered. “Good to know.”

“I’m not kidding. It’s been two weeks. I hoped the feeling would fade or that I’d be interested in hooking up with a woman, but…” Trinsky blew his cheeks out and released a slow stream of air. “My head is stuck in that tent. With you.”

My heart pounded against my rib cage. It was so like him to casually discuss our hump-and-grind fests over lunch with the soundtrack of screeching seagulls, giggling children, and a mishmash of music on the beach. There was so much static in the air and yet, he had my undivided attention.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t feel like baggage to me. I’m not afraid of it. I want it. The circumstances are tricky, though. You’re my only viable option and correct me if I’m wrong, but…I think I’m yours.”

I didn’t reply. Was he—did he want…did he want what I thought he wanted?

Shit, I was nervous. And that was crazy. This was Mason Trinsky, for fuck’s sake. He was an annoying asswipe who loved riling me up for no reason whatsoever. So what if he happened to be built like a Mack truck?

“So you’re playing nice with delicious Mexican food on a beautiful day at the beach to get in my pants,” I stated, proud that my voice didn’t crack or waver.

He flashed that wicked grin again. “Something like that. What do you think? Should we get this out of our systems? You can still hate me if you want. I won’t be offended.”

He wouldn’t be. Nothing would change between us.

This could be about physical release and sating mutual curiosity. Sure, it was strange that after years of putting sex on the back burner, I’d found myself drawn to Trinsky, but maybe that was because he elicited strong responses from me. I was calm and collected under pressure and yet…this guy always seemed to get to me.

Maybe I needed to get this out of my system too.

A tingling sensation zinged at the base of my spine. Fuck, this wasn’t smart.

Or was it? There was no way in hell he’d tell anyone about this. I could trust him.

One more time.

“Let’s do it.”

15

TRINSKY

Seriously? No pushback? No wise words about bad decisions affecting our careers? No reminder that I was his least favorite person on the planet? I supposed there was no point in overstating the obvious…except, that was something Jake tended to do.

I tilted my chin curiously. “Just like that?”

“Yes. We have to decide how far we want to go, but⁠—”

“All the way.”

Jake widened his eyes. “Uh…all the way? I don’t think so. I mean, I guess I could top you if⁠—”

“No, no. It’ll be the other way around,” I intercepted, stacking plates on top of the platter as I stood. “I did the research and I’ve had anal experience with some women, so I probably know more about what goes where.”

He huffed in exasperation. “Dick in ass, asshole. Congratulations. You’re a genius.”

“I know, right? Grab the guac for me, will ya? We’re not feeding the damn seagulls.”

I headed for the kitchen and dumped the dirty dishes onto the counter, only slightly bummed that I’d missed Jake’s openmouthed sputtering. Hey, I hadn’t set out to aggravate him on purpose. Well…not all the time, but I’d admit that sparring with him gave me a rush like nothing else.

Look at me now. Blood zipped through my veins, pounding in my ears and making my dick pulse in my shorts. I adjusted my semi as I turned to Jake and whipped my T-shirt over my head.

He caught my tee one-handed and set the bowl of guac on the island. “Keep your clothes on, Trinsky. We have to talk about this—establish boundaries⁠—”

“And safe words. I call Cheerios.”

Jake heaved a put-upon sigh. “Number one, there will be no reason for a safe word. I’m not signing up for anything kinky.”

“Oh, I can change your mind. I could paddle your ass or tie you up.”

“Not happening. Number two, could you please be serious?”

“Nope. Serious only works if you’re trying to make a sexy move on your partner. Since you’re a sure thing, I don’t have to woo you, tell you that you’re so hot or whatever the fuck. We can get to the good stuff. Bam! You know what I mean?”

He scratched his temple. “Uh, yeah. That’s true, but no going too fast and if one of us is uncomfortable with anything, we stop, no questions asked.”

“I’m gonna have questions.”

“You’ll have to hold them.”

“Hmph. What if my questions are important?” I countered. “Neither of us has done anything we’re thinking of doing with a man. If it’s too much or too little, I won’t know unless you speak up.”

“Okay, that’s fair,” he conceded.

“Good. I have a question.” I raised my hand like an eager first grader. “Are you planning on wearing that suit all afternoon?”

Jake slid his suit jacket off his broad shoulders and draped it over a barstool before unbuttoning his oxford shirt. He pulled the fabric open, exposing his smooth, toned chest. His abs rippled as he curled his fingers around his belt buckle, and I was practically salivating as his hand drifted to his zipper

Filthy thoughts of my cum spurting on his chest blindsided me and made me weak in the knees. If I’d had any last-second doubts, they were gone now.

I wanted this.

I wanted him.

“This way,” I grunted and headed for the stairs.

My bedroom was huge. It literally took up most of the third floor and had a super-high ceiling. It also boasted incredible ocean views, visible from the ginormous California king bed. This room had more “me” in it than the rest of the house. I didn’t care about the ugly granite kitchen counters, but I couldn’t wake up to gold-leaf wallpaper or the statue of Aphrodite that the former owners had left behind. My mom had bought a navy duvet for me and hung a bunch of framed beach photos on the white walls. It was minimalist and soothing.

But I still hadn’t gotten around to⁠—

“Oh, my God. There’s a mirror on your ceiling.”

I closed the blinds with a remote and glanced up as if mildly surprised. “What do you know?”

Jake burst out laughing. “No. No way. I can’t look at myself doing…sex things.”

“Close your eyes,” I suggested, folding the duvet aside and climbing to the center of the mattress. I slipped my fingers under the elastic band of my shorts, hoping we were still thinking the same debauched thoughts. “Have you changed your mind? It’s okay, you know. We don’t have to do anything. There’s no pressure here and no reason to⁠—”

Whatever mumbo jumbo I’d been spouting was cut short by his rough kiss.

Jake slanted his mouth on mine, grabbing my jaw and thrusting his tongue inside. And damn it, this was better than I’d remembered. Rabid kisses and greedy tugs at hair and clothing were punctuated with heavy breathing and frustrated groans. I wanted him under me, on top of me, any way he’d let me get close.

He pulled away to unzip his trousers, letting them fall to his feet as he peeled off his shirt. Then he kicked the fabric aside, along with his shoes and socks, and joined me on the bed. No hesitation.

We rolled from one end of the mattress to the other, sucking, kissing, licking, and nibbling in a frenzy. Pillows flew, and I was pretty sure we knocked over a water bottle and the book I’d started reading last night. We could tear the room apart for all I cared. I was all about the sweet grind of Jake’s erection.

We pumped our hips wildly and sucked face like it was our job. There was nothing gentle or tentative here. Neither of us held back, and it was glorious. I’d never let loose with lovers…not like this. There’d always been a measure of control in place. I was a big dude and I tended to get carried away. I didn’t want to hurt or overwhelm a woman…but Jake? He could take it. And give it.

Jake scratched my sides and hooked his leg between mine. I didn’t fight him this time. The spaced-out, sex-hazed glint in his eyes was too fucking much for me. I wanted to study him, see where he took this next…how far he was willing to go.

“Do you want to take your shorts off?” he panted.

“Mmhmm. Nice wet spot,” I taunted, my gaze drifting from his half-hooded eyes to the precum drenching his boxer briefs.

He chuckled. “You’ve got one too. Geez, Trinsky. I’m beginning to think you really want me.”

I flipped him over so fast he landed on his back with an “Oomph.” I attacked his mouth, tongue-fucking him to the rhythm of the sway of our hips.

“Take everything off,” I gasped, rolling sideways to give him room to wiggle out of his briefs while I did the same.

I chucked my shorts in the general direction of the hamper and started to dive for him again but stopped at the last second.

Holy crap. There was a naked man in my bed.

A naked Jake Milligan, to be precise.

This was the same little shit with zero sense of humor who called foul at the slightest shove on the ice and who’d labeled me a renegade miscreant. It was the same guy who’d distracted me at the worst possible moment during a pivotal championship game. He was the last person I should want like this. The very last.

Yet…he looked pretty damn good with his golden hair on my pillow, his toned abs with all those dips and valleys, and the perfect V line pointing like an arrow to his thick, veiny cock. He had a scar on his hip and a jagged one across his upper right thigh, but otherwise, his skin was unblemished—no tats and only a few freckles and a smattering of hair on his chest. His pubes were well manicured, like mine. And yeah, he had a nice long, thick dick.

I swallowed around the ball of desire lodged in my throat, my hand hovering over his length.

“Touch me, man. Do it,” he dared.

I lifted his cock, sliding my thumb from his base to his slit. I rubbed precum on his crown, testing its consistency and volume like a fucking scientist. A lot of precum had to mean he was turned-on. He was writhing under me now, his gaze searching mine, pleading for me to make a move.

So I gripped him firmly and stroked up and down, up and down. Jake hummed his approval and closed his eyes.

“Eyes open,” I commanded, releasing him to reach for the lube I kept in my bedside drawer.

Jake obeyed. “Don’t stop. Jerk me off.”

I showed him the bottle and poured some on my palm, slathering it on both of us. Then I got back to work, jacking myself with my left hand, Jake with my right. I kept a steady pace, reveling in the novelty of new discovery. He liked a rough hold at his base and his crown was super sensitive. So were his balls. I let go of my aching dick to fondle his nuts while I stroked him.

If his low groan and the flush of pink across his chest were any indication, he loved it. He arched into my touch, wordlessly asking for more. So I tightened my hold and upped the tempo.

Yeah, he liked that too. Jake lifted his hips, exposing his pucker to me, and oh fuck, that might have been the honest-to-God sexiest thing I’d ever seen.

For the record, I’d had a lot of sex with many beautiful women, and I’d started early. Nothing much surprised me. Anonymous hookups in dark alleys, blowjobs in limos, orgies in posh living rooms with multiple female partners…affirmative. I’d been with plenty of women who’d liked anal sex, and I’d been happy and horny enough to give it a try. What’s not to like?

But again…this was Jake. And even though he said he wanted everything, I felt like I needed a written invitation to touch him there.

“I’m gonna put my finger on you…right here,” I warned, setting a single digit on his entrance. “Just like that. Does that feel okay?”

Jake inhaled sharply. “Oh, fuck.”

I pressed his opening, oh so gently, applying pressure as I jacked him. My poor cock was bobbing hopefully between his thighs, but it would have to wait. This was all about Jake.

“You like this?”

“Yeah,” he choked out.

“Have you ever fingered your hole?”

He frowned as he licked his lips. “I’m not answering that.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” I pushed my lube-slicked middle finger inside him.

“I—what are you—I don’t…” Jake squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth. “You’re not fucking me, asshole.”

“No, I’m fingering your sweet hole, dickhead.” I pushed my digit a little farther and added a second one. He grunted and opened his legs wider. “You like this. Don’t deny it. I know it’s good. Has anyone ever massaged your prostate?”

“I—don’t talk, Trinsky. Just keep doing that.”

So I did. I stroked Jake as I slid my fingers in and out of him. And maybe it bugged him, but I had to know if I was doing this right, so I asked a few dozen questions.

“Is this good? Can you take another finger? Does it make you wonder what my cock would feel like?”

He didn’t reply—not with words, anyway. It didn’t matter. The nonstop moaning echoed off the walls as he arched into my fist and rode my fingers like a champ. He was into this, and though he’d deny it all day long, Jake loved my raunchy play-by-play. Your hole wants my fingers. It wants my dick. You can take this, Jakey. That’s it. Ride it.

Jake swatted my hand off his dick and stroked himself to the finish line, digging his heels into the mattress as I pistoned my fingers in and out of his entrance.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come,” he warned, painting his abdomen with jizz as his hole closed around my digits like a vise.

I pulled out, swiped my right palm through the mess he’d made, and used it as lube before finally yanking my cock with purpose.

Five strong tugs later, my orgasm ripped through me and let me assure you, this was no ordinary orgasm. It was an avalanche of pleasure that shook me to my core. I spilled my seed onto Jake’s chest, trembling with the effort to stay upright. And not to be dramatic, but I couldn’t see for shit until the white lights cleared from my periphery and my rapid breathing slowed to something close to normal.

I slumped onto the mattress in a daze like a fucked-out starfish, staring up at the mirrors on the ceiling.

“Oh, my God. I didn’t look up once.” I smacked my forehead.

“I did. It was hot.” He sat up, bracing his weight on his elbows. “Got a towel?”

“No, I can’t get up. You’re going to have to get crusty and scrape that mess off later.”

Jake punched my biceps lightly. “Very funny. Towel me, Trinsky.”

I stumbled into the bathroom, washed up, and returned with a towel. “Here you go.”

I picked up the water bottle I’d knocked over earlier and took a swig, then passed it to Jake.

“Thanks.” He gulped the rest and returned the empty bottle to me with a shit-eating grin. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to drink it all.”

I huffed without heat and flopped beside him on the bed. “Fuck water. Let’s talk about my fingers in your ass. That was the hottest thing I’ve ever witnessed.”

Jake knit his brow in his usual prissy manner and busted up laughing. “It was so—geez…like…I can’t believe how incredible that felt.”

My chest puffed up with pride. I wiggled my fingers as I rolled to face him. “Magic fingers, baby.”

He snorted. “I wasn’t talking about your fingers. I meant…never mind.”

“Fuck that.” I pushed his chest gruffly and hit him with my best no-nonsense glare. “This is already weird, dude. If we don’t say what we like and don’t like, it’ll be a disaster. Maybe it will be anyway, but I’d rather know why than wonder if I hurt your fucking feelings or something.”

“Hurt my feelings?” Jake scoffed. “We aren’t in a relationship. We’re just…”

I snapped my fingers. “See? That’s it. That’s the problem. We don’t know what we’re doing. We need some rules.”

“Okay. No one else can know. No sharing with mutual friends, trusted family members…no one. We have to act totally normal around each other. So don’t stop being a dick in public on my account.” He held up his hand. “But—and this a big but—please don’t drag me into silly drama for the fun of it like you did with the stupid leather jacket comment.”

I snickered. “Fine, but I was thinking more in terms of communication…in bed.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, see I want to know if I do anything that doesn’t work for you, and I want to know what gets your motor running. Maybe it’ll be the same for me or maybe we try something new…blowjobs, anal…”

Jake pursed his lips, his eyes alight with humor before the dam burst and he busted up laughing. It took him a minute to sober. Of course, my stony expression made him howl again, which cost another minute. “Think of all the times you told me to suck your cock on the ice and now…ha! You really want me to suck your cock.”

“Right. That’s how blowjobs work, genius.” I waited out his next bout of hysterics, my lips twitching in amusement. “You also told me to fuck myself and ironically, now you want me to fuck you, so⁠—”

“I never said that. I don’t know that I want…to do the whole anal thing.” Jake furrowed his brow. “Is that okay?”

I nodded. “Yeah, it’s okay. This is what I was talking about. We gotta know boundaries. If I fuck up, I don’t want you to act as if it’s no big deal and then ghost me. We’re adults with a volatile history. How will I know you won’t use this against me?”

Jake’s eyes softened as he reached out and set his hand on my forearm. “I won’t. I promise. But how do I know you don’t have a hidden camera on your mirrored ceiling?”

I smiled at the joke. “I wish I did. The previous owners had a life-sized statue of the goddess of love in the corner near the window. Between that and the mirrors, I think this room has seen some kink-alicous action. I need to step up my game.”

“You’re a straight man in bed with a dude, so…I think you already have,” he observed.

“True dat. Now, to be clear…” I lowered the covers and grabbed my junk. “What’s the verdict on blowjobs? Do you like them?”

His gaze drifted to my dick. “I do. But you’ll expect me to return the favor, and I don’t think I’d be any good at it.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Milligan. Leave your perfectionist bullshit at the door. Sucking is the whole purpose of a blowjob. Hey, I’ll go first. Maybe I’ll try sucking you off while I finger your ass next time. Sound good?”

Jake grinned. “Yeah.”

“Excellent. I call dibs on tapping that ass. It might not be tomorrow, but someday, you’re gonna beg me to fuck you.” I smacked his butt and hopped out of bed.

“Dream on, Trinsky.”

“Oh, I’m dreamin’. I’m dreamin’ big.” I pulled on a pair of clean boxer briefs and rescued my shorts from the pile of discarded clothes on the floor. “C’mon, I’m hungry again. I’ll make us smoothies and call a ride for you. I’m taking Eddie and his buddies out for pizza. I’d invite you to join us, but⁠—”

“No, that’s okay.” Jake hiked his long legs off the bed, averting his gaze as he gathered his things. “I’m here for the week…in California, I mean. If you’re free another day…”

I froze and waited for him to glance my way before breaking into a dance. Kind of a reverse striptease since I was putting my clothes back on. It was silly, but it made him chuckle and honestly, that was the goal.

This wasn’t serious. This was supposed to be fun. I wasn’t looking for heavy discussions or a deep-dive psychological analysis. This was sex, and sex was amazing. Case closed.

“I happen to be free tomorrow.”

16

JAKE

Navigating LA freeways required total concentration. Vehicles whizzed by at ungodly speeds or slowed to a crawl in the fast line…just because. And the traffic could make a grown adult cry, which was pretty much the same as in Boston. The difference was that I didn’t know LA streets very well. Even with GPS, I took the wrong exit and ended up in Manhattan Beach.

I stopped near the pier to recalibrate directions and text Trinsky.

Sorry. I’m running late, but I think I’m close now.

He sent a thumbs-up emoji. No prob. I’ll leave a towel and trunks for you in the courtyard. Meet us at the beach.

Us? At the beach? What the fuck?

I’d thought we were supposed to spend the day naked, sucking each other off, not frolicking in the water. I hadn’t signed up for fun in the sun with Trinsky and some random friends of his. This was supposed to be a private thing, party of two. It was so like him to change the rules at the last second without telling me. Ugh. He was such an asshole. What was he doing?

What was I doing?

Yesterday had been eye-opening and cathartic. And yes, fun. I had no regrets. I’d wanted everything we’d done and maybe more. I liked kissing him, touching him, and in a twist, I loved having my prostate massaged. I’d even managed to wrap my head around the fact that those had been Trinsky’s hands all over me…Trinsky’s fingers in my ass. And after a spine-tingling orgasm, I’d liked talking to him.

But that was yesterday. If he’d changed his mind, I wished he’d said so before I’d braved the 405 freeway.

I retyped his address in the rental’s nav system just as an incoming call came in. I answered, slowly guiding the car south on Manhattan Avenue.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Hi, there. How’s California?”

“Sunny and beautiful,” I reported, squinting against the glare on my windshield.

“And how was the interview?”

“It went pretty well. McD isn’t arriving till Thursday now, so I have a couple of days till the meeting. I suppose I’m a little nervous. I like LA fine, but I really don’t want to move here.” Okay, I added that last part quickly, hoping to divert any conversation that might include Trinsky. I wasn’t ready to go there.

“I selfishly don’t want you to move to the West Coast either, but I’m sure that’s a moot point. Boston isn’t going to let you get away,” he assured me. “How was Trinsky?”

Well, it was a nice try.

“Fine.”

My father chuckled lightly. “Fine? You can do better than that.”

“There was no bloodshed and no drama. He even offered me a ride to my hotel afterward.”

“He’s a good guy,” Dad said.

I huffed because that was what the script called for, but it felt forced. “Hmm. He’s pretty involved with children’s charity work. Did you know that?”

“I did. See? I told you he wasn’t a bad egg.”

News flash: my father had always liked Trinsky. I used to find that annoying, but now, I wondered if Dad had seen something in him all along that I hadn’t.

“Yeah, well…”

Make a right onto 35th Street and make a left onto Hermosa Avenue.

“Are you with someone?” he asked.

“No, I’m—” I’m on my way to meet my nemesis for a booty call. Nope. I couldn’t say that. I had to lie, and that was a new one. I’d never lied to my dad. “I’m in a rental car. The nav voice is loud. Sorry.”

Your destination is on your left. You have arrived.

“Very loud,” Dad commented with a laugh. “I’m at the office. I hope you’re somewhere more fun.”

I parked, glancing out the driver’s window at the side view of Trinsky’s palatial boardwalk villa. Bicyclists, runners, and rollerbladers vied for space on the wide pathway parallel to the sparkling blue ocean in the distance. Kids squealed while seagulls eyed discarded lunches. It was chaos. Fun chaos.

I turned off the engine just as Trinsky opened his gate and held it for a short, heavyset kid with thick glasses. His brother? Maybe. I couldn’t tell from here. Trinsky guided the younger man by his elbow and steered him toward the sand. And get this…he let go to speak in sign language.

“Uh…yeah. The beach.”

“You win. I’ll let you go. If I haven’t told you lately, I’m proud of you and I love you.”

My lips curled at the familiar endearment. Dad never missed an opportunity to let me know he was rooting for me.

“Love you too. I’ll talk to you later this week. Tell everyone I said hi.” I didn’t give him a chance to respond. I pushed End and jumped out of the car. “Hey, Trinsky!”

Trinsky swiveled to me and waved. I locked the car and jogged to meet him on the sidewalk.

“Of course you got lost,” he snarked in greeting. “Yo, Milligan, meet Eddie. Eddie, this is Jake Milligan. He plays for Boston, but we’re not gonna hold that against him today.”

“Maybe tomorrow,” Eddie quipped, pushing up his glasses and thrusting his hand at me. “I know you. I watch hockey…because of Mr. Cool.”

I shook Eddie’s hand, chuckling when he hooked a thumb at his brother. “Mr. Cool?”

“That’s me. Don’t forget it,” Trinsky teased, tugging the bill of Eddie’s ball cap playfully.

Eddie scowled and began speaking with his hands. I didn’t mind. It gave me a chance to study the brothers.

Huh. Trinsky had never mentioned that his brother had Down syndrome. His charity wasn’t specific to kids with Down syndrome. Or maybe I hadn’t read the info blurb carefully.

Eddie was a solid foot shorter than Trinsky with straight brown hair, apple-round cheeks, and a big, gracious smile that made his blues sparkle mischievously. Okay, so maybe they didn’t look alike, but I’d bet they had a mischievous streak in common. I was intrigued on so many levels. Less than two minutes in their presence, I could tell the brothers were close. Trinsky kept a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, leaning into him protectively.

Not that Eddie seemed timid. At all. He rolled his eyes as he spoke with his hands. I didn’t understand the language, but I was pretty sure he was teasing Trinsky. Yeah, I liked this kid.

“S-sorry. I didn’t mean to be r-rude.” Eddie grinned and continued in a fast-paced yet stilted manner of speech. Some words were crystal clear, others difficult to make out. “I told Mase that I’ve seen y-you on TV. And at two games when your team p-played Denver. You’re good. Not as good as Mason, but he’s my brother and I have to s-say that.”

I snickered at Trinsky’s faux growl. “Understood. Are you on your way to the beach?”

“Gee, Captain Obvious, how’d you know?” Trinsky teased, pouring on the sarcasm.

“Bite me.”

He smiled, a saucy, lopsided smile meant just for me. “Meet us out there. I left you a suit in the courtyard in case you didn’t bring one. It’s private…no one will see your kibble and bits.”

Eddie giggled. “I’m sorry about Mason. He has a naughty vo-vo-vocabulary.”

“I remember. Hey, I didn’t mean to crash your party. Are you sure you don’t mind?” I asked, stepping off the curb to make room for a little kid on a scooter.

