As the team unloaded from the bus, Fletcher and Taylor ended up being the last two off. Mostly because Fletcher didn’t bother letting Taylor out of their row until everyone else had gotten up. Taylor was beyond annoyed right now. Fletcher was doing it on purpose to piss him off.
When Douglas and Sánchez slid out of their row beside Taylor and Fletcher, Taylor pushed past Fletcher as he stepped out into the aisle and followed them off the bus.
He tried to ignore the way his body reacted when he was sandwiched in between Fletcher and the seat in front of them. His ass brushed up against Fletcher’s crotch, causing Fletcher to inadvertently place his hand on Taylor’s hip to help guide him into the aisle. Taylor swatted Fletcher’s hand off him.
As they stepped off the bus, the equipment manager handed the boys their bags. Taylor and Fletcher were the last to leave the bus, so a majority of the team was already across the parking lot nearing the back entrance of the rink. He quickened his pace to catch up with the rest of the team, but Fletcher grabbed his arm andpulled him back.
“I’m not shutting you out.” He told him again.
“Whatever, Armstrong. I really don’t want to talk to you right now, either.”
“I really don’t know what came over me.” Fletcher confessed. “Last night, I mean.” He quickly added. “Something inside of me just…”
“Thanks for clarifying.” He rolled his eyes, making it clear to Fletcher that he was pissed off. “It doesn’t matter anymore,” Taylor said. He huffed a breath through his nose. “Last night was a mistake. We were both drunk and confused.”
Honestly, Taylor wasn’t really sure if he believed himself. How confused was Fletcher when he stood in the shower and jerked off at the sight of Taylor? And how confused was Taylor when he stood there and watched like he fucking liked it? Sooner or later Taylor needed just to stop lying to himself. But today wouldn’t be the day.
“Yeah. Okay. Let’s just pretend it never happened. Forget about it.” Fletcher agreed, sounding a little snappy. Lucky Taylor. Neither of them spoke another word to each other as they made their way into the dressing room. Taylor tossed his bag down on the bench in front of an empty cubby. Fletcher occupied the one right next to him. They were pretending nothing happened. It was fine.
* * *
They were both quick to change and somehow ended up being the first on the ice.
Despite currently being in somewhat of a rut, their chemistry on the ice was still undeniable. Whatever was going on betweenthe two of them quickly disappeared the moment practice began.
During their four on four scrimmage, Taylor was on a line with Fletcher and Pollard against Douglas, Martin, and Singh. Taylor seamlessly weaved in and out of players as he took control of the puck. He passed it to Pollard, who had a clear opening to score.
Douglas intercepted it at the last minute, though, before bringing it all the way back to center ice. He didn’t have control of the puck for long before Fletcher slammed right up against him and took possession.
He passed it back to Pollard, who dodged an angry Singh before passing it back to Taylor at the last minute.
Taylor took possession of the puck and made a go at the goal. But Sánchez blocked it before it could go in.
“Great block, Sánchez!” Coach shouted, clapping her hands together. “Let’s keep it up, boys!”
Taylor locked eyes with Fletcher on the ice. Fletcher clenched his jaw, giving him a disdainful look.Good, Taylor thought.
Coach called for a water break, and their animosity seemed to reappear the moment they were off the ice.
Taylor tried to ignore the pit in his stomach that grew as Fletcher took a seat next to him on the bench. He took his helmet off and ran a hand through his sweaty hair. Fletcher looked at him through the corner of his eye. Taylor quickly looked off to the distance and squirted some of his water into his mouth.
“Stop staring,” Fletcher leaned in and told him, loud enough only Taylor heard it.
Taylor looked back at Fletcher and scowled. “Stop being so pissy,” he muttered, thinking back to when Fletcher saidhewasbeing pissy earlier. “I wasn’t even looking at you,” he lied.
Fletcher shook his head. “I literally saw you. Stop lying.”
“Okay. Whatever. Does it bother you if I look at you?” Taylor shot back.
When Fletcher didn’t immediately answer, he lifted his water up again to take another sip. Fletcher reached over and snatched it from him, bringing it to his lips and taking a generous sip. His throat contracted as he swallowed, and Taylor could see a bead of sweat drip down.Stop, stop, stop.
Taylor held his hand out for Fletcher to give him his water back. Fletcher looked at him with a smug expression on his face, knowing Taylor was most definitely checking him out just now.
“Not at all,” Fletcher said smoothly, standing up and giving the water bottle back to Taylor. It took a minute to register what Fletcher was saying, quickly realizing he was answering Taylor’s question.
17
The Locker Room Game
