I raised my eyebrows. “Does that include you?”
“Uh…” The blush on his cheeks should not have been that attractive. Neither should the way he dropped his gaze and bit his lip. Or the nervous little smile as he said, “I, uh… In major juniors, my billet family had a son who was my age and very, very bisexual. That was, you could say, a very educational year.”
I chuckled. “You were lucky.”
“I was. And he was a good guy, too. We’re still friends to this day, so—really lucky. But I totally get why some guys in this sport don’t have much experience early on.”
I relaxed a little at that. I’d been embarrassed of my inexperience for a long time, even after I’d put it behind me, so I appreciated the reassurance. Maybe I’d just spent too much time with a man who liked to remind me that he knew better because“listen, Vasily, I’m not the one who was a virgin until I was twenty-five.”
“So,” Taylor said, “you moved to Canada when you were twelve?”
I nodded, admittedly grateful we were moving away from my lack of experience with men.
He watched me curiously. “You still have a pretty strong accent.”
“We lived in a community with a lot of Russian immigrants. I played hockey with Canadians, but I went to a school with mostly Russian children. My neighborhood, our church, the people who came to my parents’ restaurant—Russian.”
“That explains it.”
“What about you?” I raised an eyebrow. “Where are you from?”
“Michigan.Superexciting, I know.”
I laughed. “And here we are, both surrounded by Canadians.”
That made him laugh, which made my pulse surge. Fucking hell, he really was pretty, especially now that he’d relaxed. His eyes dancing the neon light, and his bright smile—howhadI overlooked him at training camp all those years? Of course, Drew had never tolerated me looking at other men, even straight men who I was talking with about hockey, so I wouldn’t have let my gaze linger on Taylor.
What a missed opportunity.
I could look at him now, though, and as our conversation wound into more comfortable territory—our hometowns, our youth teams, some past and present teammates we both knew—I indulged thoroughly. I drank in those quirky smiles and sly grins. I watched the way his long fingers traced the logo on his beer glass or a crack in the table. I watched those lips and remembered his kiss, wondering what it would have felt like if things had played out differently last summer.
It was only a fantasy, though. Nothing could happen between us, and nothing would. I could look, but I wouldn’t touch. We were teammates for the next couple of weeks. After that, judging by how well he’d played in practice today, I suspected it wasonly a matter of time before he was called up to the Rainiers. Probably for the long run. Which meant we would be teammates again until one of us was traded, signed elsewhere as a free agent, or I retired.
As hot as Taylor was, and as much as I liked him now that we’d had a chance to talk, I had to leave well enough alone.
I was absolutelynotputting myself in a position to get burned by another teammate.
CHAPTER 5
TAYLOR
So, being on the same page as Vasily was great and all. Yesterday’s conversation definitely helped put my mind at ease and put some of my ridiculous issues to bed.
I wouldn’t say it helped me concentrate on hockey, though.
We had a game tonight, so we needed to be laser-focused today, but one look at Vasily in the locker room completely blanked my brain. He’d been out on the ice by the time I’d started putting on my gear yesterday. Today, I walked in just in time to be treated to him in his base layer.
Holy.Fuck.
Every hockey player developed a certain recognizable physique—low body fat, a lean upper body, asses and thighs for days. That wasn’t a novelty anymore.
But the guys at the NAPH level were even more sculpted and powerful. Though Vasily was still regaining his game condition, he clearly hadn’t slacked off during his recovery. The way his back muscles moved under his thin black base layer was mesmerizing. The shape of his waist, ass, and thighs—Jesus. There was no way this man could buy pants off the rack. No. Way.
I busied myself putting on my own gear, and I miraculously kept myself from having any, shall we say, visible response to my hot teammate.
God, Taylor. Get a grip. He isn’t the first gorgeous man you’ve seen in a locker room.
Very true. And heaven help me if I ever made it to the NAPH team where I was surrounded by Greek gods.