“The beach is for everyone, Milligan. Join the party. But put the suit on and be prepared to do some competitive body surfing. Fair warning: Eddie always wins. He owns this beach.”

“That is a fact,” Eddie agreed solemnly, fussing with his glasses.

“So you’re gonna lose, and we got rules about that. What do we say, Eddie?”

“No crying in surfing.” Eddie held up a single digit, adding, “Or body surfing.”

“I can do that. And I’m pretty sure I’ll come in second place.”

Eddie gasped in delight and set a hand over his mouth.

“Oh, it’s on, Jakey. It’s on.” Trinsky narrowed his eyes theatrically and motioned for Eddie to follow him.

I hadn’t brought a suit as I’d assumed we’d spend the afternoon naked in bed, but this was cool. It might have been better if Trinsky’s navy striped trunks fit me, though. I tightened the drawstring as much as possible and trudged to the beach where Trinsky and Eddie were frolicking in the waves.

“He found us,” Trinsky called, emerging from the ocean like Triton or some kind of sea god.

“Are you ready to play?” Eddie held up his hand and squinted. He left his glasses on a striped towel nearby, and I got the feeling he really needed those to see properly.

“Hang on. We should give Jake a chance to warm up. He hasn’t been in the water yet.”

Eddie nodded, plucking at his neon rash guard. “And he needs to look out for jellyfish. We see them sometimes.”

“True. Okay, in competition, we take turns. Since there are three of us, we go two at a time and the man out judges,” Trinsky explained. “Yo, Ed. Do you want to rest or do you want to get more practice in with Jake and me?”

Eddie dried his face with the towel and put his glasses on. “You go. Tell me w-when you are ready.”

I followed Trinsky to the water’s edge and dipped my toes in, wincing as a cold wave nipped at my ankles. “Shit, it’s cold.”

“Only at first. Jump in. It’s not so bad.”

“I don’t trust you. This is retribution for the water temp at the swimming hole, isn’t it?”

“How’d you know?” He chuckled, wading in deeper and diving under an incoming swell. “Get out here, Milligan. You can’t catch waves from the shore!”

I braced myself as I dove in, swimming past the breaker to join Trinsky. “It’s still cold, and your trunks are falling off me. There’s a good chance I’m going to lose them before I reach the sand.”

Trinsky grinned like a madman. “Again…all part of my devious plan. Hey, listen. Eddie’s a good swimmer, but he’s slow as fuck and yet, somehow he wins. You get the math, right?”

“I do.”

He held a hand up for a fist bump. “Cool. He’ll rely on us to find a wave for him. Try to time it so he doesn’t eat it in the wash.”

“No pressure, huh?”

“Life is full of pressure. But I trust you, and just know that I will fuck you up if my brother drowns on your watch.”

I splashed him. “Fuck you. I would never let him drown.”

Trinsky splashed me back and winked. “I know. C’mon, Milligan, see if you can beat me.”

“Easy.”

Actually, it wasn’t so easy at all. This was Trinsky’s home turf. He knew the ocean as well as he knew the ice, and yeah, that chafed. He won three races in a row, and Eddie deemed his brother the winner of two out of three body surfing contests. I was happy to get that one win ’cause as Trinsky warned, Eddie dominated.

No, he wasn’t the best swimmer, but he was by far the most energetic one.

Eddie traded his regular glasses for goggles, did a few squats, and swung his arms in preparation, then lunged on the wet sand and waited for the judge (Trinsky or me) to say go. He didn’t rely on muscle memory. He swam with purpose as if he were coaching himself through each stroke, remembering to breathe in, breathe out, kick one leg, kick the other.

It took Eddie much longer to get past the breakers, and though he had to work extra hard to tread water, he didn’t attempt to surf a wave without a signal from one of us. And each time he washed ashore, his smile widened with pride. I cheered him on as if there were a medal on the line, arms in the air, chanting wildly.

Trinsky was twice as vocal. No surprise there. I wasn’t surprised that he was a good coach, either. I’d seen him in action at Elmwood Juniors’ camp, egging teens on with over-the-top praise and encouragement. Sure, he bugged the hell out of me on the ice, but I’d never faulted his dedication to the program and his willingness to volunteer precious time off in the summer. He was fun and enthusiastic but also incredibly patient with kids. Something told me Eddie had a lot to do with that.

“Pretty good,” Eddie pronounced, trading his goggles for glasses, his towel slung around his shoulders. “I was the winner. We can agree on that, but you were both very good too.”

Trinsky ruffled his brother’s wet hair. “You rocked. Hey, I was better than Jake, wasn’t I?”

“Be nice.” Eddie scowled and turned to me. “D-don’t listen to Mr. Cool. He teases all the time.”

“Who me?”

Eddie nodded profusely. “Yes, you.”

Trinsky shrugged. “Guilty. Let’s go to the house and make sandwiches before Mom comes to pick you up. Are you hungry?”

“Yes.” Eddie signed something and seemed to get frustrated.

“Use your words, Ed. It’s okay.”

Eddie squinted and took an exaggerated deep breath. “I’ll make turkey and cheese. Do you like turkey and ch-cheese, Jake?”

“Love it.”

Eddie grinned. “Good. It’s my specialty. Right, Mr. Cool?”

“Oh, yeah. This guy is a super chef,” Trinsky agreed, slipping his sunglasses on.

Eddie tied the ends of the towel around his neck like a cape and pointed in the direction of the house. “Last one there is a rotten egg.”

I watched him weave through the beach chairs and umbrellas, securing my ball cap as I glanced at Trinsky. “He’s pretty great.”

Trinsky nodded. “Yeah. He wasn’t supposed to be here all day, but my mom had to go into the office this morning and asked if Ed could come over. He hates last-minute changes, but he minds it less if he can be with me. I miss spending time with him during the season, so I rarely say no. My house is his house.”

“That’s nice.”

“I’m nice,” he countered, trudging through the sand.

“I had no idea. I also didn’t know you had a brother who…”

“Was special needs,” Trinsky finished.

I lowered my eyes, staring at the sand as I walked. “No, I guess I didn’t know that. It’s never come up.”

“No, it wouldn’t have,” he replied cryptically. “My private life is private. Either way…thanks for being cool to him. Eddie likes you. But don’t get excited…the poor kid has terrible taste in humans.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Trinsky bumped my shoulder. “I’m kidding. The opposite is true. He’s the best at gauging people. If he doesn’t like someone, there’s usually a reason. And vice versa.”

“You’re good with him,” I commented.

“Eddie is my ride or die. I would do anything for that kid, who you’re soon to find out, is an expert sandwich maker. You’re welcome for the turkey-cheese hookup in advance.”

I smiled at his retreating back, more intrigued by the multifaceted Mason Trinsky than ever.

The turkey-cheese hookup lived up to the hype. Eddie was chatty during sandwich assembly. He told me about his friends, Sarah and Anthony, and a bowling trip coming up at camp. His speech was halting and sometimes it wasn’t easy to understand him, which was usually Trinsky’s cue to lay a hand gently over his brother’s as if to say, “There’s no reason to hurry.”

I was in awe of their dynamic. Eddie’s sweet-tempered mannerisms were a stark contrast to the hockey bad-boy attitude Trinsky had cultivated. The muscular hunk painstakingly cutting his brother’s sandwich at a perfect ninety-degree angle was nothing like the jerk who’d blamed me for his Stanley Cup loss and inadvertently launched a silly PR campaign.

No, this wasn’t Trinsky. This was Mason. And you know, I liked this guy.

Abigail Trinsky was yet another revelation. Mason and Eddie’s mother was a tall, striking brunet with a polite smile and sad eyes who couldn’t quite hide her surprise at my presence in her son’s home.

“Aren’t you…” She snapped her fingers. “I know you.”

“Jake Milligan. Pleased to meet you.” I motioned between Trinsky and me. “I’m…we’re—I play hockey too.”

“Oh, yes! Boston.” Another confused look. “I didn’t realize you two were friendly.”

“Nah, I’m being forced to be nice. The dude is my mortal enemy, Mom,” Trinsky grumbled sarcastically. “Do not tell anyone I took pity on him sitting in a hotel room on a sunny day in So Cal.”

She widened her eyes but made a zipped-lips motion. “I won’t say a word. Ready to go, Ed?”

Eddie inclined his chin. “Good-bye, Mister.”

“You can call me Jake,” I replied.

“No, you can be Mister, but I haven’t decided what your name will be. I’ll let you know.”

“Fair enough. See ya, Eddie.”

I held out my hand. Eddie ignored it and launched himself at me for an impromptu hug. I patted his back, sneaking a glance at Trinsky, who was staring at us with an unreadable expression on his handsome face.

Trinsky closed the door behind them a few minutes later and sat next to me at the kitchen island. He stole a chip from my almost empty plate and then another. I slid the plate over, knocking my knee against his in wordless communication.

“So I got a problem now.”

“What kind of problem?” I prodded.

He sighed dramatically. “I actually do like you.”

“That is a problem.”

“Right? I thought it was a weird form of lust, but I think it’s something more fundamental. Like…just you. I suppose you’re not the spoiled, rich kid who had every advantage handed to him on a silver platter.” Trinsky wrinkled his nose and flashed a disarming grin. “Okay, you’re still some of those things, but instead of being jealous and thinking you have no idea how damn fortunate you are, I’m beginning to think you get it.”

I chewed the inside of my cheek, holding my smile hostage for a beat. “That’s al-most a compliment.”

“Fuck, I know. And the concerning thing is that this new perspective is making me soft.”

“How so?”

“Not sure. I just have this overwhelming desire to flatten you against the nearest wall and stick my tongue in your mouth.”

“Do it,” I dared.

Trinsky gave me a brief once-over. “You’re sitting. The logistics are wonky. How do I get you off the barstool and all the way to the wall without tripping? I’ll probably look like I’m trying too hard.”

“I’ll make it easier for you.” I stood, leaning one hand on the island.

“Okay, geez, now I’m nervous.”

I snickered as I grabbed his chin and kissed him.

The connection was sweet and tentative, and more subdued than the fiery, manic exchanges we’d perfected recently. Trinsky sucked my tongue as he pushed away from the island and shuffled me backward till I collided with the stone archway.

“Ouch.”

He gave a sheepish laugh and maneuvered us to a flat surface, fusing our mouths and molding his body to mine. I expected him to morph into a caveman, yanking off his T-shirt and humping my cock. But no…it was more soft, leisurely kisses, more tender caresses. I melted into him, draping my arms over his shoulders.

Trinsky sucked my bottom lip and set a hand on my chest. “I want to try something. If you hate it, tell me to stop and I will. Okay?”

“Okay,” I whispered.

He licked my jaw, hands splayed under my tee, tweaking my nipples. I hummed, raising my arms at his grunted command. Trinsky bit my neck, then my shoulder, fingers ghosting my sides, and slipping to my belt.

“I wish you’d left the swim trunks on,” he mumbled, unbuckling and unthreading my belt.

Yeah, me too.

I tried to help, but Trinsky was two steps ahead of me. In a matter of seconds, my shorts and boxer briefs were at my feet, and my cock was bobbing between us.

“Touch me.”

“I will, but…let me do this.” Trinsky dropped to his knees and looked up at me, gripping my shaft like he meant business.

“What do you—oh. Oh, fuck.”

“This is me tasting cock for the first time.” He licked me from root to tip, sucking my crown experimentally.

I opened and closed my mouth. “Do you like it?”

“Don’t know. I’ll need another taste.” He repeated his efforts…a lick, a suck, and added a few pumps of his fist.

I raked my fingers through his hair, my breath coming in jagged rasps as I took in the incredible sight of Mason Trinsky on his knees for me, blowing my dick and my mind. I might not survive this.

Sure, I’d probably had better, more thorough BJs, but this was him. This was us, figuring each other out, grappling with desire we hadn’t quite come to terms with—no judgment, no expectation.

There was freedom in admitting we didn’t know what we were doing, but we just wanted to try.

“You’re good at this,” I praised reverently, tugging his hair. “You like sucking cock, don’t you? Take more. That’s it. Oh, yeah. Oh, fuck.”

Trinsky swallowed half my length and gagged. He tried again, stroking me as he sucked. Saliva dripped onto my balls and that was hotter than I’d ever thought it could be. He was messy, but I really fucking loved it. My balls tightened and my spine tingled. Shit, I wasn’t going to last.

He twisted his tongue and slurped me to the root, releasing me with a pop. “You’re gonna come. I know you’re almost there, and I love that I can tell. I can take it if you want to fuck my mouth. Try it, Jakey. Try to fuck me.”

How could I refuse an invitation like that?

“Christ,” I growled, grabbing his head still, and thrust my hips, fucking his mouth in a frenzy.

Nope, I didn’t last long at all, and no, I didn’t have the decency to warn him. Trinsky knew, though. He took everything I gave him. Cum trickled from the corner of his mouth as he scrambled to his feet.

I licked his lips, unthinking, and lapped his tongue like a greedy cat.

Trinsky blinked as if coming out of a fog. He grinned, panting…and then ravaged me like an animal, clawing and biting and licking. “God, I want to fuck you. I promise I won’t, but please…show me your ass.”

I obeyed. Bracing one hand on the wall, I arched as if showing off my ass was something I did. Trinsky’s pleased growl rumbled through me, so who cared?

I glanced back just as he spit in his hand and wrapped it around his thick cock. “Does my ass turn you on?”

“Fuck, yes.”

He whimpered. There was no other word for the needy sounds he was making. Knowing I did that to him sent a thrill through my veins and made me feel powerful. And wanton. I opened my cheeks with both hands. “What about now?”

“Oh, my…shit, you’re beautiful. Look at that hole.” He stepped closer, slipped two fingers in my mouth. “Suck. Good boy. You like being good, don’t you, Jakey? You can be my good boy.”

I fell into a trance as he brushed the slick digits over my entrance. There was no way I could come again so soon. But when he pushed me flat into the wall, suckling on my neck as he lined his rigid pole at my crease, my dick twitched hopefully. Trinsky thrust between my cheeks half a dozen times—and came like a geyser, roaring through his release.

Neither of us moved. It was like yesterday, but…more. Much more.

More intense, more everything. He’d admitted that he liked me and yeah, I liked him too.

What was happening here?

17

TRINSKY

Three days in bed with a man. That was a new one.

Truthfully, I’d never spent an entire day in bed with a woman, either. It had always been about the act. Do it and be done. I wasn’t into cuddling, and I’d never dated anyone who’d seemed to want that from me anyway. My former girlfriends were short-term, mutually beneficial arrangements—sex and arm candy for official engagements.

None of them had met Eddie or my mom. None of them knew that I superstitiously only used blue-and-white striped beach towels, even though I owned red and white, and yellow and white. None of them knew that I secretly had perfected the art of making brownies from scratch and that I really despised whipped cream.

But Jake knew.

“What did whipped cream ever do to you?” he asked, waving at me in the mirror above us.

I waved back at him, loving the sound of his laughter. He had a great laugh—rich and hearty. And I’d grown very fond of his sexy body too. I studied his biceps, his flat stomach, and flaccid penis in our reflection. He was a work of fucking art.

Geez, what were we even talking about? Oh, yeah…

“Whipped cream is disappointment in a can.”

Jake guffawed, exposing the cords of his neck as he threw his head against the pillow. His joy was contagious. I wanted to laugh too, but I was the one telling the joke…or was I? I was happy just to be here with him.

“What does that mean?”

I rolled to face Jake, hooking my leg over his. “It comes in a fun container. You give it a shake, aim it at your slice of apple pie or a bowl of strawberries, and you think, ‘Sweet, this is gonna be tay-stee.’ Instead, it’s like eating feathery foam. Fuck that. Give me ice cream.”

Jake snickered. “Says the man with a can of whipped cream in his fridge.”

“That’s for Eddie, but I bought it a few months ago. It’s probably expired.” I widened my eyes comically. “I have an idea.”

“No,” he deadpanned.

“It’s a good one, Jakey.”

“I doubt it, Mason.”

My smile threatened to crack my face in half. “I like the way you say my name. Like you’re sort of annoyed, but maybe…not.”

His lips twisted with amusement. “What’s your bright idea?”

I gave his balls a light squeeze. “It’s better if I show you instead. Don’t go anywhere.”

I headed downstairs and grabbed the whipped cream and a couple of water bottles. I set my stash on the nightstand next to Jake, who glanced up from his cell with an eye roll.

“Trinsky…no whipped cream,” he warned, typing away.

I gave a thumbs-up, plucked two towels from the bathroom, and hopped onto the bed, hands raised in surrender. “You sure? I’ll put a little on your dick and suck it off. Or…you can do me.”

He winced. “I need BJ practice, huh?”

I mentioned we’d been in bed for three days, right? Okay…that was a slight exaggeration.

Jake had gone back to his hotel to sleep, but we’d hung out at my place all day. We hadn’t planned to be together…it was an organic thing. He didn’t have anywhere to be until his agent showed up, and it had been easy to talk him into coming over. My house was a little ridiculous, but it was private.

Privacy was crucial. Neither of us was George Clooney famous. I could usually go anywhere in LA and maybe get stopped by an occasional hockey fan for a selfie and an autograph. I always got more attention in Denver, and no doubt it was the same for Jake in Boston. However, Jake and I hanging out together anywhere in the country would be a real story. Especially now that we were in the midst of a “rivals playing nice” campaign.

We didn’t want to draw attention to ourselves, and it was easy to lay low at my house. I had plenty of diversions to offer—a well-stocked kitchen, an endless supply of video games, every cable subscription service known to man, and…the beach.

Jake had worn his ball cap and hidden with me under an umbrella, debating our teammates’ stats and new league policies. We’d talked about our mutual friends—how funny it was that Denny’s marriage to Hank was no longer big news. We’d discussed our volunteer pro colleagues who’d sign on as counselors for the Elmwood Juniors’ this summer and how excited his little brother, Nathan, was that his favorite hockey heroes were coming to town again.

He'd asked about Eddie a couple of times. What were his friends like? What did he do during the summer? Was he coming by to visit again? I’d answered, but I hadn’t supplied details. It wasn’t something I did.

But I could discuss baseball. And Jake was a huge fan. He loved his Red Sox, and I loved my Dodgers. A built-in rivalry gave us another thing to spar over. Of course, I wouldn’t have wanted anything to do with him if he’d rooted for the Dodgers’ true rivals, the Giants.

“Fair. Same deal if you were a Yankees fan,” he’d countered, smiling at me before gazing out at the ocean from the beach chairs we’d lugged from the house. “My dad took me to a lot of Phillies games when I was a kid, so I’m sort of a Phillies fan too. Mom still gives my dad a hard time for that, even though he was literally born there.”

“Your mom is kind of a hoot.”

Jake’s forehead had creased in confusion. “I forget that you’ve met my mom. It’s weird.”

I’d chuckled. “And your stepdad, and your dad and his husband, and your brother and sisters. I know the whole brood. And check this out…I was standing in line at the ice cream parlor last summer behind your first-grade teacher, who told the whole damn store about the time you’d worn two different sneakers to school and you were so worried the police were going to arrest you for it.”

“Ouch. That’s a rough memory.”

“Why? It’s cute.” I’d reached out to tweak his nipple.

Jake had growled and swatted me away. “I get that it sounds cute, but my parents divorced when I was about five years old and even though they’ve been friends ever since, it was unsettling for me. I was one of those super-sensitive kids who worried about adult shit I had no control over. If I was with my mom, I worried that my dad was lonely. If I was with Dad, I’d worry Mom would forget to take out the bins on trash day. Stupid stuff kept me awake. I think it was ’cause I noticed how different they were. My mom is very practical and kind of ballsy. She’s tough but kind, and lives life out loud, no regrets. Dad is this uber-friendly man who goes out of his way to be helpful. I was really young when I realized he had more to lose.”

“How so?”

“Because he was the only out gay man in town. And assholes judge. I overheard Mrs. Alberts whisper that it wasn’t right for a gay man to be raising a child on his own. She said it was scandalous. I had no idea what the word meant, but the way she’d clutched her pearls, it had to be bad. She also said someone should take me away…bless my little soul. Or something like that.”

“That bitch,” I’d growled.

“I know, right? Until that day, I’d always liked Mrs. Alberts. She was this deceptively sweet old lady who carried a red purse with her everywhere and smiled at everyone. I vaguely remember Crabby Annie being nearby and telling her that if anyone should be taken away it was Mrs. Alberts’s good-for-nothin’ son-in-law for stealing petty cash from the town council.”

“That sounds like Denny’s grandma, all right.”

Jake had smiled. “She’s awesome. Anyway, it was the first time I realized we were being judged, and it frightened me. For Dad and me. So the day I put on two nonmatching shoes on his watch, I was a fucking basket case…scared out of my mind that someone was going to take me away from him.”

“I’m sorry. That sucks.”

“Yeah, but it was a long time ago. It’s just one of those odd memories that pinballs into other ones that make you sad, though. I’d been so distraught that the school called my dad at work. He’d brought the other half of each shoe for me to choose from and he’d smiled indulgently, as if it were kind of funny. But Dad’s sort of shitty at hiding emotion, and I could tell that episode freaked him out too. He went through a period of being Super Dad—more so than usual. He served only the finest meals, arrived early for carpools and practices, and I think that was when he started volunteering at church. I think he wanted to befriend the enemy after I told him what Mrs. Alberts had said. I sensed his fear and I just…wished I could do something for him. Anything.” Jake had shaken his head as if to clear unwanted images.

“I don’t get it. What was he afraid of? No one was really going to take you away, were they?”

“No, but raising a kid in a small town where everyone fucking knows what you eat for breakfast, and your first-grade teacher still recalls an embarrassing event that took place twenty-five years ago makes you feel like a fish in a glass bowl. There’s a decent chance my neighbor, my old hockey coach, and the kid who sat behind me in geometry in junior high heard that story too. It’s not a bad thing, but it’s a thing. There’s nowhere to hide in Elmwood.”

“Maybe not, but it’s still a good town,” I’d said after a moment.

“It is, but it’s not perfect. Everyone’s fighting their own battles…same as in the suburbs or the city.”

I’d dug my toes into the sand and probably changed the topic. I didn’t do heart-to-hearts well. I could listen and sympathize with other people’s stories, but I didn’t share my own, mainly because my life wasn’t relatable.

There was no overly involved dad, no amicable divorce, or cute hometown shenanigans in my past. Not even close. There was a time I’d have laughed at his version of a tough memory. Must have been nice to have two pairs of shoes to mix up.

But I didn’t have to compare notes or win a contest here. I could picture a six-year-old Jake scared shitless that his mistake would cost his father something irreplaceable. Moreover, I could tell that the experience had possibly been one that had shaped Jake’s persona on and off the ice. He was measured and controlled like no one I’d ever met. He was a fierce protector who gave everything he had to the people and the sport he loved.

Huh. I supposed this was me, setting aside my preconceived notions regarding the guy I couldn’t in good faith refer to as my nemesis anymore.

This was me realizing I wanted to know more about what made Jake Milligan tick.

This was me hoping for something I couldn’t quite label. For now, I’d call it discovery.

And since this chapter in my life was destined to be a short one, I wanted to make it count. I wanted to explore every inch of Jake…and his body. I just wasn’t sure how much he’d give me. Till he went home to Elmwood or after summer camp was over? The way I saw it…I either had two days or six weeks.

And how far was Jake willing to go?

