I shrug it off as I hang up my coat and kick off my dress shoes before bending to carry them upstairs with me, making a brief stop at the thermostat to turn it up a bit. Another cold night, but at least I got off with another human instead of having a quick, depressing jerk before bed.
Damn, that guy was hot. The dark red hair and beard were really doing it for me, especially when we kissed. There’s nothing hotter than a man’s facial hair when my lips are locked to his. Impressive dick too.
My cock twitches with interest, but I’m not twenty-five anymore so the surge of excitement is fleeting. As I undress, the humor of the whole situation settles over me. I’ve never done anything that risky. Any of my teammates could’ve walked up. Or a fan. Jesus, I really let my dick lead on that decision, but he was so sexy and determined. How could I have said no?
It’s been way too long since my last hookup. I keep most of my activities to when we’re traveling so I never have to worry about running into someone I fucked at home. I tend to go for dudes who aren’t into sports too—easily discovered with a quick chat. My type is anyone with a hot mouth and a hot ass, so I’m not too picky, but I have to admit, the super masc dudes really light me up. Like the guy tonight.
Unf. He was something else. He’s local though, so that puts him on my No Repeats list even if I do manage to see him again. If he hangs at Chirps it’s a possibility, but unless he follows hockey—which it didn’t seem like he did or he would’ve known who I am—it would be pretty random for him to just happen to be there again when I am.
Nah. It was a fluke.
I slide under my bedding and fluff my pillow under my head, then swipe my phone open to scroll the highlights before bed. There are already tons of pieces reviewing tonight’s game and the different players who contributed. As usual, I get a mention for my dominant presence on the ice, and it makes me smile. The other guys are commended for the way we managed the opposing team tonight, and as I scroll, I see some stuff about Krikowsky.
The media were equally surprised to see him back in play tonight after the very public suspension. Instead, he didn’t miss a single fucking game, but that shit he pulled with Palachuk wasunacceptable. I’d never pry into my teammate’s life given the secrets I keep, but I’m curious as hell about what went down between those two that would bleed onto the ice. They don’t play the same position, so it’s not a rivalry. It has to be personal.
I click off the article and go to Hen’s personal page. Sure enough, there are photos of the guys at the bar from tonight. Hugs, smiles, shots. It brings a smile to my face. They’re a good crew and I’ll miss them when I retire.
Just before I close out, I catch a photo that includes my hookup in the background. He’s leaning against the bar, talking to his friend, and I study him for a few seconds. Yep. Just as hot as I remember. He’s got a slight smile on his face that really softens his features and leaves me curious. What brought him to Chirps tonight? Was he there looking for a hookup or did I just happen to be in the right place at the right time?
Memories of our brief encounter wash over me again, and my dick actually comes back to life, swelling in my briefs. I’m not gonna do anything about it though. I’ll just lie here and remember it all and hope I can find another experience just as hot in the near future.
Stranger things have happened.
The next morning, I’m skating around the practice rink, erasing all the thoughts normally clogging my head. When I’m on the ice, I can let go of the outside world and just be me. Cold air whips through my hair, reminding me that I’m alive, and while I’m at the tail end of a professional career, I’m still a strong, powerful skater.
The sound of skates hitting the ice draws my attention and I straighten up when I see our defense coach skating in my direction.
“Hey, Bouche,” he says. “Thought I heard someone out here.”
“Hey, Teller. What’s going on?”
“Not much. Just getting some skating in. I do that when you guys aren’t around.”
“Gotcha.”
“Nice moves last night. I’m sure Detroit players hate to see you coming. You’re like a fucking freight train.”
“Thanks.”
“But…”
My shoulders tense. “But what?”
“You’re favoring your left side again. Don’t think I didn’t notice. Coach did too.”
My stomach sinks. “It’s not bad, I swear. Just a little sore.”
“Did you have Doc look at it? Or the trainers?”
He already knows the answer to that or we wouldn’t be having this conversation.
“Listen, Bouche, you know your body better than anyone, but you also know what can happen when we push too hard. At least get your shoulder taped?”
Nodding, I tap my skate on the ice. “Okay. I can do that.”
“Good. Everything else going alright?”
That’s a weighted question too. The staff are all waiting to hear if I’m officially out after this season or not. There’s at least three rookies waiting in the wings for my spot, but they don’t get much ice time since I’m still killing it.
