It wasn’t a dick pic.
Relief and disappointment melded in the pit of confusion under Phil’s breastbone.
He inspected the picture more carefully.
The photo captured Ben’s face from the nose down to his chest, little enough for plausible deniability if anyone found it but enough to be recognizable to Phil.Ben wore a suit.Of course he did.The team had flown to LA today, which meant being photographed getting on and off the plane.But his tie was long gone, and the top buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned.A flush rose up across his collarbones and to his cheeks, his mouth slightly open.
Desire raced through Phil and, hot on its heels, incredulity.He’d never thought of himself as a particularly complex man when it came to what turned him on.When Camille wore lingerie, it got him hot.He enjoyed getting his dick sucked, maybe a little more than fucking someone because he got to be lazy about it.He liked porn unless it involved the really outlandish shit like tentacles or rubber suits.He was a simple guy and pretty easy to please.
But a collarbone?A picture of a flushed collarbone and an open mouth?That was enough to get him going?
He looked down at his erection.
Apparently.
Good to know he could still surprise himself.
Chapter Ten
Kayleigh [off-screen]: Best seat partner on a road trip?
Breezy: I like to mix it up, sit with different people.I think I’ve sat next to everyone.[laughs] Except Luca because he’d murder me in my sleep.
Luca: Breezy never sleeps on the plane.He just talks.For hours.Or plays video games.Loudly.
Kayleigh: And you’ve never been tempted to join in?
Luca: [long pause] No.
Tom: I usually sit with Phil.He’s good company.Knows when to chat and when to let me do my own thing.
Jax: Yeah, since Phil’s been out, he’s been stuck with me.
Top comments:
1682rox: [eyes emoji] Stuck with Jax, huh?Tom seems fine with that.
stickstickpuck: Methinks Mazetti doth protest too much.
(From “San Francisco Sea Lions Call Each Other Out For Fun, Part 2,” posted to YouTube, 11/20/2024)
Road trips were awful.
Why did people aspire to this career?Hockey players had to work out six days a week, couldn’t eat what they wanted, spent half the year on planes and buses, and most of them had joint replacements before they turned fifty.Their careers lasted five, maybe ten years, in which they had to earn as much as they could off contract negotiations and sponsorship deals.And then, they were either done for life or had to find a new career, assuming they hadn’t had too many catastrophic head injuries.
Sure, some luxuries associated with professional sports were tempting.The NHL shelled out for charter planes, but all that did was hasten the climate catastrophe in exchange for slightly more leg room.Even a charter plane couldn’t make takeoff or landing comfortable.
Ben might be a little bitter.
At forty-two, he had no interest in sitting in a rooftop bar he was at least fifteen years too old for, drinking the least expensive thing on the menu (house wine, which tasted of vinegar), waiting for a man who was nominally his subordinate to get to the point.It was past 10:00 p.m.He had to be up and in a freezing-cold skating rink at 7:00, and even if he left the bar now, he’d have to knock on the hotel room doors of twenty-odd grown men to make sure they were in bed.
“Power play’s looking a little weak.”Trout sipped from his whiskey after an unnecessarily long talk with the waiter about which to order, revealing he had extensive knowledge on the topic and his own collection at home.
Ben grunted in affirmation.
“You sure about keeping Mazetti up there?”
Ben couldn’t give the slightest shit about Mazetti and the power play.“I’m giving him a fair chance.Crowler and Grant are convinced he’s a perfect fit.”