The past seventy-two hours had been…magic. He’d let me map out every inch of skin…every nook and crease and secret place, including his hole.

As I’d explained to him, I’d had anal sex with women and I’d given and received a rim job or ten. The action was familiar. It was doing it with or to a man that was new. I wasn’t sure he’d be willing to let me do anything that intimate, but I was a big fan of taking chances.

So yesterday, when I’d pushed Jake’s knees to his chest to feast on his cock, and had somehow ended up licking his entrance, it hadn’t been an accident. It had been a calculated risk. I’d wanted him to know how good it felt. And if it interested him in the idea of going all the way…even better.

Time was ticking. If we were going to fuck, it was gonna have to happen soon.

But we were discussing BJs and whipped cream now…not my dick in his ass. Damn.

“Everyone needs BJ practice,” I replied, waggling my brows lasciviously.

Jake was great at blowjobs, by the way. We’d taken turns sucking each other to oblivion in the shower, in bed, and in the kitchen. We’d tried sixty-nine this morning, and that was…wow. And watching the show in the tacky mirrored ceiling had only added to the experience.

Jake nodded. “Okay. Just let me finish this text.”

“Who is it?”

“McD. He landed in LA ten minutes ago.”

“Oh.”

Jake tossed his cell onto the nightstand. “I know. I got out of dinner with him tonight, though. He’s meeting a new client and…I’m old news now. I’ll see him tomorrow.”

“You’re not old news.”

“Technically, we both are. And we’re lucky. We’ve been on Stanley Cup winning teams and have played to packed arenas. It’s more than a lot of hockey players get.”

I furrowed my brow. “You’re talking like someone who’s contemplating retirement.”

Jake chuckled. “Not tomorrow. I’ll be on ice next season for sure. I’m thinking about the future.”

“That’s very grown-up of you. And now I feel kind of silly with the can of whipped cream I brought to paint your cock.”

“You’re not putting that stuff on me.”

I dropped the whipped cream next to him, spread out a towel, then lay down on it. “Okay, you do the honors.”

“You want me to spray this stuff on you and…”

“Lick it off,” I finished.

Jake hummed thoughtfully and sat up, studying the ingredients listed on the canister. “Cream, water, sugar, nonfat milk, maltodextrin. What’s maltodextrin?”

“It’s multiple dextrins,” I guessed.

“Malto, not multi.”

“Jakey…who the fuck cares? It’s going on my dick.”

“I care. I’m the one who’s going to suck it off your dick,” he retorted.

“Whoa. Did you see that twitch? My cock heard your message and approves. Get to it, Milligan.”

“Yes, sir.” He shook the can as he kneeled between my legs. “Let’s make sure this thing works.”

He squirted a dallop on my stomach.

“Shit, that’s cold,” I griped.

Jake dipped a finger into the white glob and licked it like a porn star. “Are you sure you want me to put that on your dick?”

“Less sure about that, but damn…you look so fucking hot with your fingers all slick with cream.”

He snorted. “You’re fucking nasty.”

“I know. I have a filthy, dirty mind. Clean up the mess you just made. Lick me, baby.”

I thought Jake might take exception with the offhanded term of endearment, but he let it slide and bent to swipe his tongue through the whipped cream. He didn’t lick it off, he spread it till it covered my abs and the tip of my cock.

“How’s that?”

I chuckled. “It’s everywhere now. Even on your nose. C’mere.”

I pulled him against me and rolled us so I was on top. And yeah, there was whipped cream everywhere. We laughed at the mess between us, licking each other’s lips, cheeks, and noses. I nipped his jaw and traveled the length of his body, twirling my tongue around his navel before swallowing his cock in one swoop.

Jake moaned somewhere above me as I worked him over, sucking and licking his pole like it was my job.

I wanted more, though…remember?

I reached for the well-used bottle of lube on the nightstand and slicked my fingers. I returned to cock-sucking duties, teasing his hole with the pad of my fingers as I did my best to deep-throat him. I was getting better at it, but multitasking was the key here. I wanted Jake blissed out and relaxed.

Two fingers in, he was there, legs spread wide, back arched, fingers in my hair. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chanted.

I kissed his inner thigh and added a third digit. “Is this good?”

“So good.”

“Can you take more? Do you want my cock?”

Jake froze and leaned on one elbow, his eyes searching mine. “Yeah, but I’m…I don’t know. You have to go slow.”

“I will,” I whispered, withdrawing my fingers. “I promise.”

I grabbed a condom, added more lube, then lined my cock at his entrance and pushed.

I moved a centimeter at a time. So slow, it was painful…but worth it. I’d never been more in tune with a lover’s body. Seriously. I studied his expressions, measuring his every inhale and exhale for clues as I coached him to relax and coached myself not to slam home and plunder his hole like a Viking berserker conquering something that wasn’t supposed to belong to him.

And that wouldn’t have been right ’cause being with Jake like this—inside him, surrounded by him—felt like a gift. He wanted me, he trusted me. Me.

My arms trembled on either side of his head now. I was balls deep in a hot, tight channel, sweating bullets as he squeezed my cock in a vise grip.

He licked his lips. “It hurts.”

“I know.” I pressed a chaste kiss on Jake’s brow. “It’ll feel better when I move. Can I?”

“Yeah. Just…”

“Slow. I got you.”

I pulled out almost all the way, and surged forward again. Jake’s breath hitched and his groan oozed with cautious pleasure. I curbed the inclination to ask if he was okay and followed my instincts. I thrust a little harder on the next pass, rolling my hips as I captured his mouth.

He moaned, lifting to meet my next thrust and the next as he sucked my tongue and grabbed my ass for purchase. Our steady pace fell apart in a matter of minutes. I couldn’t get enough of him. Every push and pull sent shivers all over my body. I was a tingling jumble of sensation, and Jake seemed to be right there with me.

“Christ, you’re so fucking big,” he gasped, snaking his hand between us to grip his cock.

“Too much?”

“No, it’s good. Keep going. Mmm, that’s it. Yeah…fuck, yeah.”

Holy shit, this man was killing me. I pistoned my hips…fast and steady.

“Fuck, I’m not gonna last,” I panted.

“Ungh…I’m—oh, fuck, I’m gonna come.”

And that was the end of me too. I roared through an epic orgasm, bucking and pounding into Jake’s ass, clinging to him like a damn koala in a windstorm.

I couldn’t move, which seemed to be a recurring post-sex theme with us.

“Are you okay?” I mustered the effort to brace my weight on my hands so I didn’t squish him.

Jake flashed a megawatt smile and nodded. “I’m unbelievably okay. That was…incredible. And damn it, I wish you could see this view.”

It took a second for me to figure out what he meant. I followed his gaze to the mirrored ceiling and…my tongue almost fell out of my mouth. I rolled sideways, pulling Jake with me, still impaled on my cock.

“Fuck me. Look at us.” I lifted my leg and tilted my pelvis. “I wish I had a bionic penis. I don’t want to stop fucking you.”

“I think Viagra helps with that.”

I glowered as I slipped out of him and tied off the condom. “I do not need Viagra, smartass.”

Jake snickered, hooking his leg over me to keep me close. “No, you don’t. That was amazing. Seriously. I loved it.”

I beamed. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Can I…you know…”

“Fuck me?” I supplied, pulling his chin as he started to glance away, his cheeks pink. “Are you embarrassed? Hey, you’re not allowed to be embarrassed with me. We’re in this together, you know?”

Jake’s eyes softened as he combed his fingers through his hair, regarding me with a funny look I couldn’t read. “For a big hockey jock, you say some sweet things…Mason.”

My heart flipped and somersaulted in my chest. Maybe it was the compliment or the way he said my name. I wasn’t sure how to feel about it, so I reverted to normal defense tactics.

“Dude, you’re crusty all over. I guess this is why whipped cream is a no-no. You look like you got hit by a cum truck.”

“Ew, that’s disgusting,” he huffed, tugging at the towel wedged under my ass.

“That probably won’t do any good. You need a shower and⁠—”

“Food.” Jake lunged for me, fusing our mouths. “Feed me. I’m hungry. And then…round two.”

I blinked, my gaze locked on his ass as he sauntered to the bathroom.

So…let’s get something straight, pun intended. I’d just had amazing sex with a man. A man I was supposed to hate. And it had felt so good, I couldn’t find it in me to consider possible repercussions. But I wasn’t naïve. There’d be eyes on us soon, and I knew this could be a PR nightmare. Or career suicide. This was the kind of thing that would make a sane person panic and swear it would never happen again.

Fuck that.

It might not be smart, but that had never stopped me. Besides, this felt like the best thing that had happened to me in a long time.

18

JAKE

As strange as it was to admit this…I liked Mason Trinsky. A lot.

The things that used to bug the hell out of me didn’t anymore. Sure, he was brash, loud, and ridiculously cocky, but there was another side to him that was thoughtful, patient, and kind.

Don’t get me wrong. He hadn’t undergone a personality transplant. Trinsky was still annoying and goofy.

Get this—Mason traveled with cinnamon Pop-Tarts. Two days ago, on FaceTime, he’d told me that he had them delivered to hotels when he was on the road with the Condors. There was a good chance he’d been yanking my chain, but I hadn’t minded. I’d laughed so hard I had tears in my eyes as he read the ingredients on the box.

“It contains wheat and soy and the perfect amount of cinnamon,” he’d reported.

“And sugar.”

“Not enough sugar. If it was up to me, they’d double the layer of cinnamon, like Double Stuf Oreos. Eddie and I bought a package of those the other day. There was a secret handshake and a promise not to tell our mom, who, in addition to quitting smoking, drinking, and snorting coke, no longer eats junk of any kind. I’m proud of her, but an occasional Oreo isn’t gonna hurt anyone. And by the way, respect for the scientists in charge of Oreo flavors. Their motto is definitely ‘Go big or go home.’ Those guys will put anything in a cookie filling—s’mores, lemon, Sour Patch Kids. Broccoli is next. Just wait.”

So yeah…he was an over-the-top goofball with high-octane energy who’d weaseled his way into the fabric of my everyday life.

In the two weeks since I’d left LA, we’d talked or texted almost daily. It had started with Trinsky “checking in.”

Good flight home?

Yes.

Sunday:

How’s camp?

No camp on Sunday. I’ll let you know how it goes tomorrow.

Thumbs-up emoji.

Monday:

I texted him first. I’m coaching some talented juniors. Good group of kids…including Milo and Michael.

Who?

The brothers who got sick on our camping excursion.

The barf brothers? No way.

Way.

Our thread had devolved from there to green-faced emojis and the one with the eyes crossed out. I’d hunched forward, gaze shifting from my cell to the teenagers whizzing by on the ice, a silly smile teasing the corner of my mouth against my will.

Next day, same thing:

Are we out of the woods or do you think our agents are looking for more rival press? Trinsky typed.

I haven’t heard anything. Have you?

Yep. Marty is making noise about me going to Elmwood earlier.

My pulse had skittered out of control. I’d been sitting beside Court and Denny, watching my teens scrimmage. They were making all kinds of basic mistakes that would have gotten them benched on any team worth a damn: weak shots on goal, hogging the puck, playing too safe. I should have been yelling constructive pointers, but I’d been hopelessly distracted.

That would be awesome, I’d eventually replied.

He hadn’t mentioned it again, and I hadn’t asked.

But now, I wasn’t sure I was prepared for life in Elmwood with Trinsky here.

Geez, I’d slept with him, I’d sucked his cock, he’d sucked mine. We’d showered together, fingered each other, and—he’d fucked me. It was going to be weird to walk into the diner or the bakery and play it cool while Trinsky was his big and imposing, larger-than-life self.

I’d gone out of my way to ignore Mason Trinsky for years, and now…I didn’t want to. People would notice.

See, these couple of weeks of texting had given me a glimpse into his personal life that I didn’t think he shared with many people. There were no long, drawn-out stories about friends at home, family history, or exes. Instead Trinsky shared anecdotal side stories that hinted at his mom’s past struggles with sobriety and newfound healthy outlook.

I got the impression that she caused him more worry than Eddie. Eddie was fun and quirky. The simplest things brought him pleasure.

Eddie found the coolest shell at the beach. Check it out. Photo attached.

News flash: Eddie loves Joan Jett. I love rock and roll, baby! Gif of Joan Jett rocking out.

Eddie’s friend, Sarah, put a whoopie cushion on the bus driver’s seat today. Eddie’s still giggling. Twenty laughing emojis.

I laughed too.

On the other hand, he referred to his mom with an imperceptible note of worry.

Don’t you hate it when people tell you they’ve got a problem and you’ve already solved it?

I’d responded with a question mark, figuring he was about to embark on a tirade defending medicinal gummies or Hostess cupcakes. I was wrong.

My mom’s company is opening an office in Irvine. Terrible commute from Hermosa. She doesn’t have to work at all. I take care of her and Eddie. I bought the house, I pay the bills, but she’s convincing herself that a long drive in traffic won’t be a big deal. When did I become the adult here? I don’t like it.

I wasn’t sure what to say, so I went with a glib, Adulting sucks or something like that. He responded with a thumbs-up emoji. That was it.

The following night, the Dodgers won their third game in a row in Boston, which started a mini text war—the easy kind. Mason picked apart my team’s pitching and called out an unfortunate error at first base, and it was all the shit that usually made me want to strangle him. Now…I just laughed some more.

And it was kinda nice.

The man I’d written off as being chronically obnoxious had revealed yet another side of himself. But my change of heart didn’t feel sudden to me. It felt more like weeks of relearning someone I’d never really known.

And get this—we never talked about sex. Hell, I didn’t know if we could be lovers again, but we were friends now. The league definitely wasn’t going to know what to do with that.

“Large iced latte for Milligan!”

I snapped out of my reverie, thanking the new barista behind the counter before grabbing my drink and heading outside. I fist-bumped Denny on the sidewalk, chatting with his grandmother, Crabby Annie, a cantankerous ninety-something-year-old with signature fluffy white hair and pink lipstick.

“You should have told me you were coming by for coffee. I would have taken care of you,” I said. “That line is insane.”

Denny shrugged good-naturedly. “That’s okay. I probably don’t need more caffeine, but I need something cold. Want anything, Grams?”

“One of those propeller hats that spritzes water in your face,” she deadpanned. “Do they sell those with a cup of joe?”

“I think you’re out of luck.” Denny chuckled. “Are you in a hurry, Jake?”

“Nope, I can wait.”

“Cool.” Denny bent to kiss his grandmother’s cheek. “I’m off to the rink after this. Stay out of trouble, Grams.”

“Now what fun will that be?” Annie huffed, “I’m going to steal a few cookies from Penny for my new neighbor, then go home to soak my head.”

Denny narrowed his eyes in what looked like a silent warning. “Grams…”

“What? I didn’t spill any beans.” She made a button lip gesture.

I waited till Denny was out of earshot. “Got any secrets to share, Mrs. Mellon?”

“Darn tootin’ I do. And it’s a good one.” Annie’s lips twisted in amusement as she fanned herself with a kerchief. “Christ, it’s hotter than blue blazes out here. Tis the season for stinky pits and perfume coverups.”

She launched into a colorful story about almost passing out in the church pew next to a stinky old fart from Fallbrook who’d doused himself in a gallon of cheap cologne. This was Annie. She called out bad habits and faux pas as she saw them. And though I had no idea who she was talking about, she was right about the weather.

It was fucking hot.

At nine a.m., I was already looking forward to the refrigerated chill of the El Rink. It would be a welcome respite from the summer heat wave currently plaguing the Four Forest area.

“You could fry an egg on zee sidewalk,” JC agreed in his Quebecois accent, swiping his forearms across his brow as he stepped outside of Rise and Grind, holding the door for Smitty and Nathan. “I should try that at zee diner. Save on energy bills, yes?”

Smitty chuckled. “The rink is the place to be. Think we have room for these two in one of our camp groups, Jake?”

I sipped my iced coffee, thoughtfully eyeing Crabby Annie and Elmwood’s famous chef.

“We’ll make room,” I replied. “How’s your wrist shot, Mrs. Mellon?”

“I don’t shoot anything but tequila these days,” Annie quipped, then toddled down Main Street.

“I like her style.” JC inclined his head. “Come by the diner after camp, Nathan. I’m trying a new chocolate milkshake…with fried eggs straight from zee sidewalk.”

Nathan giggled. “Ew.”

Smitty waved to JC and squeezed Nathan’s shoulder as he stepped away from the awning. “Ready, partner?”

My little brother was about to embark on his first PeeWee session, and according to Smitty and my dad, Nathan had been uncharacteristically quiet this morning. Smitty thought arriving early to run a few drills before the day started might help.

Nathan tightened the death grip on his stick and leaned against his dad. “Are you coming, Jake?”

“You go ahead. I’m gonna wait for Denny.”

“We could wait with you too.”

I kneeled on the sidewalk and cupped his chin. “Hey, what’s up? Are you nervous about going to the next level?”

Nathan chewed his bottom lip. “A little. I was supposed to do PeeWees next summer. Not now.”

“That’s totally normal, but Coach thinks you’re ready, and you are. Remember, you have a big advantage here over the other kids. This is your town, and that’s your ice, Nathan.”

“I know, but Teddy What’s-his-face is a PeeWee, and he’s faster than me,” he grumbled.

I hid my smile. “What’s-his-face” was Nathan’s version of Teddy Fuckface, a sure sign my little bro was unraveling. “I don’t know about that, but the only way to fix it is to practice. So…get to the rink and put your skates on. I’ll race with you as soon as I get there. Sound good?”

Nathan bobbed his head enthusiastically. “Yes.”

I held my hand up for a high five. “Later, Nath.”

Smitty nudged my elbow and tipped his ball cap in wordless thanks. “See you there.”

I glanced through the coffee shop’s window to check Denny’s progress in line and pulled out my cell, returning to my earlier text thread with Trinsky. He’d sent a selfie with yet another box of Cinnamon Pop-Tarts just as I’d placed my order with Ivan, captioned, I told you this shit rocks.

I’d snickered at Trinsky’s goofy expression, but with Smitty and Nathan on either side of me and JC behind me in the queue, I hadn’t had a chance to respond.

So now, I held up my iced coffee and snapped a quick pic of my to-go cup. This is the true breakfast of champions.

Did you get a scone too?

No, I had eggs and fruit at home. I’m saving my pig out calories for a shake at the diner later, I typed. Chocolate chocolate chip.

You suck.

I do.

Trinsky sent a laughing emoji. Take a selfie.

Why? You know what I look like.

Yeah, but what do you look like holding iced coffee?

I cast a quick glance around, then took the world’s fastest selfie and pushed Send. Here you go, weirdo.

You’re kinda hot.

I blushed. And I should not be fucking blushing on Main Street. I’m very hot…and sweaty. But I’m heading to the rink now to meet my new group of Juniors. AC for the win.

All about that ice. Later. Three dots. Three more dots. Weird request, but…call me later if you can.

I sent a thumbs-up emoji and stuffed my cell into my pocket as Denny pushed open the door.

He tapped his cup to mine and inclined his head. “Shall we?”

We talked about the usual new-session hurdles. There was always a kid who was sure they deserved star athlete treatment or whose parents were concerned their little darling wasn’t getting enough attention. We didn’t have to deal with them personally. They filed their grievances with the owners and local coaches, not the NHL hotshots.

However, Denny and I had grown up here. Hell, I’d attended the first ever Juniors Camp, coached by the newly retired legend, Kimbo, a.k.a., Vinnie Kiminski. I still remembered how nervous I’d been. Sure, I knew how to play hockey and I’d had some great coaches, but Vinnie was a real live NHL star.

Elmwood Juniors’ Camp had come a long way since that first summer that Vinnie was the only name anyone recognized. Nowadays, hockey greats flooded the Four Forest area every summer. Some came with their families, friends, and significant others and stayed to tour rural New England. Some arrived solo, happy to do a little bonding with their fellow athletes and soak up the positive press that came along with this gig.

Denny and I stopped to chat with a Russian goalie who played for Vegas and gave directions to a rookie forward from Pittsburgh who’d been assigned coaching duties at the high school rink across town.

Did we know where to go? Dude, Elmwood was home. Our families were entrenched in the community and had been for decades. Geez, I’d coached Denny well before he’d skyrocketed to superstardom.

It was surreal to be among the few athletes who represented the NHL and Elmwood. Sometimes, it was just a pain in the ass. The press coverage always seemed to include a segment with one of the local “success” stories.

“It’s your turn,” I teased at the crosswalk down the hill from the rink.

“Nope. We’re both off the hook for now. The reporter from ESPN says they want to talk to the guys who come back every year.” Denny sipped his drink.

“Oh. That’s a good angle.”

“Personally, I’m trying to stay out of the spotlight and enjoy camp. If one more idiot asks if I’m staying in Denver next season, I’m going to lose my shit.”

“Your contract isn’t up for like…two years or more,” I replied as the light flashed green.

“I know, but they’re looking for a story…any story. McD warned me. I’m sure he warned you too.”

I scoffed. “McD is preparing for my downward spiral.”

“What are you talking about?”

“He’s alluded that they may shake things up in Boston. I’ve been there for over a decade. We’ve got new talent asking for big money and…” I shrugged. “I don’t feel as safe as I used to. I told you about that meeting in LA. Total waste of time. Great organization, but they don’t need me.”

“Boston isn’t going to let you go,” Denny said firmly. “No chance.”

“Thanks, but you’re five years younger than me, and your team made it to the championship game. My story is a little different.”

He smacked my biceps playfully. “No one is sending you anywhere, dumbshit. Especially now that they’ve got a rivalry to cover.”

I wiped sweat from my brow, clandestinely checking for witnesses in the El Rink parking lot before flipping him off. “That’s old news.”

“Wishful thinking,” Denny singsonged.

I tossed my cup into the bin, frowning at his cryptic tone. “What do you mean?”

He grabbed my shirt and pulled me under the eaves, away from the kids and parents queuing for early entrance into the rink. “You didn’t hear this from me, but…Trinsky is coming into town early.”

Screech.

“What? When?” I asked, grateful my voice didn’t rise five octaves.

“I don’t know. Tomorrow or the next day, I think. Vinnie was short a coach when Galmers’ wife delivered their baby early. He spoke to McD about a replacement and…”

“He suggested Trinsky,” I finished, my heart pounding in my chest.

“Yep. The only reason I know anything is ’cause Galmer was supposed to stay at my old house…next to Grams. She loves Trinsky, so she’s already stocking up on pancake mix and syrup.”

“Oh.”

Nice, Milligan.

I couldn’t come up with any more words, though. I’d been blindsided. We’d been texting less than fifteen minutes ago and every evening for over a week. Why wouldn’t Trinsky have mentioned it?

He had wanted me to call him later. That wasn’t something we did often. I should have asked what was up. I should have⁠—

Now Denny looked concerned. Shit.

He squinted as if that might help him read my mind. “You don’t really hate him anymore, do you? It seemed like you struck a truce after your TV appearance.”

You might say that.

I pasted a neutral smile on my face. “Yeah…whatever. I’m just annoyed McD didn’t bother telling me first.”

“As you know, McD is kind of a dick. However, he’s a dick who’s made us both a fuckton of dough, so trust the process, man. He makes more money when you make more money. If an overblown rivalry is the key to you getting what you want in Boston, go with the flow.”

“Uh…right.”

“That’s the spirit.” Denny squeezed my shoulder and guided me toward the entrance. “Let’s go. It’s time to greet the fans.”

