Page 23 of Tough Guy and the Show Off

“If we keep playing like that, we’ve got a shot at a really solid season.”

“Agreed.”

“So, you know, we should repeat everything we did. I got the new gum, we did our ritual, and um…” He shrugs as his lips pull into a slight smile.

“And um…?” I mimic him playfully, wondering what he’s suddenly so shy about. Trav’s never shy about anything.

“Maybe we should relax again tonight. Together.” He shrugs.

“Yeah.” Relaxing is good. Eat a healthy dinner, watch a movie, always sounds like a good plan to me.

Trav takes a step closer to me, our chests almost touching. “Like… you know… the other night.”

“Oh.” My stomach flutters and my cock twitches. Does he want to jerk off together again?

“You know, just to see if we can repeat our success on the ice. If it works, why not, right?”

“Yeah, right. Um, sure. Yeah. We can do that.” Damn, why is it so hot in here all of a sudden? They must’ve cranked the heat on. “So, dinner later?”

“Come over whenever, Bozy.”

I watch him unlock his door, glancing over his shoulder before he slips inside. I’m left standing in the hallway wondering what the fuck I just agreed to, but no part of me wants to change my mind. If jerking off with my best friend helps us win games, who am I to complain?

Trav’s a pretty superstitious guy, and if he thinks this is the key to success, hell, maybe it is. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just an extension of a friendship to be this comfortable with each other. It relaxes us, and that’s a good thing.

It doesn’t have to be more than that.

TWELVE

SHOW

I spent at least half our workout and most of practice thinking about how I would bring my idea up to Beau without sounding overeager or like a creep. It’s just practical when you think about it. We played better than we’ve ever played before, pure fucking magic on the ice during our last game, so it makes sense to stick with the same routine and see if it pays off again. Besides, let’s face it, we’d probably both be jerking off anyway. If doing it in the same room can somehow help us win the game tomorrow night, it would be stupid not to do it.

I place a grocery order and then wander around my apartment aimlessly for a little while, feeling oddly restless. I should be exhausted after a workout and practice, and physically I am beat. My legs feel like jelly, my glutes are sore as hell, and my back is so tight I’d be willing to French-kiss Coach Hall if it meant getting a deep tissue massage, but my brain is all jittery and hyper.

It kind of reminds me of how wild and energetic I would get when I was a kid and my parents would tell me we had something awesome planned for the next day. I don’t think I ever slept a single second the night before a day at Six Flags.

Maybe I’m just hyped for the game tomorrow? We’re playing the Los Angeles Sharks and their goalie, Vesper D’Amore, is like an impenetrable fucking wall. He’s on a two-game shutout streak and I’m sure he’s going to be working his ass off to keep it going.

All the more reason to bring our A game tomorrow.

The grocery delivery buzzes my apartment and I jump to answer it, pressing the button to unlock the main door, then waiting with my door open, leaning against the doorframe. My eyes wander to Beau’s door directly across from mine. I can’t hear any noise from inside his apartment, which means he’s probably either taking a nap or showering.

My mind instantly conjures the image of him standing in the shower, his naked body covered in a thick lather, the hot water pelting his skin and running down his muscles. The Beau in my imagination reaches back and slides two soapy fingers between his ass cheeks. My skin starts to heat and my cock slowly thickens against my thigh.

The sound of the elevator dinging at the end of the hall makes me jump, and I tear my gaze away from Beau’s door and plaster on a smile to greet the delivery driver. The guy’s eyes go wide when he sees me, and he slows for a second, then speeds up and practically jogs the rest of the way down the hall towards me.

“Holy shit. I saw the name on the delivery and I thought… But then I figured there was no way I could get that lucky. Except, holy shit, it’s really you,” he says in a rush. “You’re Travis ‘Show-Off’ Showalter. You almost broke the scoring record last season. You’re, like… fucking incredible, man.”

I preen and smile. Hell yeah, that’s me.

“Thanks, man. It’s always nice to meet a fan.”

I reach out to take the grocery bags and he thrusts one of his full hands forward like he thinks I’m going for a handshake before remembering that he’s holding my groceries. He laughs and fumbles while passing me the bags.

“Let me set these down and I’ll be right back. Hold tight for just a second.”

I take the bags inside and put them on the counter. I glance around the kitchen for a second until my eyes land on the printout I have of the game schedule. I can always print another one or look at Beau’s. I grab it and fish a pen out of the junk drawer, scrawling a messy signature across it.