The second we walked into the lobby, we were swarmed by hockey enthusiasts of all ages. Some stood in a registration queue while others lined up for orientation by the rink doors. And in the middle of the chaos were a dozen or more pro athletes talking to parents, posing for photos, signing autographs. It was the usual first day of a camp session melee—a little manic and frenzied but still well organized.

I shook hands, greeted familiar faces, took a few selfies, signed some jerseys, and completely forgot that I’d told Smitty and Nathan I’d meet them for early ice time before the doors opened. In fact, I didn’t remember until I spotted Nathan drying tears and Smitty watching him from the coaches bench a few rows in front of me. Fuck.

Logically, I knew Nathan had a case of first-day nerves and I knew that Smitty worried ’cause he was a good dad who gave a shit.

But I’d dropped the ball, and it was one more thing to beat myself up about. My internal angst was no excuse for being a crappy older brother.

I stepped on a few toes as I wriggled out of my row and waited for Nathan’s group to vacate their seats. He still looked uneasy, but he perked up and waved when he spotted me.

“Hi, Jake! That’s my brother, Jake,” he said to the kid next to him.

I high-fived the pint-sized hockey fan wearing Denny’s jersey and pulled Nathan aside. “Hey, I’m sorry I didn’t come skate with you like I promised, but⁠—”

“It’s okay. Dad said you got busy.” Nathan glanced over his shoulder as his group filed out of the stands. “I have to go. We’re taking the bus to the high school rink, and I want to sit next to Teddy. Bye, Jake.”

“Uh…bye. See you at dinner tonight.”

Nathan whirled on the steps. “You’re coming over for spaghetti?”

“Yeah, save me some.”

He pumped his fist in the air, grinning as he raced away.

I stared after him for a beat, torn between thinking I needed to thank Smitty for covering for me and chiding myself for being toxically self-absorbed.

And yeah, I blamed Trinsky.

Well…not really, but he was the reason I couldn’t think straight. I’d been like this for weeks, glued to my cell like a teenager, rereading our text threads, replaying images of us together…naked. His strong big body on top of me…inside me.

And now he was supposed to be here. Soon.

Vinnie mentioned it in passing at lunch later that day and joked about keeping us as far apart as possible much to the amusement of the coaching staff. I chuckled along with everyone else, but my stomach did an uncomfortable flip. Christ, this wasn’t going to be easy. Everything had changed.

Or had it?

We might be friendlier now, but the rivalry narrative worked for a reason. It sold tickets and jerseys and delighted fans.

My personal feelings were my problem. I mean, what the fuck did I think would come of this? Absolutely nothing. But I was still churned up about seeing him in person and unsure if I’d be better off with nothing but a handful of improbable memories.

Nonetheless, I called him as soon as I had a break. No answer.

I sent a text and tried again at the end of the day. Still nothing.

I skipped drinks at Black Horse Inn with the other coaches and went to my dad’s house for dinner, hoping to make up for being a neglectful older brother. Smitty had waved off my apology over our heaping plates of homemade spaghetti.

“No worries. You’re a busy star,” Smitty had taunted playfully. “Nath was fine with his old man, weren’t you, buddy?”

Nathan wiggled in his chair, twirling noodles inexpertly on his fork. “Yeah, camp was so cool and Coach Court is so funny. We did races around the cones without sticks and with sticks and I came in second. I beat Teddy, but I still have to beat Ava. She’s too good, and she’s younger than me.”

True. Ava Moore-Kiminski was Vinnie and Nolan’s daughter, so it kind of made sense. But Nathan was my brother, and I was a fucking all-star. I’d won the Stanley Cup. I could do better, be a better brother, help him get better and⁠—

“You okay, Jake?” Dad asked, his brow furrowed in concern, fork hovering in midair.

I nodded. “Yeah. I’m fine. I’m just…sorry about today. I’ll make it up to you, Nath.”

“There’s nothing to make up,” Smitty huffed, deftly pushing Ella’s glass of milk aside before she knocked it off the table.

Nathan beamed. “But we could get donuts in the morning.”

“Or…we could get ice cream tonight,” Charlotte suggested with a grin.

All three kids shared a glance and chanted, “Ice cream, ice cream, ice cream.”

I chuckled. “You’re on.”

I dug into the pasta, aware of my dad’s scrutinous stare from across the table.

My father had always been a bit of a worrier, and he had finely tuned instincts regarding the slightest hint of conflict. I had no doubt that he knew something was up with me…and he’d be correct.

But I was keeping this secret.

Knock knock knock

I lowered the volume on the cop drama on my flat-screen, unsure if the sound was part of the unfolding heist.

Knock knock knock

I tossed the remote onto the coffee table and headed for the front door.

Ding dong

Ding dong

I glanced through the peephole and quickly unlatched the lock. I’d been fighting sleep on the sofa for an hour, but damn, I was wide awake now.

“What the⁠—”

Trinsky dropped a duffel bag on the floor, crashed his mouth over mine, and kicked the door shut. We shouldn’t do this anymore. I shouldn’t want this. But I wrapped my arms around him and crumbled like a fucking cookie.

We bounced from wall to wall in the entry, sucking, licking, and biting in what was either a manic greeting or a fierce showdown. Trinsky finally pushed me against the door, his chest heaving as he eyed me warily.

“I missed you, you fucking vampire.” He pressed a hand to his neck and scowled. “Geez, I think I have a puncture wound.”

I matched his grumpy expression and opened my mouth to blast him. But I couldn’t remember if I was angry or sad or just very fucking tired, so I closed my eyes and…laughed.

“Sorry, I’m just…punchy and—what are you doing here? I heard you were coming early. Denny warned me and supposedly my agent left a message I never received, but⁠—”

“They asked me this morning. I hopped the first flight out and after a full fucking day of travel, I got mauled by a feral coyote. Are you gonna invite me in or what?”

I studied him for a long moment.

Damn, Mason Trinsky was a delicious sight in his faded Levis and the snug-fitted tee I’d yanked from his waistband, exposing a hint of skin. His handsome face was sun-kissed, his lips were swollen, and his eyes were twinkly and mischievous…and oh-so kind.

I opened my arms wide.

He stepped into my embrace and enveloped me in a bear hug, his nose tucked into my neck. I swayed with him under the lantern chandelier, breathing in his scent as I raked my fingers through his short hair and swallowed around a ball of emotion I didn’t understand.

“I’m glad you’re here, asshole.”

He chuckled lightly and squeezed me a little tighter. “Me too, Jakey. Me too.”

19

TRINSKY

“Are you hungry?”

I shook my head. “Nah, I grabbed something in Burlington. I parked my rental in your driveway, but I don’t think anyone will notice with all the trees out there.”

Jake locked the door and turned off the foyer light, leading me into a great room that could have been something straight out of a fancy magazine. Sort of like my place in Denver but much more sophisticated. High-beamed ceilings and a wall of windows that probably featured a forest view made the space seem impossibly big. A soft gray sectional sofa floated in the middle on a geometric rug in front of an imposing stone fireplace. And there were fucking pillows everywhere.

I fingered the fringe on a light-blue one and shifted my gaze to the family-style kitchen. Again…huge and very state-of-the-art with shiny appliances and an island with enough real estate to be the envy of any Michelin-starred restaurant.

It was very me to tease him for the opulence, which was ridiculous coming from a guy who owned sweet homes in Colorado and California. But he looked so earnest, and I felt oddly…mushy being here with him. Don’t ask me to explain. It was just a strange feeling.

“Want something to drink? Are you thirsty? I have beer, wine, soda, water. I have hard stuff too, but⁠—”

I tugged his wrist. “I’m not thirsty either. I’m tired and I just…wanted to see you. And be with you.”

Jake turned his palm up and wordlessly linked our fingers. “This way.”

His bedroom was palatial and had that same designer-decorated vibe as the rest of his house, with soft colors and luxurious fabrics. Seriously, the gray-and-white striped duvet resembled a cloud floating on his king-sized mattress.

“Nice place.” I shucked off my tee and pointed at the ceiling. “No mirror, though.”

He snorted and flung his shirt at me, then slipped his thumbs under the waistband of his sweats and lowered them to expose his perfect V. “My mom hired a professional designer for me. I paid for it, obviously, but Mom oversaw the whole production and there’s no way she’d approve of a sex mirror.”

“Too bad. Also…do not say ‘Mom’ in this room again, please.”

Jake barked a laugh, stepping out of his sweats, his semi hanging thick between his legs as he lay on the bed. “Got it.”

“Good. I’m gonna do things to you, Jakey.”

His eyes darkened. “What kind of things?”

“Naughty things.”

I finished undressing and jacked my cock, my gaze freely roaming his perfect torso. I’d seen my share of naked men with godlike bods in locker rooms, yet I’d never noticed them. I’d never been attracted to them or wondered what it might feel like to touch them. Only Jake.

I’d been asking myself “Why him, why now?” for weeks. I’d watched bi porn and concentrated on the men, and yes, some of it got my motor running. Not in a way that definitively indicated I was bi, but I had to be, right? I was on fire for Jake.

He felt like Christmas morning and my favorite birthday presents wrapped in one sexy package. Christ, look at him now, stroking himself languidly, legs parted, eyes at half-mast. Yeah, there was no reason for second-guessing. I might be bi or just curious…who cared? Whatever this was, it was too strong to ignore.

The mattress dipped under my weight as I climbed atop him, sighing at the first press of skin. God, he was so warm, so…strong. Jake pulled me closer still, lifting his hips. His cock slid against mine in the tight confine between our bodies. The delicious friction had me groaning his name as he licked my lips.

We kissed and rutted like horny teens in no particular hurry. Long pulls of his tongue and the sweet grind of our erections were more than enough. For now, anyway.

Jake switched our positions and took both of our cocks in hand, using precum to lube us up. “I’ve been thinking about this,” he purred. “Nonstop.”

“My dick?”

“Yeah.” He squeezed us as he rocked seductively. “I want to feel you again…inside me.”

I flattened my feet on the mattress and held his hips. “Lube.”

He scrambled off me to rummage through his nightstand drawer for supplies. He tossed the bottle of lube at me and held up a condom. “I was tested a few days ago and⁠—”

“Oh, fuck, yeah.” I sat up and flashed a maniacal grin. “Me too. Damn, just when I didn’t think this could get any better. Bend over, Milligan. Show me that pretty hole.”

Jake rolled his eyes but obeyed, crawling on all fours to the middle of the bed. I fumbled with the cap on the bottle of lube, almost giddy at the sight of his perfect pucker. I slicked my fingers and gently traced one along his crack, massaging the sensitive skin. I reached between his legs, tugging his balls and stroking his dick with my other hand.

I slipped a single digit into his hole, loving his grunt of approval. He took it easier than he had the first time, relaxing around the intrusion with his head hung low.

“Another one,” he begged.

I pushed two fingers in and out, and when he asked for a third, I scissored the digits, prepping him while my poor cock drooled against his thigh.

I kissed his ass cheek as I pulled away to lube up. “You want to stay on your knees for me or do you want to ride me?”

Jake glanced over his shoulder, his eyes sex-hazed and slightly out of focus. “Just fucking fuck me.”

I chuckled, scooting behind him. I slid my cock in his crease, teasing us both. Cruel, but honestly, I didn’t trust myself to play it cool. I wanted to claim him, take him, and pound his ass, but I also wanted to fucking worship him. Weird sentiment, but I just…wanted to get this right.

I held my cock at the base and tapped it at his hole. And pushed.

Oh, my God. He was so damn tight. I breached the first ring of muscle, inching forward till I was fully seated and dizzy with pleasure. No one had ever felt like this. He was fucking perfect. Like he was made for me.

I set a slow steady rhythm, running soothing hands along his spine and his sides as I chanted a litany of praises that quickly went nasty.

“You’re so hot, so tight.”

“Ungh…”

“This is my ass. I fucking own this sweet hole. Tell me it’s mine, Jakey. Tell me this is my hole, baby.” I upped the tempo, thrusting double time as he struggled for purchase under the onslaught.

He lost his balance and fell forward on his elbow. I draped myself over him and didn’t let up. I’d forgotten to be careful and go slow. I was a man possessed. But Jake didn’t seem to mind. He gripped his dick and jerked furiously, his shoulders clenching with tension, a flush pinkening his skin as we chased our releases.

I fell apart first. Not a surprise. I was out of control, and there was no way to maintain my pace. I tried to warn him, but somehow he knew.

“Come, Mase. Come in me, baby,” he growled.

I shuddered, my whole body quaking as I filled his hole, pumping everything I had in him. And just as the fiercest tremors subsided, Jake’s orgasm hit.

It took a few minutes to rejoin the land of the living. I kissed his shoulder, unthinking, and pulled out.

“Oh, Jakey…you should see this. It’s fucking incredible.”

“What?” he grunted, his voice muffled in the pillow.

“My cum in your hole.” I dipped a finger inside, turned-on all over again.

He chuckled low and deep. “You’re so gross.”

I smacked his butt and hopped off the bed. “Where’s your bathroom? I’ll get you cleaned up.”

“Thataway.”

I washed off and returned with two towels. “One for the wet spot.”

“Good call.” Jake wiped at the mess we’d made and waited for me to slide in next to him before pulling the duvet to cover us. “Are you staying?”

“Yeah. Is that okay?”

He nodded. “I don’t have any immediate neighbors so…it’s safe.”

Safe. Funny word. Nothing about us was safe.

I propped my head on my hand and studied him in the semidark room. Fuck, he was handsome. All chiseled features, a perfect nose, and a kissable mouth. Hockey players weren’t supposed to look like models. Scars and crooked smiles from copious dental work were part of the package. There was nothing crooked or out of place here. Jake was…beautiful.

Whoa.

What the fuck?

No, no.

No goopy sappy sentiments allowed. Geez, what was wrong with me?

I collapsed on my side and yawned. “Thanks. I’m not sure if I have a roommate at Denny’s old house, and I don’t want to wake anyone up.”

“Mm. So you’re here. In Elmwood.”

“I am.” I brushed my thumb against his lower lip.

He bit it, then kissed it better. “What did Eddie have to say about your sudden trip to Elmwood?”

“He was fine. Eddie’s busier than me. I’ll go home before preseason training starts. This”—I gestured between our naked bodies—“was too good an opportunity to pass up. I’m not sure when I’ll get this much unfiltered Milligan time again.”

“Unfiltered? I don’t think so,” he scoffed. “We’ll have eyes on us, and it’s going to feel weird as fuck to pretend to hate you in public.”

“You mean…you like me?” I widened my eyes comically. “For reals?”

Jake shrugged. “You’ve grown on me a little…like a wart.”

“Nice.” I pulled his thigh over mine. “We have the rest of August together. This is good.”

He went quiet for a beat. “Yeah.”

I frowned. “Hey, am I jumping the gun? We don’t have to do anything. We can⁠—”

“Are you kidding me? Of course I want this. Maybe too much,” he rasped. “We never talked about it, and maybe we should. I mean, we’ll be okay if we’re careful, but we both know this is it. Neither of us is looking for a boyfriend or any complications. The hockey world will have a hard enough time with the idea we’re friends. Lovers? No way. It would be the end of our careers. Our stats, award-winning seasons, Stanley Cups wins would be footnotes to some salacious stories about some big love affair.”

“Ooh.” I waggled my brows. “Is that what this is? A big l-o-v-e affair. Damn, I’ve never had one of those.”

“Shut up and be serious.” Jake slugged my arm playfully. “You know what I’m saying. We can have Elmwood, but this has to be over at the end of summer.”

I hadn’t thought about it in depth, but he was right. Of course, he was right. We weren’t about to jeopardize our careers. We’d both worked hard to get where we were. We weren’t going down in some cheesy tabloid-worthy scandal. No fucking way.

“Yeah, I get it. Kind of fucked to know that it’s better for everyone to hate you in public than it is to admit…”

“Admit what?” he prompted.

I studied his full lips for a moment, then met his eyes. “Admit that maybe I was wrong about you. Maybe you’re not stuck up and full of yourself. Maybe you’re a standup guy and good friend, brother, son, human. And maybe…just maybe…you have the sweetest fucking ass in the entire universe.”

Jake barked a laugh and face-planted on his pillow. “You are so…you.”

“I know, but I don’t think you mind.” I kissed his cheek. “And this is where you admit that you were wrong about me too.”

“But was I?” he teased, lacing our fingers. “Okay, fine. You’re pretty damn cool, Mase. I’m not sure how we’ll pull this off, but I want the rest of the summer with you. If we have to pretend to hate each other…so be it. We know how we really feel, and we know what we want.”

“Sex.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, and just…this is good too.”

“Holding hands in bed like a coupla old geezers?”

“Exactly.”

I just smiled. I didn’t have a snappy comeback ’cause damn it, I agreed. Just being together was kind of amazing.

“I’m all in, but I should warn you…I’m practically required to prank your ass on day one. Be ready, Milligan.”

“Oh, I’ll be ready.” Jake snorted. He pressed his body close, snaking his hand around to squeeze my butt before rolling on top of me. “Speaking of asses…it’s my turn. This is mine next.”

I fluttered my lashes like a cartoon character. “You want in my ass?”

He nipped my jaw. “I do. I want to fuck you like you fuck me. It doesn’t have to be tonight, but soon. I want you to see stars and new planets. I want to make you feel so, so good.”

I dropped my head on the pillow, exposing my neck for his kisses while I kneaded his firm cheeks and ground our hips together. Yeah, that was definitely going to happen, and I wanted it. I wanted Jake every way possible, as often as possible.

I wished we had more than a few weeks, but if all we had was now, I’d make sure this would be a summer to remember. For both of us.

No regrets.

20

JAKE

Iloved coaching juniors. They were elite athletes who’d willingly given up a slice of their summer break to work their asses off indoors. Warm-up laps, countless practice drills, and grueling competitions were part of the daily routine. These teens didn’t mind callouses, scars, and tough training sessions. This was their chance to see how the pros trained and to connect with agents and scouts hoping to spot new talent.

We made it fun for sure, but it was no picnic. We didn’t take it easy on them or play childish games. We were serious and focused and⁠—

“Ooooh, yeah. Who’s ready to par-tay?” Trinsky whipped his T-shirt off and whizzed across center ice bare chested, waving his tee like a banner to the utter delight of the teenagers gathered around the coaches armed with whistles and official-looking clipboards.

Nikitinova, a Russian defenseman with Detroit who’d had a short stint playing for Denver two years ago, howled with laughter. He was personally familiar with Trinsky’s antics and was obviously a fan of his brand of mayhem. So were the five other pros, snickering and egging him on. Even Denny chuckled.

My lips quirked instinctively because A, it was funny, and B…it was so like Trinsky to make an entrance. He couldn’t just glide in and introduce himself like everyone else. No, Trinsky had to get the entire rink’s attention and interrupt the flow of practice.

Annoying, am I right?

Yes, I was absolutely a gazillion times right. And this was exactly the kind of behavior that had made me request to not be in the same group. Even better if we weren’t coaching at the same rink.

But damn it, now that I knew Trinsky, I understood that he turned up his personality to put people at ease. That shouldn’t have made sense. However, I’d seen him in action…with Eddie and the countless teens he’d coached in Elmwood over the past few years.

His big gestures pulled spectators into the fray and sent a message: there was nothing to be afraid of here.

These kids didn’t have to ingratiate themselves to him. Trinsky didn’t need the hero worship. My guess was that his main goal was to defuse tension, get everyone to relax, so they could concentrate on their game or whatever the situation called for. His presence was going to be an interruption anyway, so…he made it memorable.

Trinsky liked attention, but he cared about the kids. Genuinely.

I swallowed hard, thinking about the dozens of instances where he’d made the grand gestures, instigated the big contests. My mind wandered to body surfing with Eddie, the huge grin on his face as his older brother constructed games he’d never lose so he wouldn’t be afraid.

You had to have a really big fucking heart to be so invested in someone else’s peace of mind. I couldn’t have been more charmed or humbled, but damn it, that wasn’t how I was supposed to play this.

Like a true buzzkill, I blew my whistle and gestured for everyone to settle down. I fixed Trinsky with a razor-sharp glare as he sprayed ice at my feet, proud of myself for not cracking a smile.

“Great. Trinsky’s here,” I deadpanned. “Gang, this is Mason Trinsky, forward for the Denver Condors and⁠—”

“Jake McMilligan’s favorite player in the league,” he finished, smacking high fives and fist bumps with the kids and coaches.

“Milligan.”

“That’s what I said.” Trinsky beamed at me and turned to Riley Thoreau, acting head coach for the Juniors and one of my personal idols. “Sorry I’m late. I just arrived last night, and I didn’t get much sleep.”

He had the nerve to slide a conspiratorial glance my way. My cheeks heated on cue.

“No worries. The groups are set. You’re with Nikitinova,” Riley said. “We’ve got a ton of drills to get through—turn and burn, forechecking, breakouts. Campers, you’re in great hands. If you have any questions, ask. If not, get to work and have fun.”

It started out the same as always. The two groups took over either side of the ice, did a few drills, and practiced puck handling and shooting. Coaches were encouraged to jump in and actively participate, which usually made it fun and made the time pass quickly.

Today, I was hopelessly distracted.

I’d thought I was doing okay at first. Denny and I had a decent system going. He fed them pucks while I corrected form. And between the upbeat music on the overhead speakers and the lighthearted chatter on the ice, the kids were engaged, honing basic skills and having fun. But it was a damn party on the other end of the rink, and of course, the loudest voice belonged to you-know-who.

For once I ignored Trinsky’s hijinks, but I was having a hard time keeping my eyes off him. He was a pretty skater, graceful and sure. He had a knack for taking corners at a wicked clip, and his backhand was a thing of beauty. So was his wrist shot. All I could think was…I’d held those wrists captive. I’d licked the underside of his forearms, kissed his elbows, buried my nose in his biceps, and bitten his neck. I knew what his stubbled jaw felt like on my inner thighs and holy shit…I knew how amazing he felt moving inside me.

I couldn’t wait to do it again.

Tonight, I hoped.

He’d have to come to my place. Annie was going to be looking out for her new neighbor with one eye peeled out her kitchen window. She’d notice if I showed up, and⁠—

“You okay?” Denny nudged my shoulder.

I flashed a weak smile, embarrassed to have been caught staring. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Oskar, a gangly kid from Virginia, panted for air as he gestured toward Trinsky’s group with his stick just as another boom of laughter ricocheted off the rink walls. “Are they even playing hockey?”

Denny glanced over his shoulder. “I hope not, ’cause we’re going to scrimmage them in a few minutes, and only one of us will be ready to kick some butt.”

“And that will be us,” I assured them.

These early scrimmages were supposed to be fun. We saved the competitive ones for the end of the session after the kids had acclimated to camp life, time away from home, and the thrill of meeting and playing with pros. So I really wasn’t sure why I got so aggravated with Terren, the right winger who randomly made himself a D-man and the goalie who hovered in the net instead of the crease.

I didn’t yell. Much. I shouted a stream of reminders in a positive tone that fooled everyone…except Trinsky.

He sidled up to me at the coach’s bench and grabbed my flask out of my hands, one of those reusable ones with an air-tight lid and a slotted tab ideal for hot drinks or plain ol’ water. “Not the league opener, Milligan.”

“I know,” I grumbled, my gaze snagging on his handsome profile.

“Okay, you forgot your role. You’re supposed to be pissed that I stole your mug from under your nose, but I’m still holding it, Jakey. Someone’s gonna notice if you go sweet on me,” he singsonged, raising the flask above his head.

He was right.

I put a hand out, eyes on the action on the ice. “Give it over.”

“Beg me.”

I growled as I turned to him. “Give me the fucking water, Trinsky.”

His slow-moving, mischievous grin was pure trouble, but I was strong. I wasn’t going to be distracted by those pretty green eyes or that dimple or⁠—

“Fine, but take a drink. You need to cool off.”

True. I gamely tipped the flask back, wincing as the top fell off and a full cup of ice cold water hit me in the face.

“Trinsky, you dick,” I sputtered.

He winked. “You’ve been pranked.”

“Yeah, I got that.” I pulled off my sweatshirt and dried my face on it, shaking my head ruefully. “You’re supposed to be setting a good example, asshole.”

“Me? No way. That’s your job,” Trinsky said loudly for the benefit of the coaches nearby. Then he slid his hand under my elbow and leaned in, his breath ghosting my earlobe. “Got a few stares on the ice. Punch me and make this look good.”

I shoved him instead. “Cool it. This is harder than I thought it would be.”

He made a mini production of picking up the clipboard I’d left on the bench, eyes lowered. “I know, but it’s pretty awesome too.”

It was. My heart was tripping over itself at the thrill of being so close to him. The smell of my shampoo lingered along with a trace of his aftershave and a hint of sweat. I wished I could lean in and lick him. I wished I could rub up against him and run my hands down his rock-hard body.

“Yeah. I might like it more if I wasn’t dripping water,” I groused without heat, my arm glued to his.

Trinsky snickered. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. If you’re too nice to me, everyone will wonder if there was an alien invasion or⁠—”

“Christ, our D-man is a tad aggressive. He reminds me of—” Denny stepped to my right and did a double take, his eyes narrowing at my freshly watered look. “What happened to you?”

“Trinsky.” I bit the inside of my cheek to keep a smile from blossoming out of nowhere. Mason noticed and pinched my arm as if reminding me to stick to the script. So I added, “Fucking asshole.”

Denny pulled a face and sighed. “You two are impossible. Don’t we have enough teenagers to deal with?”

I snarkily agreed that it was too bad Trinsky was immature. Trinsky thought it was sad that I had chronic “stick-in-the-mud-itis.” I told him he was ridiculous, to which he replied, “I know you are, but what am I?”

We went back and forth until I finally walked away in a faux huff. It was that or I’d burst out laughing and give us away. As it was, Denny was probably wondering how we’d lasted in the same building for so long.

Every coach and kid on that ice knew we didn’t get along. They no doubt assumed we were in the midst of another PR situation that required us to put up and shut up. And maybe that was sort of true. The rest was…well, it was ours.

“Are you as horny as me?”

That was his greeting as I dragged him into my foyer a few hours later. We stripped our clothes off in between soul-stirring twists of tongues and made our way upstairs. I didn’t bother with any niceties. If he wanted something to eat or drink, he’d have to wait. I had one thing on my mind…one thing only.

I tweaked his nipples and pushed him onto the mattress, diving on top of him. “So, so horny.”

Mason captured my face in his hands and kissed me hard. I melted in his arms and opened to him without a word. His fingers in my hair, his mouth on my jaw, his tongue trailing down my torso. Whatever he wanted was his. My cock, my ass, anything.

He bent my knees to my ears, crawled between my legs and licked my hole. I cried out in surprise and pleasure, surrendering to this thing we’d become. It wasn’t wrong. It was just…unexpected.

So when he moved inside me, claiming pieces of me I’d never given anyone, I didn’t panic or put up a fight. Quite the opposite. I held him close and let myself drift under the spell of him—the flex of his muscular abs pressed against my cock as he thrust…and thrust. We came seconds apart, Mason’s sweat dripping onto my brow, eyes locked on mine.

It wasn’t until we’d showered, redressed, and went downstairs to find something to eat that I realized how quiet we’d been during sex. We were usually pretty vocal and kind of nasty. Especially Trinsky. He loved pushing my buttons with porny dirty talk. The quiet had been poignant somehow.

And now, we were in my kitchen, polishing off sandwiches and potato chips, critiquing the skill levels of the new campers.

“The kid from Connecticut is good. He’s quick and agile. What’s his name?” Trinsky asked.

“Eli. He’s a little cocky.”

Trinsky scoffed. “What you call cocky is a lot of fucking bravado. Trust me, I know that story. What’s the deal with your goalie?”

“He’s struggling. I told Riley we need a goalie coach. He asked how we were getting along, by the way. Don’t be surprised if one of us gets reassigned.” I grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge and slid one across the island toward him.

He tipped his chin in thanks. “Good. You’re way too distracting for me. If they don’t move me, you need to complain. Trinsky is unprofessional, attention-seeking, or…just a filthy animal. Whatever you come up with, I support.”

“Why do you—hey, where’re you going?” I gathered our plates, furrowing my brows as Trinsky opened the sliding glass door onto the deck.

“Just exploring. Wow, nice yard.”

I left the dishes and followed him outside. “Thanks. Why do you want me to complain about you? Don’t you think we can handle being in the same rink a few hours a day?”

Trinsky tossed a casual grin over his shoulder and stepped to the railing. He took a long pull from the bottle and set it on the flat banister, searching my gaze. I had no idea what he was looking for.

“Jesus, Jakey. You have no idea what you do to me,” he said in a gravelly tone that went straight to my dick. “Today was a master class in acting, and I’m pretty good at it, but it’s different with you. If we stick to the current arrangement, they’ll figure out that I not only don’t hate you, but that I can’t keep my eyes off your ass in those sexy black joggers you always wear.”

I laughed. “Sexy joggers?”

“Very sexy.” He tilted his chin to the night sky. “Elmwood has more stars than anywhere else I’ve ever been. Or is this technically Wood Hollow since it’s a new development?”

“It’s still Elmwood. I bought the last parcel of land at the fringe of the forest and hired the contractor in charge of the new houses in Wood Hollow to build me one. My mom dealt with everything, though. She has great taste, and she knows what I like.”

“You’re close to her too.”

“Yeah. I told you my mom and dad are great friends. She loves Smitty now too…and the kids.”

He cocked his head curiously. “Just one big happy family, eh?”

“In a way. Mom and Eric have their own lives, and they love to travel. I see more of them during regular season than I do in Elmwood in the summertime. But they all spend holidays together whether or not I’m able to join them now. Nathan, Char, and Ells call her Mama Piper. Nath and Char are old enough to sort through the logistics of why I have a mother and father and they have two dads, but kids go with the flow. They love her and my mom loves them. She says it’s her practice for being a grandma someday…and then she taps her watch and tells me she has no plans to live forever.” My lips twitched in amusement. “It’s funny that my dad’s second family has taken some of the pressure off, though. Definitely odd modern-day dynamics.”

“Maybe, but you’re lucky.”

“Yeah, when I was little, I assumed every divorced couple was like my parents—friends who didn’t want to live together anymore.”

Trinsky snorted derisively. “No disrespect, Milligan, but you live in a fucking fairy tale.”

I frowned. “Well…I know it’s⁠—”

“You don’t know. Not really, and I’m fucking glad you don’t.”

“Shit, I’m sorry.” And I was, but I also saw an opening. “You…you said you didn’t know your dad.”

“Nope. Never met him. He was basically a sperm donor.”

“Oh.”

I thought that was it, but after a long silence, Mason continued.

“I built up this fantasy in my head that he’d come home or that one of the guys she’d bring by would be the one who’d stay. That they’d give me more than a passing glance and that she’d give a shit if they turned out to be abusive assholes. For the record, my prayers were not answered.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” I set my hand over his, aware this was the first time he’d ever talked about his childhood. I’d had a feeling it wasn’t a good story, and my heart ached for the little boy he’d been.

Mason’s jaw tightened. “I learned early on to trust my instincts and stay light on my feet. I knew when to stay away from my mom and when I could try to fix her. Nine years old, picking up needles, cleaning up bottles, and cigarette butts, and scrounging for loose change to buy food when the fridge was empty. My childhood was one fucked-up cycle of parenting a parent who was her own worst enemy. But…I got this glorious reprieve from her the summer I turned ten when she passed out behind the wheel and wrapped her car around a tree.”

“Oh, my God.”

“Yeah, I know it sounds awful, but it was a wake-up call.”

“Shit. Was she hurt? Were you in the car?”

“No, she was alone and she was fine, but it was her third DUI in two months. Mom lost her job, her loser boyfriend, and she had to go to mandated rehab. I was seconds away from becoming a casualty of the system and you know, I didn’t mind. I was hungry all the fucking time. I would have happily taken my chances with a foster family. But my Aunt Carla showed up in her Escalade and took me to live with her in her fancy house five miles away. I’d never heard of her. Ever. My mom’s own fucking sister. She was amazing. And no, the house wasn’t fancy, but it was a real house and there was food in the pantry. And there were kids in the neighborhood, and one of them had a dad who worked for the Kings.”

“The Zamboni man.”

His smile reached his eyes this time. “Mike and Ty Petrowski. I fly them out to Denver for a few games every season.”

“That’s cool.”

“That handful of years with an aunt who took on a kid she barely knew changed my life. I got to see how people with self-respect and discipline lived, and I found hockey. I never looked back.”

“Was your mom in recovery when she had Eddie?” I asked.

Mason sighed deeply. “She was. She’d been two years sober and had a new job when I returned home to live with her, and everything seemed to be going in the right direction. Then she got pregnant. And at first, I was happy for her, but Eddie’s dad was like every other piece of shit she’d ever dated. Toxic personalities who think being a man means being loud and aggressive. He’d moved half of his shit into the house, and there were nauseating plans for a big wedding and blah, blah, blah. I was too busy with hockey to get sucked into it. As long as she wasn’t using, I didn’t care. I just wanted…peace.”

“So she didn’t know Eddie would be…different.”

“Nope. She opted out of every test and probably ignored the doctors.” Mason took a deep breath and continued. “I will never forget seeing her at the hospital, a stricken look on her face and that piece of garbage boyfriend of hers crying that this was her fault. I didn’t know what was going on. Eddie looked like any ol’ wrinkly newborn to me. I heard words like special needs, health concerns, but I just saw a kid who needed to be cared for.”

“So you stepped up.”

“I had to. Eddie’s bio dad was a motherfucker, and Mom was a mess…and there was this tiny little baby in the middle of all this ugliness. I wanted nothing more than to hightail it to Aunt Carla’s, but I couldn’t leave Eddie with them. I was a teenager, but I was almost as big as I am now, and I was done being intimidated. I kicked the asshole out and asked my aunt to help us again. This time, for Eddie’s sake.”

I ran my hand along his spine and rested my chin on his shoulder. “Wow. You’re a hero.”

He huffed incredulously. “Am I? I don’t think so. It wasn’t like I put my life on hold for Eddie. I wouldn’t have a career if I hadn’t worked my ass off, but yeah, I did what I could.”

“How?”

“I don’t know…I learned how to make a bottle and feed him. I played with him, and later on, I helped deal with the specialists and therapists. My mom reconnected with other family members around that time through her sister, so this village came out of the blue and made life a lot easier. I was able to be a typical teenager too, but Eddie was always a priority for me. We bonded right from the start.” Mason smiled. “He’s so fucking happy and it’s contagious, you know?”

“Yeah, I get that.”

“You read stories of kids like him who’ll never progress mentally beyond eight years old, but he’s proved them wrong. Eddie’s only a few years behind his age group, he’s curious, he retains information well, he loves dogs, the ocean, his friends, and riding on the bus. And he knows sign language. That’s kind of fucking cool.”

“It is,” I agreed. “So he’s the reason for the children’s charity.”

Mason shifted to face me. “Yes. Resources are crucial, and if I can do anything to help a kid feel safe and cared for, I’m in. So yeah, I’m involved in a few charities…some for kids living with disabilities, some for kids who’ve been in abusive homes, or have parents who struggle with addiction. There’s all kinds of ugly shit out there, and I lived it.”

“It sounds like you and your mom are good now.”

“We are. She’s climbed a mountain, and I’m proud of her. She’s a different mom to Eddie than she was to me. I got the neglectful, selfish B, he gets Mother fuckin’ Theresa.”

I snorted. “Nice comparison.”

“It’s true. She loves that kid. She puts him first…above anything she wants for herself. I didn’t get that treatment, and I could be bitter about it, but that’s life. And by the way, I’m not trying to negate your childhood trauma or one-up you.” He rubbed his stubbled jaw ruefully. “I actually don’t really know why I told you any of it. I should probably apologize.”

“Oh, please. I don’t want any apologies. Thanks for sharing your⁠—”

“My oversized baggage?” he quipped with a laugh.

“Well, I wouldn’t have put it that way.”

“I would.” Mason snickered merrily. “That’s the shit that comes off the conveyer belt with a big-ass red warning label attached. Although it honestly doesn’t feel so heavy anymore. Eddie’s good, my mom’s good.”

“What about your aunt?”

“She passed away five years ago. Cancer.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Me too. She was a great woman and an amazing role model. She was this lesbian trailblazer who didn’t take shit from anyone. I want to be like her someday.”

“I think you’re well on your way.”

Mason beamed. “You’re right. I even went bi.”

I rolled my eyes. “You realize that you don’t just go bi, right?”

“Yeah, so I’m bi. But you’re the only one I notice, Jakey.” He pulled me into a headlock and kissed my ears, ignoring my protests. “I tested the theory at camp today. Lots of decent-looking coaches, and none of them got a pulse out of me. Nada, zilch.”

“Oh, brother.”

“Seriously. Nikitinova isn’t tough on the eyes, and he has a cool accent. Doesn’t do anything for me, though. Who does it for you?”

I scoffed. “What kind of question is that?”

“A great one. C’mon. Let’s take a test…Batman or Superman?”

“Batman.”

“You’d choose Batman over Henry Cavill?” Mason widened his eyes incredulously. “ ’Cause I think I just got a Superman chubby.”

I laughed. He was ridiculous and manic with it, but he was hopelessly charming too. We finished our beers and sat side by side at the picnic table, talking about absolutely nothing of consequence. I liked the sound of his voice and the feel of his body pressed against mine in the warm summer night. I liked that he gazed reverently at the stars while debating which version of Spider-Man he thought was most badass. I liked that Mason Trinsky was unapologetically himself.

And more than anything, I liked that he let me in and showed me his scars.

Maybe there was no way we could be lovers in the real world, but somehow, I knew we were going to be the best of friends for a long, long time.

21

TRINSKY

Annie glowered at me over the rim of her coffee cup. “What’s the matter with the pancakes?”

I paused mid chew and flashed a sunny smile at the cranky old lady who insisted on being part of my carb-load routine. “Nothing. I’m in heaven. Can’t you tell?”

Annie set her cup on her kitchen table with a shaky hand. “No. You’re usually good for a dozen hotcakes. You’re picking at six, and you’ve hardly touched the eggs. Be honest. Did I crack a shell in ’em?”

I forked up a bite of scrambled eggs and dutifully ate them. “Delicious.”

She pursed her lips in barely concealed glee. “Good. Of course, a little crunch won’t hurt ya either. I’m old, and shit happens.”

“Everything is great, I swear, but this is breakfast number two for me. I had a couple of Pop-Tarts earlier.”

“Is that what the kids are calling sex these days?”

I choked on my eggs, mumbling my thanks as she pushed a glass of orange juice in front of me. “Jesus, Mrs. M.”

Annie snort-laughed. “Oh, don’t be a precious flower, sunshine. If you’ve found a titillating distraction in Elmwood, I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks, but⁠—”

“And curious. Who is she?” Annie hummed thoughtfully when I shook my head. “It’s a secret. Okay. I respect that. I wish I could figure it out. I’ve been watching out the window for days on end, but you’ve been around less than usual, and I haven’t seen any other cars in the driveway. You’re probably seeing a local, but for the life of me, I don’t know who it could be. Hannah Archer, Rebecca Burstow, Jenny Muldugno? It’s not MK, is it? She’s dating that sweet boy from Pinecrest and⁠—”

“Good for her, but I’m just having fun this summer, Mrs. M. Same as usual.”

“Okay, okay.” She stood slowly and ambled to my side, patting my cheek affectionately before pointing at the collar of my T-shirt. “Nice hickey.”

My hand flew to my neck. I sputtered the beginnings of an explanation but let it go.

Annie didn’t care if I was making out with half the population of Elmwood, and though she might be curious, she wasn’t the type to dig for information I didn’t want to share. My only concern was that she might say something to Denny, but then again…did it matter? He’d think it was a summer hookup, and he’d be correct.

Jake and I were the very definition of a summer fling. We had a finite boundary, a code of silence, and a hard end date. We spent our days pretending to be annoyed with each other’s existences and our nights consumed with lively conversations and incredible sex. We were together every day and every night.

We’d quickly decided we were better off leaving the groups as is at camp. I wanted more time with Jake, not less. I could tease him and he could roll his eyes, and maybe no one would notice that we didn’t avoid each other the way we used to. We made an effort to hang out in crowds too—burgers at the diner, beers at the Black Horse, barbecues at local coach’s homes. Together and yet not.

We were never together in a way anyone would recognize, but we couldn’t have been closer if we tried. I slept in his bed every night and sneaked into Denny’s rental in the wee hours of the morning…well before Annie was awake. I’d borrowed Jake’s toothbrush when I’d forgotten mine and laughed when he’d growled at me, then bought me a spare one the next day. I bought groceries, replenished his supply of sparkling water, and put my Pop-Tarts in his pantry next to his organic rosemary crackers.

The shades of cohabitation were unmistakable, but that didn’t mean anything. Our primary object was still sex.

At least, it was supposed to be.

Truthfully, the lines were beginning to blur. We spent as much timing talking about current events, music we liked, and our adolescent crushes as we did fucking around in bed.

Tonight, we barbecued kabobs pierced with onions and bell peppers while reminiscing over first kisses.

“I was fourteen,” Jake reported, using tongs to turn the meat. “Janie Beckman kissed me next to the refreshment stand at the high school dance. The fact that my dad was chaperoning and witnessed the whole thing made it ten shades of extra awkward.”

I chuckled. “I was thirteen. Emily…something. I forget her last name, but I remember that she liked hockey. A lot. She used to hang out at the rink and wait for me. I think she was my first stalker.”

“Your first? You’ve had a few?”

“Are you joking? After every game, I’ve got a posse of fans who want to go home with me.” Slight exaggeration but it wasn’t untrue, and I had a feeling it was the same for Jake. There was always someone willing to warm my bed. Always someone to take the edge off and keep me company for a night or two.

“How often do you take one of them up on their generous offer?” he asked.

I pointed at the onion blackening on one of the kabobs. “Not often.”

Jake snapped his gaze my way. “Really?”

“It used to be a rush to have someone want me because I was semi-famous and good at my job. Now it feels cold.”

He stacked the kabobs on a plate and set it on the picnic table. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“It also feels a little weird to talk about hooking up with random women with the guy I’m secretly doing the dirty with,” I observed, slathering butter on an ear of corn on the cob.

Jake sat across from me and playfully kicked my shin. “I get that. It’s probably very uncool of me to admit this, but the idea of you with anyone else makes me feel ill.”

I kicked him back and bit into the corn cob. “Good. It makes me feel homicidal.”

“Geez, we’re a couple of head cases.” He laughed.

“Just do me a favor and don’t invite me to your wedding.”

“Deal. Don’t invite me to yours either.”

I snorted. “Oh, please. No one in their right mind would marry me, Milligan.”

“True, but you’re rich,” he teased.

“And I’m hung.”

Jake snickered. “Sure, but⁠—”

“Jake! Jake! Jake!”

We swiveled on the picnic bench as three kids barreled into the yard via the side gate, followed closely by Smitty.

I schooled my features into what I hoped passed as casual surprise and delivered a clandestine nudge under the table to Jake, who was seemingly frozen in place. Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

We should have had a plausible excuse on hand in the unlikely event we’d get caught in a situation like this, but we didn’t and…now one of us was going to have to wing it, and it sure as hell wasn’t Jake. Poor guy was freaked the fucked out.

“I’m interested in buying property here, and I invited myself over just as you’d fired up the grill,” I said in a low voice, jumping up to greet the newcomers. “Yo, it’s the Milligan-Paluchek brigade!”

I fist-bumped Nathan, gave Charlotte a high five, and picked Ella up and tossed her in the air before braving a glance at their dad. I liked to think I was pretty good at reading people, but Smitty wasn’t giving me any clues under his dark sunglasses.

He tilted his chin my way and cast a curious look toward the grill. “Sorry. We didn’t mean to interrupt dinner. We were in the neighborhood, and the kids wanted to say hi.”

“We saw your car and smoke in your yard,” Charlotte interjected. “We thought you were having a party without us.”

“Want to see my cartwheel?” Ella skipped onto the lawn, her big sister at her heels.

Nathan examined the plates of food. “I love corn on the cob. Can I have one?”

Jake jolted out of his silent stupor and nodded profusely. “Yeah, sure. I made too much food and Mason showed up and⁠—”

“Who’s Mason?” Nathan asked, flopping next to his brother on the bench.

Oh, wow. This wasn’t going well.

I raised my hand. “Me. Jakey only calls me that when he’s grumpy.”

“You don’t seem grumpy. Are you grumpy?” Nathan reached to grab an ear of corn, but at the last second glanced at Smitty for permission. “Can I have one, Dad?”

“No, we’re not staying. Papa is expecting us home for dinner and⁠—”

“Stay,” I intercepted. “I was on my way out, anyway. Thanks for showing me around, Jake. I’ll have to get in touch with your dad about visiting properties in the area.”

I really doubted Smitty bought the flimsy excuse, but I didn’t have an alternative one, and my presence was making this awkward. I supposed we should be grateful they hadn’t shown up an hour earlier when we’d been buck naked and grunting like cavemen in heat.

I waved to the kids, stumbled through a good-bye to Jake and Smitty, and headed for the gate. Of course, I immediately had to backtrack and rescue my keys and phone from the house, so that was…not good.

None of this was good. Poor Jake.

I felt guilty, but what were we gonna do? Tell the truth? Would he ever want anyone to know? Would I? From a career perspective, no. But personally, was I someone he’d want to introduce to his family? Or was this all way too much, too soon?

22

JAKE

Holy shit.

What was happening? Mason was gone, the kids were running like monkeys in my yard, and my stepdad was staring at me as if I’d grown a second head. And I didn’t know what to say. Or do.

Lie.

Keep lying. Reiterate the story Mason made up about checking out my property and inviting himself for dinner. That would indicate that we were friendly at the very least. That was okay, right? Smitty would buy it, or he’d go along with it…for now.

And soon, none of this would matter because this thing between us had a finite shelf life, so who cared?

I opened my mouth, but Smitty beat me to it.

“Mason?”

“Uh, yeah.” I swallowed hard and gestured toward the remains of our dinner. “Sure you don’t want something to eat?”

Oh, no. My voice squeaked.

Smitty lifted a brow, quietly shooing Nathan off to play with his sisters and perching on the edge of the bench. “I’m gonna go out on a limb and guess you don’t hate him anymore.”

“Um…no. I like him…fine.” This was where I should add that he was still annoying and that he’d barged in, demanded food, and made himself at home. The lies wouldn’t come. Neither did the truth, though.

And there was something kind of terrible about lying to a man who’d come out in his thirties, married a man, adopted three children, and made a whole new life for himself. My silence was more than dishonest, it was…scummy.

Smitty inclined his head. “I figured you’d come around. Mason is a good guy.”

“Right.”

“You look nervous, Jake,” Smitty observed quietly. “There’s no need to be.”

Tell that to my skyrocketing heart rate. “I’m just—fuck it. We’re friends…good friends, and we have been for a while.”

“Cool.”

I didn’t have to say anything else. He didn’t expect it.

“I like him,” I admitted, licking my dry lips.

Smitty dropped onto the bench across from me. “Does your dad know?”

“That I’m bi? Or that I’m attracted to my former enemy? It’s a no to both,” I reported, swiping my hand through my hair.

“Hmm.” Smitty watched the kids running around the yard.

“Don’t say anything to him. Please.”

Smitty frowned. “I wouldn’t. That’s your story to tell, but…why wouldn’t you want to come out to your dad?”

“ ’Cause he’ll worry about me.”

“True. Does um…does Trinsky feel the same way?” He winced. “You don’t have to answer.”

No doubt my silence spoke loud and clear. God, this was awkward.

“Being friends with him is enough of a scandal.” How was that for a non-answer?

“Ahh, well…if you feel like talking to anyone, I’m here.” He patted my hand. “So’s your dad. Let’s go, kiddos!”

Smitty marched the kids out like well-trained troops while I stood by, unable to string together a cohesive sentence.

I picked at my kabob, staring at the wood-grain picnic table, my mind whirling at top speeds. Someone knew about us. Someone I trusted. The sky hadn’t fallen, and no one had died. Don’t get me wrong, it still felt dangerous and unsettled, but I wasn’t afraid and I wondered what, if anything, that meant.

23

JAKE

“Weren’t we supposed to take the kids to the diner for shakes after practice?”

I stole the puck from Trinsky and passed it to Eli, who sped away with one last glance over his shoulder as if worried Denver’s forward was about to come after him with guns blazing.

“Yep.” Trinsky slowed at center ice with his hands on his hips. “You jonesin’ for chocolate?”

“Chocolate peanut butter with chocolate chips.”

“Dude, that’s what I’m talkin’ about.”

“Right?” I brushed his shoulder, sliding my pinky finger along his. “Cradle the puck, Jensen. Don’t push it.”

We separated, cheering Eli’s goal and finding each other again when Dimistri, a D-man from Pittsburgh ran through a spiel about the defense’s breakdown.

“You’re killing me, Jakey,” he hummed, eyes on the teens a few feet away.

“Sorry. It’s your fault for not coming by last night.”

“Denny and Hank were at Annie’s and stopped by afterward. It felt like a hostage situation. I couldn’t leave without a good story, and I didn’t have one of those. I told you Annie’s on to me. And by the way, if you give me another hickey, I’m gonna have to kick your ass.”

I laughed aloud and all heads swiveled in our direction. I made up for it by slugging him in the arm, but it was a weak gesture. In fact, it was beginning to feel like the cat was out of the bag. Well, partially anyway.

Trinsky and I were friends—and after getting caught by Smitty and the kids, I’d officially given up the pretense. It was hard enough to keep my distance and not stare at his sexy body during camp time. I couldn’t do that and act like I hated him too. Yeah, there’d be no Oscar wins in my future.

“I’d love to see you try.” I checked the time, bumping his elbow. “See you at the diner.”

We took our skates off and waited for our campers in the lobby before trudging as a group a few blocks to the Elmwood Diner. We’d done this a few times. JC’s poutine and large shakes were a camp staple.

The teens gravitated toward the bigger booths, climbing over each other and squeezing in till they were packed like sweaty sardines. The coaches were a bit more civilized. Six of us sat two tables away from them, talking about a wide variety of important topics, like what those frozen flavored tubes that were popular when we were kids were called.

“Otter Pops,” Denny said, licking whipped cream off his shake.

Trinsky and I shared a clandestine look that could have become dangerous if his cell hadn’t buzzed and ruined the moment. He fished his phone from his pocket, the conversation continuing at the table without skipping a beat.

“Freeze Pops.”

“Ice Pops.”

“Fla-Vor-Ice,” I offered.

“What do you think, Trinsky?” Dimistri asked.

Trinsky glanced up from his cell distractedly. “Otter Pops. Don’t bug me. I’m workin’ here. My agent is finalizing my contract. I’m gonna need a milkshake selfie to celebrate.”

“I’ll take it and post it for you.” Dimistri eyed the college-aged women at the table in between ours and the boys and added, “Hashtag Trinsky’s milkshake brings the girls to the yard.”

We chuckled, but a minute later, the women descended on our table. It was harmless. The sort of flirtatious fan moment we dealt with regularly. These women weren’t locals, though, and they were very…enthusiastic.

“Can we bother you for a selfie?” A pretty brunet with a low-cut sundress put her hand on Trinsky’s arm.

“Yeah, no problem.” He stood and posed for a few pictures.

“You better ask Milligan too,” Nikitinova chimed in. “He will get jealous.”

“Oh, no. We can’t have that.” A blond with long, curly hair and red lipstick purred.

I assured them I wasn’t jealous in the slightest, but now the guys were fully invested in making me uncomfortable, and our teen charges were watching the show with envy as if they couldn’t imagine anything cooler than being pursued by a group of pretty women. And maybe they were on to something, but it didn’t feel so great to me.

It took me a second to realize that it wasn’t the women or our idiot friends egging them on. It was the knowledge that this was the real world seeping into our private oasis. This wasn’t a well-meaning family member accidentally intruding on a quiet dinner. These were strangers looking for access to celebrities. Like it or not, that was us.

The brunet fluttered her impossibly long lashes at Trinsky, and dragged long red fingernails over his inked biceps. Bile rose to my throat on cue.

It was madness. I had no right to be jealous. At all.

“Hey, Milligan, what do you say?”

I snapped out of my reverie with a cough. “About what?”

The blond smiled up at me. “We’re staying at the Black Horse Inn. Come by for a drink at the bar later.”

“I’ll give you my number,” the brunet said, pulling a pen from her purse. “Can I write it on your hand?”

Trinsky played along, waggling his brows as if that were a borderline X-rated suggestion. The table hooted, the girls laughed, the campers craned their necks to see what was going on, and me…I died a little inside.

Reality was coming for me and it was going to suck, big-time.

24

TRINSKY

Istepped away from the group of tourists with heart eyes and my laughing peers, hiking my thumb toward the counter. Maybe they thought I wanted to track down the waiter or use the restroom…didn’t matter. I needed a minute. Christ, this acting shit was hard work.

“Are you looking for another order of poutine or a refill for your shake?” JC seemingly popped out of nowhere, wiping his hands on his white apron.

Elmwood’s celebrated chef was a big dude with reddish hair, ruddy cheeks, twinkling eyes, and a dry sense of humor. He liked feeding people and I loved to eat, so we’d struck up a casual repartee over the years that usually consisted of praise for his poutine or general hockey commentary.

“Neither.” I glanced at the group of hockey players and the pretty tourists.

“Ah, it’s not easy being popular, eh? I wouldn’t know, of course. No one likes me,” he deadpanned in a thicker than usual Quebecois accent.

I chuckled. “Can you blame them?”

“Not at all.” JC squinted, pointing a finger at my chest. “What is this I hear about you buying a house in Elmwood?”

“I—what?”

“Smitty and Bryson were here with the kids yesterday, and Nathan mentioned it out of the blue. He said all the hockey players are moving to town. Like Trinsky. How do you know this? I asked. In a twist, you told the nine-year-old while you were eating corn at Jake’s house. All of this is a surprise, oui? Elmwood, Jake, the corn…Perhaps you are friends after all?”

I nodded, unable and unwilling to lie. Weird, since I had a stranger’s phone number on my hand, and a group of peers nearby who’d swear I was as debauched as they came.

“Yeah. We’re friends.”

JC cocked his head curiously. “He’s a good friend to have. And Elmwood is a good place to live, but you should talk to Bryson. He’s the real estate agent in the family. I think he was surprised by the house news…and corn news.”

“I play for Denver. I don’t see myself moving to Elmwood.”

“Trust me, I didn’t either.” He patted my shoulder and turned to the kitchen. “Another order of poutine coming up!”

Okay, that was confusing. I headed for the restroom, fist-bumping a few regulars along the way.

Conversation and laughter drifted under the door, and some old-timey song was playing on the speakers. I stared at my reflection, hands braced on the counter, and let myself wallow in uncertainty.

Which was totally ludicrous ’cause there was nothing uncertain here. I was still me, and Elmwood was the same as always. Camp was almost over and soon, I’d go home to visit and then to Denver. And my team would play Jake’s, and everything would be the way it used to be. And I wasn’t going to hate it.

It would be familiar.

It would be fine.

Another round of poutine and a few servings of exaggerated hockey exploits later, we settled our bill, paid for the campers’ and the girls’ meals, and agreed to meet up at the Black Horse for drinks. It was large-group mentality. I wasn’t sure who was really interested in continuing the party, but the mood was light and it was easier to go with the flow than to make up excuses.

“You driving with us?” Denny asked, flipping his keys as he pushed the diner door open.

“Nah, I’ll get a ride with Milligan.”

“Leave Milligan alone,” Denny chided.

I flung an arm over Jake’s shoulder instead. “Now, how is that any fun?”

I got the laugh I’d been angling for, and Jake delivered the annoyed look everyone was counting on, and it was very…expected. They’d have been shocked as hell at our sighs of relief as we reached across the console of his SUV and linked our fingers.

We held hands for a few blocks. Jake let go on Main Street and drove through town, passing Town Hall, the fountain, and the antique lampposts that reminded me of movies my aunt loved to watch. He continued past the long road leading to Denny and Hank’s farm, and the shorter private one leading to his street.

We kissed in the SUV, languid slides of tongue, no hurry whatsoever. Eventually we made our way inside, undressed each other, and climbed into bed. My hands and mouth were everywhere at once. We gyrated wildly until need and desire reached mission critical. He prepped his hole, opened his legs, and invited me in. We’d talked about me bottoming for weeks, but somehow, this was how we always ended up. Jake begging for my cock and me wanting to give him anything he asked for.

Anything at all.

My body, my time, my every fucking thought.

I moved with purpose as if this were another language. One I hoped he understood. And when we floated back to Earth, I hoped Jake knew this was where I wanted to be. Right here. Next to him.

But I’d play my part.

I’d go to the bar, I’d chat with the tourists, and flirt if necessary. And no one would suspect that the need to be together was so intense that we’d risked the scrutiny of showing up late. They thought they knew us…individually and as a couple of guys who tolerated each other ’cause we had to.

The truth was so much better. It was almost sad that they’d never know.

25

TRINSKY

“Where are you taking me, Milligan?”

The road narrowed at the base of the forest. The remnants of twilight were lost in the deep green foliage and long shadows sliced the landscape, giving it a slightly foreboding ambience. My guess was that this was an alternate route to Wood Hollow. The trademark hollowed trees lining the paths were a solid clue, as was the lake sparkling in the distance. It was beautiful. I just wasn’t sure what the fuck we were doing.

“I’m kidnapping you,” Jake said after forever.

“I figured.”

“We’re going camping.”

I twisted in my seat with a laugh. “No, anything but that.”

“Trust me. It’ll be fun.”

Jake parked in a thicket away from the campground lot, grabbed two duffels, and handed one to me. He trained a flashlight on the path and led us to a small clearing on the lakeside. We erected the two-man tent in record time, and sat side by side on a blanket overlooking the lake.

“So you just happened to have a tent in your trunk?”

Jake’s lips curved in a shy smile. “No. This was a surprise. Like…a date, but without any weirdness.”

“Oh. Did you bring Pop-Tarts?”

He nodded. “Of course. And some basics. There was no grand plan to do this tonight or even tomorrow, but I thought I should have supplies ready so we could come here one more time before camp is over. Tonight seems like a good night.”

I glanced up at the starry sky and nodded. “I like being kidnapped. It’s kind of sexy.”

Jake snorted. “Good to know. I’m feeling territorial, but I’m glad it came across as sexy. It feels like we’re constantly with teenagers and hockey players. Do you think any of them saw us leaving the rink together?”

“Dunno. They’ll assume you lured me with Pop-Tarts, put a fork in me, and tossed my body in the lake.”

“Probably.”

We stared out at the calm water, leaning against each other like old friends. Or old lovers. The glimmer of moonlight and the shelter of the towering trees surrounding us evoked a timeless quality—like anything was possible. Maybe even time could stop for a few hours.

So of course I had to ruin it.

“How much longer do we have?” My voice sounded like gravel.

“Four days,” Jake replied.

“What happens next?”

“I don’t know.”

“Will it be over?” I closed my eyes briefly and powered on. “I mean, maybe we just have summer. Every year we could meet here, camp for a week and go off the grid, and resurface to coach the juniors.”

“And during the season?”

“I kick your ass on the ice.”

“Right.” Jake snickered, and released a weary sigh. “I wish I knew how to slow time.”

Me too.

Days and nights were speeding by at an accelerated rate. The summer air was tinged with a cool bite that indicated autumn was closing in, school would be in session soon, and preseason hockey would be under way. I usually loved the change of season. No, I fucking lived for it.

But now…change made me nervous.

“We need a plan,” I insisted.

“What kind of plan?”

“Visitation plan. Like…whenever you’re in Denver, we meet up and⁠—”

“And how do you explain me to your teammates or your neighbors or the press? They’ll all know we’re friends by the end of camp, and that’s all the mileage we can get out of our feud. They’ll be actively discussing our retirement next and which one of us will end up covering games on network TV. And real life will happen too. You’ll probably meet someone and⁠—”

“Fuck that,” I choked out. “You’ll meet someone before I do. Some beautiful girl who lights up when you walk in the room and⁠—”

“Stop.”

I stopped. I was making myself queasy, and this wasn’t the lighthearted banter we both needed.

“Sorry.”

Jake inclined his chin slightly. “We play hockey, Mase. It’s what we do. It’s all about the love of the puck. You’ll be in Denver next month, and I’ll be in Boston. That’s it. I don’t want you to risk anything for me. If you have five more years in the league, make them the best.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll do the same.” He dug into one of the bags and pulled out a box of cinnamon Pop-Tarts. “I’ll come out at some point, though.”

“Really? When?”

“I don’t know. I don’t have a plan, but I can’t lie, and I already feel crappy that Smitty knows I’m bi, and I still haven’t told my dad. How fucked up is that?”

“You’ll tell him when the time is right.”

“Hmm.”

Of course, he would, but I wasn’t sure I could say the same for myself. Coming out was…well, not on my short list. It was too big a concept and too fucking scary. Fuck, I was a coward.

I smiled in spite of my uneasy stomach and tore into the Pop-Tart package. “Not to get all new-age on you, but where do you see yourself in ten years?”

“Here. In Elmwood.” Jake took the piece of pastry I offered and nibbled the edges…like a goddamn monster. “Maybe I’ll commute for a coaching job, or maybe I’ll throw my lot in with Vinnie and Ronnie and the guys building the program. What about you? California?”

I frowned so hard I gave myself a headache. “Part-time. Maybe. Eddie won’t move. He’s not a great traveler, and his routine is important. I’ll always have a house there, and I’ll always make time for him, but I don’t have a life there anymore…of my own. Truthfully, I don’t know what I want my life to look like in five years or ten years or twenty years. I never wanted kids, ’cause my mom was a disaster, and I sure as fuck don’t want to continue any negative trends. I don’t see myself getting married ’cause…I don’t think I know how to care about someone enough to last a whole lifetime. The funny thing is…I feel that way about you.”

Jake tore off another piece of Pop-Tart, his sharp gaze finding me in the semi-dark. “You want to marry me?”

I grinned as a warm buzzy feeling floated through my veins. “Yeah, I’d put a ring on that in a heartbeat.”

“Shut up.” He snorted.

“I’m serious.”

“You’re not serious. You’re just trying to make me crazy…as usual. And by the way, these are fucking terrible.” He held up the Pop-Tart and stuck out his tongue. “Tastes like sawdust.”

“You eat a lot of sawdust, eh? That’s kinda gross, Milligan. Here. Try one more sawdust bite, but leave the frosting for me.”

I shoved the pastry at him, and Jake retaliated by nipping my thumb. I declared war and wrestled him onto the blanket, where we proceeded to roll from side to side in a halfhearted quest for dominance. I let him win and I told him so, which made him chuckle.

And God, I loved the sound of his laughter.

I stared up at Jake’s beautiful face, memorizing the faint lines at his eyes and the wide arc of his smile. I couldn’t remember ever hating him or thinking he was less than fucking perfect.

Perfect for me.

Jake lowered his face to mine and bit my lower lip. “Mine.”

“Yours.” We kissed, hot and greedy. Hands plucked at fabric as he lifted my shirt and covered me like a blanket. I arched into his hardness, hiking my legs around his ass and grinding.

“So good, baby. So good,” I moaned, tilting my neck to give him room to feast like a vampire. I slipped my fingers under his joggers and grabbed his ass, frustrated that I couldn’t seem to get close enough. “Fuck me, Jake.”

He froze, his breath coming in short and shallow. “Are you sure? I want to, but I’m nervous.”

“Positive. Make me yours for real.”

Jake sat up quickly and licked his lips. “Okay, yes, yes. Um…we’re not at home in bed which is less than ideal, but we can do this. I have lots of lube. We just have to stretch you open⁠—”

“I’ve done it before.”

“What?”

“No, no…not the sex part. But I’ve tried a toy,” I admitted sheepishly. “You know…to see how it would feel.”

“Oh. So you had sex with a dildo.” He smiled in the dark as he pulled a bottle of lube from his bag.

“I wouldn’t put it like that. I just wanted to see if I’d like it.”

Jake wriggled out of his joggers and tugged at my sweats. “What was the verdict?”

“It was okay. Nothing like being in you. That’s…fucking heaven. I figured you were happy bottoming, and I was happy topping⁠—”

“Shh. We’ll try something new…together.” He kissed my nose. “Turn over. Show me that ass.”

I obeyed, shivering slightly when he ghosted his thumb along my crease. It was a tease. It didn’t hurt, nor did it feel amazing. My cock didn’t approve. It basically tried to hide behind my balls and wait out the intrusion of his slick finger pushing into my channel. I groaned, but then he crooked a digit and massaged my prostate. Game changer.

Blood rushed to my dick in earnest. Every nudge of his finger sent a zing of pleasure through me. He added a second and third digit, pressing kisses on my shoulders as he used all my tricks on me. I was on my hands and knees now, my back arched, cock rock hard and drooling on the blanket.

“Yeah, that’s it. That’s good. Stick it in, Jakey.”

Jake snickered and slapped my ass. Hard. “That’s not sexy. Lie down. I want to see you.”

I was feeling too gooey to protest. And though I knew he’d never done this, his don’t-fuck-with-me vibes were a turn-on. I spread my legs wide and welcomed him as he lined the thick head of his cock at my hole. We stared at each other, noses brushing, lips hovering…and nothing had ever felt more right or more real in my life.

I didn’t care if it hurt. This was Jake. This was us.

And okay…it did hurt and I thought about pushing him off me more than once, but I liked the way he took control. I liked the way he caged me between his arms, thrusting deeply as he sucked my tongue. I liked the way he whispered my name, “Mase, Mase, Mase,” and the way he stroked my shaft as he rolled his hips and told me I was fucking beautiful. Me.

This had to be what heaven looked like. A slice of ecstasy with the one person who could see inside your soul, sift through the good and bad, and still find you worthy. I felt worthy with him…like I belonged.

So of course I held on, clinging desperately to the last threads of the connection. But I wasn’t going to last. It was too much. Way too much.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come, baby.”

Jake fucked me harder, faster. “Come.”

A tidal wave of pleasure pummeled me and held me under. I was aware of Jake moving, chasing his orgasm and bucking wildly. And then he was coming, and I could feel his release and sweet Jesus, I was in over my head, tumbling and falling…

And falling.

I was still falling after he pulled away. Still falling when he asked if I was okay, if he’d hurt me. Still falling when he wiped up the mess and unfurled the sleeping bag he’d brought. Still falling when he drew me into his arms, my head on his chest.

Falling.

Falling.

Falling.

Of all the sappy bullshit things a guy could do, falling in love had to be the worst. I’d thought I was smarter than this, but no…I was in love with Jake fucking Milligan.

And I had a bad feeling it was a permanent condition.

26

JAKE

“Two-year extension, baby. It’ll be on the news within the hour.”

“Uh, that’s great.”

I studied a dust mote drifting in the morning light, zoning in and out of the conversation. It wasn’t that I wasn’t interested. I was. This was my future on the line, and though I’d been pretty confident that Boston wanted me in their lineup next season, it was good to have details ironed out. I had a home and a whole city counting on me to represent them.

Two years. Same as Trinsky got with Denver.

Nothing had changed.

And yet everything had. I wasn’t the same person I’d been two months ago. I had new knowledge and a new sense of self. I had someone who mattered to me. But no one would ever know.

That seemed so hopelessly sad.

“You there, Jake?” McD asked. “You went quiet on the line.”

“I’m here. I’m just thinking of everything I have to do.”

“End of summer fun. I’ll let you go. Quick reminder: the reporter from Hockey News will be at the rink to interview you and Trinsky after the scrimmage today.”

“Wait. What?”

“Relax. It’s a puff piece, and it’s already been cleared with Vinnie. You and Trinsky smile for the camera, answer a few easy questions, and plug the rink for your old coach. You’ll both be back on your teams soon, and you can forget Trinsky exists…till Boston plays Denver next month.”

He cackled as if that were somehow funny.

Maybe it was—in a perverse way. I’d played against Mason Trinsky for over a decade and had thought he was obnoxious and chronically ridiculous. Now…I wasn’t sure how I’d get through the next twenty-four hours.

I should have been thinking about Boston and training camp and how many houseplants I’d probably killed by accident in my townhouse this summer. I should have been worried about Charlotte and Ella crying when they realized I was leaving, Nathan tearing up, and Dad stoically acting as though he were okay with the distance now. But it was hard to think with my heart cracking at the seams.

Two years. And then what?

The last day of camp was all about fun. We played a series of scrimmages with mixed teams—coaches and juniors—and invited parents and the whole damn town to watch. We had the use of five rinks throughout the Four Forest area to accommodate the sheer number of kids who traveled to learn from the best hockey players in the world. However, the camp officially ended where it all began, at the Elmwood Rink.

Vinnie and Riley acted as head coaches for the final event, shuffling lines regularly to give everyone a chance to play. It was intentionally fast-paced and defense definitely wasn’t a priority anymore. Everyone wanted to show off their puck handling skills…and score.

Eli had a hat trick, the redheaded kid with freckles from Virginia had scored twice, and Denny and I each had one. Trinsky was on the other team…because of course he was. The fans expected us to bring a little entertainment and we’d delivered, battling each other at the boards, wearing goofy smiles that gave us away to anyone paying attention. We weren’t enemies and we didn’t care who knew it.

However, we did care about winning.

My team was up ten to eight with thirty seconds left in the third period, and the stands were electric with screaming and cheering.

“It’s not fucking over, Milligan,” Trinsky singsonged, poking the puck from me and tearing down the right lane.

I hauled ass after him, even though I should have left the job to one of the overeager juniors. I cut him off, stole the puck, and passed it to Eli. “I think we’re gonna win.”

Trinsky growled. “I think you cheated.”

“Oh, no, you sound like a poor sport. You sure you want to go with that look?”

“Fuck that. Has anyone ever told you that you’re a bad winner?”

I chuckled. “Is there such a thing?”

“Nah.” He snickered, his arms brushing mine. “You look hot, Jakey. I wish I could kiss you.”

“Me too. I—” The crowd went wild as the lamp lit again. Trinsky’s team scored. “Damn it, you did that on purpose.”

“Did I? I don’t know, but we’re closing in on that W, baby!” Trinsky raised his stick in the air, pumping up the crowd with his usual antics while I shook my head in amusement.

We won ten to nine.

It was less of a nail-biter than the announcer made it seem, but it was definitely entertaining. We finished with a brief award ceremony and encouraged the coaches to say a few words about the athletes and the program. It was a feel-good closeout to yet another successful summer.

The town was in full celebration mode. Banners flew across Main Street thanking the parents, campers, and coaches. There were complimentary cookies at Henderson’s Bakery, half-priced drinks at Rise and Grind, and a party at the diner after the festivities at the rink had wrapped up. And later tonight, there was an end of summer barbecue for coaches and friends hosted by Dad and Smitty.

I looked into the stands and let the feeling of belonging wash over me. Elmwood was special.

My high school biology teacher stood behind Crabby Annie and Hank. Penny Henderson was in an animated conversation with JC and Ivan. Nolan was cheering with his kids and Mary-Kate. My mom, who’d arranged her travel schedule to fly to Boston to join me next week, was chatting amicably with my dad and the kids.

No one here would care about my sexuality. They wouldn’t care if I had a boyfriend. They probably wouldn’t even care that it was Mason Trinsky.

There was so much love in this arena. Sometimes it was hard to remember it wasn’t like this in the real world.

“Jake! Hey, there! I’m Cindy Sample from Hockey News. We’ve managed to hunt down Mason Trinsky too, and I know Denver fans, Boston fans, and hockey fans everywhere would love a chance to check in with you both.”

I pulled my gloves off and cast a wary glance between Mason and the bubbly blond reporter with a microphone in her hand. Her frozen smile had a steely edge to it that indicated she wasn’t going anywhere until she got her story.

Mason quirked his brow, an amused grin playing at the corner of his sexy mouth. “We survived camp. Hashtag No Shiny Jackets.”

“Ha. Ha.” I rolled my eyes for the camera. “This camp means a lot to Elmwood and the hockey community at large, and I think it’s safe to say that we’re both proud to be part of it.”

“Does that mean you’ve put aside your differences? Or can we expect some fireworks in the coming season?” Cindy asked.

What a weird question.

Trinsky looked equally amused. “You can definitely expect fireworks. Jake and I will never stop being competitors. We’ll push and fight like we always have, and hopefully bring out the best in each other. That’s what life is all about. That’s what hockey’s all about.”

I nodded my agreement. “Yeah, what he said.”

“Well, you sound like you’ve become real friends. Is that true?”

My heart thundered uncomfortably in my chest as I peered at Trinsky. “Yes.”

My voice cracked, but I doubted Cindy noticed. She’d gotten her sound bite. The story would end with her. Two hot-headed hockey players had put aside their differences for the future generation, raising money and awareness like a couple of upstanding citizens.

Mason brushed his pinky along mine. And there was nothing more to say.

27

JAKE

Dad and Smitty’s huge yard was perfect for hosting events. C’est Bon had catered a beautiful buffet and had sponsored two bars and a dessert table with towering cakes and pastries. Music hummed in the background under lively conversation and laughter. The party was off to a raucous start.

My mom danced with Charlotte and Ella under the fairy lights, a dozen tough-looking hockey players huddled near the dessert table sharing their favorite camp moments while another group tossed a football around.

It was the kind of wholesome, feel-good fun I loved, yet I felt as if I were floating above the surface. There, but not really present.

Trinsky and I stayed close all night. If he was hungry, I followed him to the buffet. If I was thirsty, he joined me at the bar or grabbed something for both of us while I waited nearby. We chatted with friends and colleagues about campers, told stories, and laughed at jokes aimed our way. The dysfunctional duo, they called us. We didn’t mind.

It wasn’t true, and we knew it. Just as we knew the minutes were ticking by. There were bags to pack and planes to catch.

As much as I loved everyone, I wished we had the night to ourselves. We didn’t, so I pasted a smile on and did my best to stay engaged and spend time with the people who mattered most: Vinnie and Nolan, MK and Ronnie, JC and Riley, Court and Ivan, Hank and Denny, Mom and Eric, and of course, Smitty…and Dad.

“It’s always so bittersweet, isn’t it?” Dad shook the ice in his glass and sidled next to me. “End of summer, beginning of a new season. I can remember the first time you put on skates. It doesn’t seem that long ago, but time really does fly.”

“Yeah.” If my mask slipped an inch, my normally observant dad didn’t notice and that was okay by me.

Or maybe he did. Dad followed my gaze and gestured at Mason. “I heard you’ve made peace with your former foe. I’m glad. I like that kid.”

“He’s hardly a kid, Dad.”

Why was my face suddenly on fire?

“Neither are you,” he said, his voice modulated for a tone reserved for heartfelt moments.

I didn’t feel worthy of his praise, though. I was keeping a pretty important secret from the person who’d literally sacrificed everything for me, and I was struggling with the weight of impending loss. If my father went sappy on me, I might fucking break down, and that would be difficult to explain to the sixty-plus people here.

“Dad, I⁠—”

“I’m proud of you, Jake.” Too late. “You’ve worked hard and accomplished so much. You’re a wonderful role model to your brother and sisters, and I hope you know how much we all love you.”

Gulp.

“I do,” I whispered. “I love you too.”

Dad squeezed my shoulder, surreptitiously wiping a tear from his eye just as the music cranked up a few decibels. Smitty threw his arms in the air and leaped toward the makeshift dance floor. Ella and Charlotte shrieked with glee, and twenty or more hockey players cheered his wonky dad moves.

“I think I’d better make sure my husband doesn’t hurt himself.” He snickered. “Come on, Jake.”

“You go on.” I raised my glass, as if that meant something, and caught Mason’s stare.

There was enough of a commotion to stage a getaway without attracting attention. But we had to go now. I left via the side gate and waited for him to join me out front at his rental car.

We were quiet on the ride to my house. My ears were still ringing from the loud music, and my throat felt too tight for conversation. He reached for my hand, and that was more than enough.

We silently shed clothing in my room and came together with heartbreaking sweetness. Mason held me like a fragile thing and moved inside me, staring into my eyes as if he were looking for answers.

I didn’t have any answers. None at all. I had nothing but a gut-wrenching sense that I was on the verge of losing something I could never replace.

As I lay in his arms afterward, I swore I could feel a weblike sensation cracking in my chest. I swallowed hard and clung to the moment, determined not to be maudlin. I wanted this to be a good memory for him—a happy summer of new discovery. Only good. He deserved to be happy.

“You play us in Denver next month…preseason game.”

I nodded on his chest. “Yeah.”

“Feels like a long time from now.”

“Five weeks.”

Mason tilted my chin toward him. “I want to believe there’s a way…you know? To have something. Anything.”

“I know.”

“We should have a secret sign. Something like this.” He contorted his fingers manically. “This means ‘How are you, I’m thinking about you, and I hope you’re okay’ all at once. Try it.”

My vision blurred as I rolled sideways to mimic his gestures. “Like that?”

“No, you’re fucking up the thumb and forefinger part. Try it again.”

My chuckle sounded like blubbering. Shit. And now my eyes were leaking.

“Sorry.”

Mason hugged me tightly and kissed the top of my head. “Shh. It’s gonna be okay, baby.”

“I know. I’ll forget about you tomorrow,” I joked.

“Before dinner, for sure.”

I laugh-cried and he hugged me closer still. Silence gathered, heavy and thick with words left unsaid.

“You’re important to me, Mase. Really fucking important. You always will be.”

Mason’s Adam’s apple slid in his throat. He brought my hand to his lips. “You too. You too. Maybe someday we can…be us. For real.”

A tear fell. I swiped at my cheeks and nodded as he kissed me.

Maybe someday…

I tried to stay awake for as long as possible. I listened to his breathing, the soft inhale and exhale. I hooked my leg around his for warmth and because I couldn’t stand not touching him. I fell asleep, and it pissed me off.

I offered to make coffee in the morning, but he declined. He dressed slowly, borrowed my toothbrush to get a reaction, and followed me to the front door where he pulled me in his arms and held me as the minutes ticked away.

And then he was gone.

The click of the lock, the sound of gravel on the sidewalk, an engine starting and fading to nothing.

The ache in my chest traveled from my heart to my lungs. I couldn’t suck in a decent gulp of air, and it felt as if I were suffocating. Like I might actually pass out from a fucking broken heart. Was that even possible?

28

JAKE

Imissed my flight that afternoon. I honestly just didn’t feel like going anywhere. My bags were packed, and my cleaning service was scheduled to arrive the next morning. My dad said he’d pop by later to make sure the house was locked up securely since I’d be gone for a month or longer.

But I didn’t leave.

I huddled in a corner of the sofa under a blanket and watched old Fast and Furious movies. When the cleaning service arrived, I apologized profusely…for my bare chest and sweats ensemble and for neglecting to tell them I didn’t need them for a few more days.

I might have given a specific date, but don’t quote me. I didn’t feel like dealing in specifics. It was easier to float on a cloud of whatevers and whenevers. I was tired of being responsible and so damn reasonable. I needed a moment to regroup.

Sure, I’d had the whole summer, but I was nursing a broken heart so hey…give me a fucking break.

Fast Five credits rolled while I chomped on the dregs of my peanut butter sandwich. Plain peanut butter, no jelly. Mason would have been scandalized. Fucking gross. Might as well eat shoe leather and paste, Milligan.

My lips twitched before a wave of loneliness socked me in the gut. I blinked back tears and reached for the remote, chiding myself for being such a baby. I had to pull myself together. A day or two of wallowing…okay, but that was it. I was going to have to leave my house eventually, get my ass to Boston, and⁠—

I froze at the sound of a key scraping a lock. The front door opened a moment later, and footsteps and voices spilled in from the foyer.

“He’s going to need his winter coat,” Mom said. “He brought it home last March and forgot about it. Remember, spring was unseasonably warm in Boston last year.”

“It’s August, Piper. He won’t need that coat for another few months,” Dad replied testily. “I could have picked it up for you. We both didn’t need to make the trip out here.”

My mom chuckled.

“It’s like old times. You’re Mr. Make-Sure-The-Door-Is-Locked, and I’m in charge of making sure no one is cold or—” Mom’s hand flew to her throat in a fright. “Jake!”

Dad moved around her, his sharp gaze taking in the littered mess of mugs and dirty dishes on the coffee table in the darkened great room. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

I swallowed the peanut butter sawdust in my mouth and shook my head. “Uh…no. What are you guys doing here?”

Mom let out a deep breath and marched to the sofa, setting a manicured and bejeweled hand on my forehead. “You don’t feel feverish, but you look like shit.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“We need sunlight.” She opened the blinds with the remote.

I blinked on cue, wincing at my father’s worried frown. “I’m fine. I just decided to stay a few more days. I forgot to tell you. Sorry.”

Dad sat on the armchair closest to my corner of the sofa while Mom bussed away the debris on the coffee table, mumbling about pigs and crumbs.

“What’s going on?” he asked, all business.

“Nothing, I⁠—”

“Jake. Please. It’s been a day already. I had an escrow fall through, the McGrady’s house didn’t pass inspection, Charlotte’s best friend is going to Pinecrest for second grade and she’s a wreck about it, my husband needs ricotta cheese for the recipe he’s making for dinner, and your mother is following me around pretending to need a coat so she can make sure I remember how to lock a damn door.”

“I can hear you!” Mom singsonged.

“Please.” Dad’s smile didn’t reach his eyes, but the trace of humor was unmistakable. I wished I were as graceful as he was under pressure. He could take slings and arrows like a champ and still come out swinging. Me…I sad-ate peanut butter and watched lousy action flicks in the dark.

“I’m…I’m…” I sighed and shook my head. “I wasn’t ready. That’s all.”

“Are you going to make me guess? I know you’ve been a little preoccupied, but I’m not sure why. Your contract is handled, your team is looking better than last year, you’re healthy as far as I can tell, so…”

“Oh, honey. That’s the ‘I miss the someone special’ blues if I ever saw ’em.” Mom barreled on in her usual ballsy fashion.

In my family, Dad was the sensitive one who treaded lightly and Mom was the one with no filter.

“Mom…”

“We know and we approve.” She snorted at my shocked expression. “Oh, come on. We’re not blind. And by the way, he’s absolutely adorable.”

“Wait. You know? I don’t get it,” I sputtered.

“We pay attention, Jake, and we love you.” Mom kissed my temple and glanced at Dad. She made a face I couldn’t decipher if my life depended on it. “I’ll leave you two to talk. Call me later. I know your schedule, and I know for a fact that you need to be in Boston on Monday since that’s the day I’m supposed to meet you there. So I’ll either see you at dinner tomorrow or in Boston. Bye, sweetheart.”

Dad typed a message into his cell and shoved it into his pocket just as the front door closed. “Dinner can wait or…I’ll order pizza. Talk to me, Jake.”

We stared at each other for a beat.

“I met someone,” I hedged. “And he’s pretty cool.”

“I see.”

“A man,” I clarified.

“I got that,” he said matter-of-factly.

“I…um…” I narrowed my eyes and melted into the sofa. “I’m bi.”

He nodded. “That’s great. And yes…I had a feeling.”

“Why didn’t you say anything? You and Mom both knew? That’s so…how? And how long have you been waiting for me to come out?”

Dad sighed and moved to sit beside me. “I wasn’t waiting. I knew you’d tell me when you were ready.”

I hung my head. “I’m sorry. I should have said something sooner, but…to be honest, I didn’t want you to know.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t be…out, and I can’t have what you have with Smitty.” I bit my bottom lip. “He’s not someone I can have at all.”

“Do you want to tell me about him?”

“It’s Trinsky.” I shot a sideways glance at my father. “And you knew that too.”

“Well, I had a suspicion. You spend a lot of time together for a couple of guys who despise each other.” Dad smiled. “I figured there was a chance you didn’t hate him after all.”

“Not even a little,” I replied in a barely audible tone. “It’s just kind of impossible.”

He laid his hand on my knee and squeezed gently. “Is it?”

“There’s no way it would work and I wouldn’t ask Mason to throw away his career for my sake.” I paused for a moment. “For the first time in my life, I feel trapped by hockey. I should be grateful. It should be enough to play the game I love and have a great career and a supportive family and good friends. I shouldn’t want more than this. I shouldn’t want…”

“Love?”

“Yeah. Maybe that’s not for me.”

“Of course it is,” Dad scoffed. “I know the stakes are different, but I wouldn’t give up if I were you.”

“I know you wouldn’t.” I squinted at the flat-screen for a beat and met his gaze. “Every time you’ve failed at something, you’ve figured out a way to fix the problem and make it so much better than how you left it. More perfect. I wish I was like you, but I’m…not that brave. Not really.”

“Are you kidding? You’re fearless, Jake. You always have been. Do not underestimate yourself.” Dad shook his head, his eyes widening with a flood of emotion. “My God…you say you wish you were like me, and all along, I’ve wished that I were more like you.”

My mouth fell open. “I…”

“It’s true. There’s no such thing as perfect, Jake,” he rasped. “Nothing is perfect, but good things are worth fighting for. Trust me, I know that lesson well. I used to think that if I worked hard, you wouldn’t have to, but that’s wrong. Your path is different. It’s filled with bright lights and adulation. It’s your name on jerseys and screaming fans in packed arenas. It’s stat sheets, practices, games, and travel. But you aren’t your sport, Jake. You’re so much more. You’re a man who’s worked hard and fought for a dream. A big dream. I’d call that brave.”

I sniffed and wiped my nose on my forearm like Nathan would. “Thanks.”

“Look, I understand that your situation is complicated and I wish that I could make it easier. I can’t. It’s part of your journey. Just…don’t stop dreaming now, Jake.”

I swallowed hard. “I won’t.”

Dad slung his an arm around my shoulders. “Good. Hey, if I haven’t told you lately, I’m proud of you and I love you.”

I flashed a watery smile his way. “Have I ever told you that I think I’m pretty lucky you’re my dad?”

He grinned, tugging me into an awkward side hug.

I felt buoyed and grateful, but the hole in the heart was an open wound that left me feeling unsteady.

Damn it, Trinsky.

This wasn’t supposed to end this way. I wasn’t supposed to want more and I wasn’t supposed to care that I couldn’t have it all.

So now what?

What could I possibly do? How could I make loss into gain when all I wanted was to crawl under a rock and wish time away? What was the dream supposed to look like without him?

It wasn’t like me to give up. I stubbornly wanted to believe there was a chance for us, but from where I sat, it seemed pretty fucking hopeless.

29

TRINSKY

Shades of reds and orange danced across the horizon on sweeping feathery clouds. I sat next to Eddie in the sand while our mom lounged in a chair a few feet away, scrolling on her cell.

“The sunset is pretty,” Eddie commented, shoveling sand into a bucket and patting it down.

I inclined my head. “Yeah, it is.”

“Do you think our castle will be here in the morning?”

“I dunno. We can put up a ‘Do not disturb’ sign. That might work.”

Eddie shook his head gravely. “P-people don’t read signs.”

I chuckled at that. “All signs or just important ones about sandcastles?”

“All signs. Too lazy.”

I ruffled his hair, much to his annoyance, but once again, Eddie was spot on. “You’re right. Laziness is an epidemic and⁠—”

“Oh, my God!” Mom gasped, her hand covering her mouth.

“What’s wrong?”

“Jake Milligan just came out.”

The words didn’t compute. My brain got stuck on his name before the rest of the sentence registered. He…came out?

“What?”

“He’s bisexual. It’s the headline on my newsfeed. ‘NHL star comes out as bi.’ It says he’s known for a while, but it’s something he feels ready to share.” My mom blinked in dismay. “Did you know?”

“I…uh. Huh. Um…I didn’t know he was coming out.” I licked my lips and added, “Now.”

“I just think it’s amazing. He’s so brave.”

“Yeah. That’s cool.” Okay, what the actual fuck? That little shit. I mean…sure, he’d mentioned coming out…eventually. I didn’t think he’d intended to do it so soon.

“Did you know he was bi?” she prodded.

“Uh…” I was reeling here.

I fixed my gaze on the sunset, hoping to slow the whirlwind of my thoughts. What was he doing? Did this mean something? I didn’t fucking know. I was leaving for Denver tomorrow and this was… Wow.

“Are you okay, Mase?” Eddie asked, his eyes narrowed.

“I—I’m fine,” I assured him.

“Can I go in the water? I’m s-sandy and I want to be a merman.”

“Yeah. Yeah, good idea.” I should have gone with him, but I wasn’t operating on all cylinders.

“Mason. Mason. Mason!”

“Sorry. Did you say something?”

“Honey…” Mom pointed at the chair I’d abandoned earlier, wordlessly motioning for me to join her. “Are you worried about your friend?”

“My friend. My…Jake?”

She nodded. “Do you think it’ll be a problem for him?”

I shook my head, mumbling my response. “No, I don’t. He’s a legend…a great player, a great role model. He’ll be fine.”

“Will his team support him?”

“Definitely. They love him.”

“Hmm. What about his family?” she pressed.

I kept my eyes fixed on Eddie frolicking in the water. “Yeah, of course.”

“Good. I’m happy for him.”

“Me too. He’s…he’s lucky,” I said distractedly, heart pounding in my ears. Or was that the ocean? Fuck, it was loud.

“So are you. Lucky, I mean.”

“Uh-huh…yeah.”

“I mean it. You have a lot of people who love you. Me, Eddie, your friends, your family. I just hope you know that.”

“I…sure, I do.”

“Good. Because I think you’re used to being the one who takes care of people, and you’re good at it. Like with Eddie.” Mom smiled serenely at the teen bouncing in the water. “I hope you know that we’re here for you too, Mase.”

I squinted. “Okay. Where is this coming from?”

She thumped her heart, her eyes still on Eddie. “Here. You’ve been home for a week, and I can’t help noticing that you’ve been a little blue.”

“Oh.” That was fair. I’d been a wreck for seven solid days, thinking about something I couldn’t have, and now he was out.

Out of the closet. Out in the world. I was still here wishing I was with him.

Mom was talking again. Concentrate, Trinsky. “Should you ever feel alone, remember we’ll always be here.”

Okay, what the fuck?

“Are you…do you think I’m coming out or something?” I asked, exasperated.

“No, but if you were, it would be okay with me.”

“For fuck’s sake.” I wiped my hand over my brow.

Mom chuckled and reached for my hand. “I love you.”

“What is happening here? Jake Milligan comes out, and you’re telling me you love me…just because.”

“That’s right.” She smiled. “And I’m telling you to be as kind to yourself as you are to us. You deserve it, Mase.”

Eddie was spinning in circles in the whitewash, his arms wide and his chin tilted at the sky. I licked my lips, my chest heaving with the weight of a confession I hadn’t planned on giving.

“Jake is…he’s…special to me.”

Mom squeezed my hand. “I know, honey. I know.”

Okay, I was officially reeling.

How had she known? ’Cause at the end of the day, I hadn’t been able to string the words together. I wasn’t sure if she’d seen something or if it had been a mother’s intuition. Hers had been on the fritz where I was concerned…or so I’d thought. But maybe I hadn’t given her the credit she deserved.

Whatever. I wasn’t ready for that conversation. I just wasn’t. I had to get to Denver, meet up with my team, and yeah…I wanted to talk to Jake. I had to talk to him. He hadn’t picked up my calls or responded to my texts, and I wasn’t sure what to think of that. We’d agreed it was over between us, but this was important, damn it.

Jake’s name buzzed in the locker room in Denver. Mostly surprise, a little confusion, but nothing negative. The Condors organization wasn’t your typical hockey team, though. We were the same guys who’d embraced Denny with open arms when he’d come out five years ago. Or was it six? Whatever. We were progressive and inclusive. But this was still news.

I stayed out of the chatter. I felt exposed by it and nervous. Nervous me tended to overcompensate. I skated like I was being chased by demons and played rougher than necessary, clearing lanes like a renegade wrecking ball.

Denny cornered me after practice, brow furrowed with genuine concern. “Dude, what the hell was that today?”

“Just working hard,” I grumbled.

He straddled the bench in front of my locker and motioned for my nearest neighbors to beat it. “Anything you want to talk about?”

“No.”

“Okay.” Denny didn’t leave. In fact, he unlaced his skates with the precision of a heart surgeon and untied his pads.

“What are you doing, Mellon?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” he countered.

“I’m fine,” I insisted. “Nothing to see here.”

“I heard you, but I think that maybe you’re full of shit.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. I don’t⁠—”

“Jake’s fine,” Denny intercepted.

I clenched my jaw and swallowed hard. “Okay…good. I tried to call, but…”

“You know Jake. He likes his game to speak for him.”

“I didn’t know he was going to come out so soon.”

Denny froze. “Wait. What? You knew?”

I raked my teeth over my bottom lip. “Of course I fucking knew.”

“Oh.” He opened and closed his mouth as realization dawned.

“Oh,” I repeated.

“I…you and Jake?”

“Yeah.” I tore tape from my stick, my eyes blurring in frustration. “I don’t know what to do,” I admitted.

“Okay. Um…do you have to do something? I mean…I don’t think he expects you to come out or anything.”

“Maybe not, but⁠—”

“No buts. I’m serious, man. It’s not a game or a contest. When you’re ready, you’ll know. That’s all there is to it.” He waited for my nod, and added, “Was it…new?”

“Yeah.”

Denny hummed thoughtfully. “Okay…well, if you ever want to talk, I’m here.”

“Thanks, but I don’t think I have anything to say. It’s over, and it sucks.”

“Talk to him. Keep trying.”

He hobbled to his own bench, leaving me to dark thoughts and a head full of confusion.

I wanted to be there for Jake, be part of his story, but that would require a whole new level of bravery. To be out, to be with a man…how could I do that and still play hockey? Still be me?

Did he even want me…us? I knew he cared about me, but I didn’t factor into his decision to come out. That was all him. I wasn’t supposed to be part of his future and the more I thought about that, the more upset this whole fucking thing made me. Whose fault was that? I hadn’t told Jake how I felt about him.

Maybe it wouldn’t change anything, but keeping this inside might kill me. He had to know.

30

JAKE

Official press release:

“I haven’t made many personal statements, but I feel like it’s important to be transparent and honest to my family, my friends, and to hockey fans. Anyone out there questioning their sexuality or where they fit in a world that feels hostile, you’re not alone. I’m a son, a brother, a friend, a hockey player, and a proud bisexual man. And while my personal life is my own business, if my honesty can make a difference to anyone struggling with their sexuality, I want to help. I’ll see you on the ice.” – Jake Milligan

Boston’s PR gurus worked with McD on the messaging for my coming-out story. I called a meeting with the team and told them so no one would be blindsided. My teammates were a good group of guys, and though I knew it was unreasonable to think everyone would have my back, I’d been blown away by the support of the entire organization.

Post preseason games were a flurry of annoying questions about my personal life instead of the killer shot I’d buried in the second period or the pass I’d made to Sergei that he’d turned into a late goal. But I was getting used to it. I’d talked to Denny about how he’d handled the press and fans, and I worked on my own spiel.

“This was the right time for me. It’s that simple.”

I ran into some assholes on the ice who used slurs as defensive strategies, but those guys had always been around. I was more surprised at how cool the fans were than anything. I spotted a bi flag in the stands in Toronto and homemade posters that said, “Bi is fly” and “We love Jake!” in Detroit. So yeah…this was good.

If anything, I was disappointed that I’d waited. My bi-ness was a superpower, and it felt kind of great to acknowledge it. Maybe it was time to take a page out of Mason’s book and get involved in a charity for LGBTQ youths in the city too. I could start my own. I had a lot to think about, and it was a positive diversion from my usual routine of wondering how long I had a place in the league and how I was going to survive playing against Denver.

Yeah, Denver was on my mind…big-time.

I was nervous. It had taken me two weeks to return Mason’s text messages. I know that had probably seemed like a dick move, but I’d needed space. I hadn’t wanted him to feel any obligation whatsoever. We’d agreed it was over, and I had to be okay with that.

But we were going to have to meet on the ice. And just like every other time, all eyes were on us. Maybe more so.

We’d left Elmwood on friendly terms, and our names hadn’t been associated since I’d come out. An ex-girlfriend or fuck-buddy of his had posted pics of Mason shirtless, but I knew that body like my own and there were a few tattoos missing that suggested the photos were at least a year old. I hated the flare of jealousy, but it wasn’t my business.

I had to move on. This was about hockey now, not my hopelessly fractured heart.

I stood next to our goalie, hand on heart, jaw clenched in an effort not to stare as the announcer called his name and the crowd went wild. And I do mean wild.

The rafters shook as fans screamed, “Trin-sky, Trin-sky.”

And there he was, head high, a brilliant smile on his handsome face. I missed that smile. So fucking much. He was beautiful. So fierce and so proud.

Holy fuck, this was hard.

And knowing the fans expected some sort of interaction between us made it extra…awkward. No one was going to forget that he’d blamed Denver’s Stanley Cup loss on my damn leather jacket just because we were allegedly friends now. They wanted proof. They wanted his stamp of approval.

It came in the form of an up-nod in the faceoff circle. “Milligan.”

“Trinsky.”

“You’ve been busy,” he drawled.

The puck dropped and he was gone, flying toward our goal. I caught him. C’mon, this was still hockey. And even though this was a preseason game, we’d come to battle. I wasn’t about to let him win.

And this was what I’d always loved about competing with Trinsky. He drove me nuts, but no one pushed me like him. We skated like demons, scrapping it out against the boards in a constant battle for the puck. I wanted it, he wanted it. I was invested in the thrill of playing with a worthy adversary.

I worked my ass off for that goal in the second period and if I shoved him a little too hard to break up a play, so what? The mischievous glint in his eyes told me he didn’t mind.

But in the third period, he tripped me and I saw red. The ref saw too and Trinsky was destined for the sin bin, but the gloves came off and I was on top of him in a heartbeat.

“What the fuck was that?” I growled.

Trinsky put his hands up in mock surrender and laughed, then lowered his voice for my ears only. “I had to get your attention. I’ll text you my address after the game. Come over. I want to talk to you.”

“Mase, I don’t⁠—”

He pulled me in for a hug. At center ice in the middle of a fucking game. “Please. And now…if you don’t punch me, I’m gonna have to take you down.”

I punched him.

We both got two-minute penalties.

Much to Denver’s delight, we lost, 2-3.

I showered quickly, answered a few questions for the reporter who’d literally stalked me into the locker room, and made up an excuse about meeting a family member to my teammates. I should have had dinner with them, but I was too churned up to feel guilty.

True to his word, there was a text waiting for me with an address, directions to the back entrance, a code, and a simple message.

Please.

I drove my rental to Trinsky’s luxury high-rise building, followed his instructions, and knocked on his door.

And knocked.

I raised my hand to knock a third time when Mason buzzed me in, his hair damp and his snug black tee sticking to his body as if he hadn’t properly dried himself off.

“Sorry about that. I hurried out of there tonight without showering and…I stunk.” Mason wiped his hands on his jeans and gestured toward his contemporary-style kitchen. “Want something to drink?”

“Um…no. I’m fine. I’m—why am I here, Mase?”

He dropped his hands to his side. “You came out.”

“Yeah, I told you I was going to⁠—”

“I didn’t think you meant now.”

“It felt right.”

He nodded. “Oh. Okay.”

“Was that all?”

“Yeah. I mean, I think it’s great, and um…” He closed his eyes briefly. “Fuck, I fucking hate that you did it alone. I should have been there for you. You wouldn’t take my fucking phone calls, and you wouldn’t let me in, and I fucking belong there. It’s wrong. It feels wrong and is wrong and I hate it.”

I had nothing.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call you. We talked about this. We agreed that it was over and⁠—”

“Fuck that.”

“Mase, I don’t⁠—”

“I love you, asshole. Don’t you get it? I fucking love you.”

“You…I⁠—”

“Yeah, I love you, and I want to be with you. So you gotta let me in, Jake. Let me be part of your future. Let me be someone you need, ’cause God knows I need you, and I’m so damn tired of doing this alone. I just…love you.”

“I love you, too,” I rasped. “So much. But we have the same problem we always did. We play hockey, baby. It’s what we do. We can’t be boyfriends. We can’t⁠—”

“Yes, we can. We just have to keep it quiet for now and be patient. One day at a time, one thing at a time. Look…” He raked his fingers through his hair and pursed his lips. “I’ve been thinking about us for weeks, Jakey. I know I don’t have a lot to offer. You live in Boston, I live here. We travel constantly—being in the same city won’t happen often enough, and when it does it’ll feel dangerous. But I’ll take what I can get. I’ll wait for you if you wait for me.”

“Yeah, I can do that,” I whispered, hope flaring in my chest.

“I’ll come out too…maybe not tomorrow, but I’ll do it. And maybe you’ll retire sooner, ’cause you’re a little more beat up than me.”

“Fuck off,” I scoffed without heat. My smile was far too big for my face.

“Or hey, maybe I’ll retire first. I’ll come live with you in Elmwood, and we’ll coach teenage punks. And we’ll visit Eddie and my mom in California all the time and stay at my mobster house and we’ll go camping and I’ll share my tent, my sleeping bag, and whatever the fuck else you want. Just give us a chance and be mine, Jakey. Please…be mine.”

He opened his arms and I flew into them, unthinking.

I crashed my mouth over his and damn, it felt like coming home. Maybe that was why it didn’t seem completely and utterly ridiculous to think that we might stand a chance.

“I’m yours. I want you and I love you, and I’m with you all the way.”

“All the way.” Mason rubbed his thumbs along my cheekbones and leaned in to press kisses on my forehead and my nose. “I pucking love you.”

“That’s weird.”

“It’s not weird, it’s romantic. You get it, right? Puck, love, hockey players…” He linked our fingers and pulled me into his kitchen. “C’mon. We need food. I’ll make you an omelet, and we’ll cuddle on the sofa, and you can tell me how awesome my wrist shot looked tonight.”

I laughed, but I was still smiling and I felt lighter than I had in weeks. I had my best friend back, and no matter how hard it might be to keep our private life to ourselves, it was worth it. A thousand times over.

“Hey, Jakey? I’ve got a good feeling about us.”

“Me too. Me too.”

And I did.

Loving him was easy. He was my other half—the one who reminded me to embrace lightness and laughter. Somehow I knew that with him by my side, we’d find a way to have it all.

EPILOGUE

“Iwould not wish any companion in the world but you.”—William Shakespeare, The Tempest

Three years later

Trinsky

A sea of boxes flooded the great room, ruining the view of the yard on a perfect summer morning. Fluffy white cotton ball clouds dotted the blue sky and a gentle breeze flitted through the willow trees’ graceful branches. It was nice to be home.

Jake clapped and pointed at the stack of boxes labeled “office.” “I cleared out the room next to ours for your trophies and awards and stuff. Did you want to look at it again or just schlep these upstairs?”

“No, I want to lay on a blanket outside and eat ice cream. I bought mint chip yesterday,” I added, waggling my brows.

Jake’s lips curled in amusement. “It’s not even noon.”

“This is brunch ice cream. It’s supposed to be consumed before the sun hits its apex. I read it on the container.”

“Is that right?”

“For sure. Besides, we’ve got all day to empty boxes,” I reminded him.

Jake checked his watch, though like the perfect boyfriend he was, he was already striding toward the kitchen. “Okay, but we’re supposed to be at the diner later this afternoon.”

I fished two spoons from a drawer, then wrapped my arms around him from behind and kissed his nape. “Love you, but I’m not going.”

“You have to go. The town made a big-ass banner to celebrate your season. You can thank them with a short speech and buy everyone a milkshake.”

“It is a pretty sweet banner,” I conceded.

“And it’s huge.”

“Like my dick.”

“Right.” He turned in my arms and licked my lips, holding two pints of ice cream above his head. “Grab a blanket. I’ll meet you out there.”

I had Tweety Birds and stars circling my head, but that was a regular occurrence these days. I was home…with Jake, and after three long years, the entire world knew that he was my most important person. Although, to be honest, we hadn’t bothered hiding much over the past few months. It hadn’t felt necessary. Everyone knew we’d gone from enemies to friends. We’d been photographed at restaurants in LA and Denver, attending a Patriots game in Boston and had even taken turns cheering each other on during the playoffs.

They knew Jake was bi and the summer after he came out, I stole his thunder and announced that I was bi too. It was a matter of seconds before online sleuths were speculating that there might be more between us. We let them think what they wanted, but we’d decided to keep the truth to ourselves until one of us retired. Neither of us wanted attention to be taken from our games. We’d worked too hard to let trolls feed off our private lives and forget our contributions to the sport. Fuck that.

But Jake had announced that this past season would be his last. A significant concussion in a game against Ontario was the final straw. He was thirty-five and felt that it was best to go out on top and hopefully avoid long-term symptoms from multiple brain injuries. He wanted to be there for our kids someday and yeah…we were definitely going to have kids. Not tomorrow but eventually.

We had other things happening first. Jake had a coaching job lined up with a college team in Denver, and my contract wasn’t up for another year. So for the first time ever, we were living in the same city…together. And everyone knew. I guess you might say the cat was let out of the bag when I kissed him after the Condors lost our conference championship game last month. Oops.

The headlines were immediate and epic.

A New Power Couple Takes a Shot at Romance!

Trinsky and Milligan Are Hockey’s New Goal!

Trinsky and Milligan are BFs? What’s Next? An Alien Invasion?

Okay, they were kind of hokey, but they could say what they wanted. We were done hiding, and every day that we had of living out loud and proud made me a little sorry we hadn’t spilled our secret earlier. Except…not really.

We’d needed those few years to grow as a couple. The long distance and the pressure had been stifling, but we’d found inventive ways to spend time together and figure out what we wanted.

I wanted forever with Jake. Such a corny thing to say, but it was true. I wanted to marry him, adopt kids, raise a family, and make a difference after I hung up my skates. I had a feeling we’d do that here…in Elmwood. He’d sold his townhouse in Boston after he’d been retired for a few months and had officially moved into my Denver condo and my Hermosa Beach house.

And today, I’d moved to Elmwood. Home.

My mom and Eddie were scheduled to arrive later this week for a monthlong visit. I’d been slowly weaning them into the idea of relocating, though I knew it might not happen for a few years. Eddie loved his school and his friends and his routine, but he was beginning to fall for Elmwood too.

He loved riding horses at Hank and Denny’s ranch, playing bingo at Town Hall, and bellying up to the counter at the diner for milkshakes and a chat about history podcasts with JC. He loved being around the hockey players who seemed to know him even though he didn’t always remember them. He wasn’t shy here. He came out of his shell and thrived.

And I think my mother really enjoyed the mellow pace and the friendly folks who’d embraced us all. So yeah…I hoped one day they’d stay for good.

I spread the red-and-white checked blanket on the grass and handed Jake a spoon, thanking him for the pint of ice cream goodness. We sat shoulder to shoulder, soaking in the warm sunshine and sweet summer air, lost in thought.

“Your mom isn’t going to remodel the office for me, is she?” I asked out of the blue.

“You never know, but I think she’s more concerned about remodeling the LA house,” he replied.

I snort-laughed. “I wish we’d gotten her reaction on camera. That was fucking priceless.”

His family had descended to LA for a game on a weekend I’d happened to have off. We’d hosted the Milligan-Paluchek crew, including his mom and her husband. It had been a blast, but Piper’s stricken reaction to the gaudy chandeliers still made me laugh.

“What’s the matter? A little tacky?” I’d teased.

Piper had wrinkled her nose. “Is the pope Catholic? Oh, honey, you’re my son now too. Let me fix this.”

Okay, I liked that sentiment. His family was my family, and mine was his.

“My mom loves you. So do my dads,” Jake commented as if reading my mind.

I kissed his shoulder. “I know. We’re lucky. Both of us.”

“We are.”

“Thanks for loving me and letting me be part of your world.”

Jake beamed at me. “Are you going soft on me?”

“Yeah, maybe a little. I love you, and I love our life. Today feels like a beginning.”

“How so?”

“We have a plan, you know. We know what we want, we have a solid home base and people who care about us, and I don’t know…I guess the future doesn’t feel so scary anymore.”

Jake nodded. “Yeah. Did you ever think we’d be here—living together, building a life?”

“Fuck, no. I still think I’m dreaming sometimes. If I am, don’t wake me up. I want to be here forever. With you. I love you, Jakey.”

“I love you, too.”

Our spoons clinked as I reached in to steal his ice cream. He pushed me away, and I pushed back till he resorted to straddling my lap and confiscating my container. A short wrestling match ensued, and it was definitely going to continue in the bedroom.

I knew better than to take a single second of this ride for granted. I’d been given a shot at a lifetime with my worst enemy turned best friend, the guy I loved more than anything in the world. This was real and I’d do whatever it took to make him happy…forever.

Thank you for reading Jake and Trinsky’s story!

Turn the page for more information about the Elmwood Stories and get a sneak peek of One-Time Shot, book 1 in my upcoming college hockey series, Smithton Bears. And be sure to subscribe to my newsletter, Lane’s Letters for upcoming release news!

A NOTE FROM LANE

Is Elmwood a magical place or what? This series has been a labor of love. It’s been so fun to create these characters and see them grow in a town that feels like a warm hug. After all, there’s something so comforting in the idea of a place where everyone knows you and is always rooting for you.

I hope you can imagine walking down Main Street, popping into Henderson’s Bakery for a maple cookie, grabbing a latte at Rise and Grind and chatting with Ivan and Court before heading to the diner for JC’s special of the day. You’d probably catch a glimpse of our favorite grumpy French-Canadian chef in the kitchen and Riley sitting at the counter. Vinnie and Nolan might be with their kids at one table and Smitty and Bryson with their brood at another. You might run into Crabby Annie outside, giving random passersby hell. And perhaps you’d run into Denny and Hank at the Black Horse having a beer with Trinsky and Jake.

The kids will grow and new hockey heroes will emerge, but this snapshot in time feels special. I hope you’ve enjoyed exploring Elmwood as much as I have. You can expect a short story or two in the future, but it’s time to move on to the next town…Wood Hollow!

But first…I have a brand new college hockey series in the works! One-Time Shot is book 1 in Smithton Bears! Geek/Jock, low-angst fun…with hockey. Interested in a sneak peek? Turn the page.

Happy Reading!

EXCERPT FROM ONE-TIME SHOT

“So…are you a hockey fan or something?”

“Oh, gosh, no.” Malcolm widened his eyes. “Hockey is much too violent for my taste. The risk of injury compounds as players become better, faster, stronger, so regular strains, sprains, contusions, inflammation, fractured bones, and concussions are practically a foregone conclusion. I understand that fans are attracted to the speed and skill involved, but it’s a bit too dangerous, and too…”

He wrinkled his nose in distaste and fiddled with the edge of a napkin nervously.

“Don’t hold back now,” I prodded, charmed in spite of being unsure what the hell we were discussing.

“Barbaric.”

“Barbaric,” I repeated.

Okay, well…wrong. Hockey was the best sport ever. I geared up to tell him so, but I had a feeling my face did the job for me.

About that: I had a reputation for being intense, on and off the ice. Intimidating, aggressive, slightly terrifying…

Malcolm sputtered an apology. “Barbaric in the tradition of Roman gladiators and knights in shining armor. Masculine with a slightly toxic energy.”

“Right.” I furrowed my brow and leaned across the table, like a panther, ready to strike. “Cut to the chase, Malcolm Maloney. What’s this about?”

He cleared his throat and met my gaze. “I have an inquiry, a request, a favor to ask of you.”

“What kind of favor?”

“I’m working on an experiment that’s grown into a small portion of my senior thesis. Quite against my will, I might add. This is my professor’s idea, not mine. Though, I admit, it’s a good one.” He paused to adjust his glasses. “You see, Newton’s laws of motion are applicable to sports in every way imaginable. In hockey, reduced friction on an icy surface facilitates speed, agility, and precision. A skater’s acceleration is directly related to force and mass and⁠—”

“Whoa. You’re losing me, Malcolm. I’m not a science guy.”

“That’s a-okay. I am. But I’m not a sports person and that’s where you’d come in.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Hear me out. Please. It’s a rather simple experiment and⁠—”

“Sorry, no. Good luck on your thesis. Seriously. It’s sounds…well, boring as fuck, but hockey might make it interesting,” I conceded with a shrug. “The best I can do is pass your request on to my teammates. Maybe someone else can help you out.”

Malcolm grabbed my wrist before I could make my escape. “It has to be you.”

I shook him off, narrowing my eyes to foreboding slits. “Why?”

“You’re the best, the fastest, the most accurate. No one on your team comes close,” he said in a rush. “And that’s not a compliment. That’s valid information based on remedial statistics.”

Okay, cool. But I was definitely taking that as a compliment.

I cocked my head curiously. “What do you want, Maloney? Spit it out.”

“I’d like to accompany you to the ice rink and run a series of tests measuring your speed, angular momentum, energy transfer, etcetera. I have a device you’d wear while exerting force upon a vulcanized rubber disc and⁠—”

“The puck.”

“Yes, that’s it. The puck.” He dug into the pocket of his computer bag and pulled out a business card. “I propose three twenty minute sessions at your leisure within the month of October. Excluding Tuesdays, Thursdays, mornings, or any time after six p.m. Otherwise, I’m free.”

“Gee, that sounds easy,” I snarked.

Malcolm beamed, obviously immune to sarcasm.  “Yes, it really is. My information is on the card. Please contact me to set an appointment. I prefer text messaging, but I’ll accept a phone call. Thank you for your consideration.”

With that, he slid from the booth. Or attempted to.

I wasn’t entirely sure what happened, but my guess was that one of the pockets on his cargo pants snagged on the jagged upholstery, messing with his momentum. Malcolm careened backward at first, then overcorrected and tripped into the aisle, landing on his knees with a splat.

A sudden hush fell in the vicinity, heads turned, and a twittered chorus of, “What happened? Did someone get hurt?” rippled through the diner.  

“Are you okay?” I jumped up and grabbed Malcolm’s elbow.

“I’m fine. Just fine.” He brushed his hands then slung the strap of his bag over his shoulder, not quite meeting my eyes. “Have a great day, Mr. Erickson. I look forward to hearing from you.”

Malcolm walked away, head held high, seemingly determined to ignore the curious glances aimed his way.

Okay, that was…different.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Lane Hayes lives in sunny Southern California with her amazing husband, who thankfully doesn’t mind cooking, and their fabulous fox red Labrador, George, who’s pure mischief. Both provide oodles of inspiration for the low-angst, humorous books Lane loves to write.

She’s been telling stories about sexy, funny, sometimes geeky and quirky men who find love for a dozen years now and loving every minute. In her previous life, she sat at a desk and dealt with numbers, so yes…romance is much more satisfying!

Lane loves tea, travel, and chocolate…in any order. Add a book and she’s set!

*Join Lane’s reading group, Lane’s Lovers for immediate updates!

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Moody’s Grumpy Holiday

Smithton Bears - Small-Town, College Hockey Series

One-Time Shot - Coming Spring 2025

Love and Travel- Age-Gap, Rom-Com

Falling For Raine

Winnie Takes Paris

The Script Club- Nerd/Jock Romance

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Rules of Play

The Jock Script

The Holiday List-

The Professor’s Date

Love and History

Where it all began… DC/Lawyers & Friends

Better Than Good

Better Than Chance

Better Than Friends

Better Than Safe

Better Than Beginnings (A Matt & Aaron Short Story Collection)

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Starting From Scratch

Starting From Here

Starting From Somewhere

Starting From the Top

Starting From The Complete Collection (Including Five Short Stories)

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The Real Baxter

Baxter’s Right-Hand Man

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Out in the Deep

Out in the End Zone

Out in the Offense

Out in the Field

Out on the Ice

Out in Spring

Out on the Serve

Out in Winter

Out for the Holidays/Out for Gold

Out in the Surf

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