Page 41 of Tough Guy and the Show Off

My stomach swoops again, but in a much less pleasant way than before. With one shitty comment, Assilio manages to burst the happy bubble I’ve been living in since my mouth slammed into Beau’s for the first time last night.

This thing with Beau, whatever the hell it is, it’s more than just the two of us realizing that maybe we’re bi or heteroflexible or whatever else. We’re teammates; how would that even work? What if the other guys find out? I don’t think most of them are homophobes, but that doesn’t mean they’d want to share a locker room with us knowing we go home and get naked together.

Fuck, I really want to go home after games and get naked with Beau though.

My heart pounds faster and I don’t think it has anything to do with the treadmill.

“You sound jealous, Assilio,” Klaussen chirps for me when I don’t say anything back.

Basilio scoffs, and I give Klaussen a nod in thanks.

“You need me to spot you?” I offer as he loads up the bench press.

“Yeah. Thanks, man.”

I slow to a walk for a brief cooldown, then use my towel to wipe the handles and hop off.

“How you feeling about the game tonight?” I ask, taking my position standing behind the head end of the bench.

“Denver’s having a pretty mid season,” Klaussen points out.

“True. Volkov always plays rough though. I think I walked away from our last game against them with a bruised rib after he slammed me into the boards.”

Klaussen grunts out his set while I keep one eye on him and the other on the door, waiting for Beau to finish up his meeting with Coach Hall. I’d much rather be spotting him, watching his biceps flex and strain against the sleeves of his t-shirt, his soft dick bulge just visible enough to be distracting. I smile to myself again. Maybe I’ve been checking Beau out longer than I realized.

“Looks like his live-in girlfriend dumped him last week though,” Peters chimes in, sitting down on the next bench to do some bicep curls. “That’s bound to throw a guy off his game.”

“Or make him even grumpier than usual,” I say.

Beau might have his work cut out for him defending me tonight if Volkov is on the warpath. I’m sure he can handle it though; he always does. I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have covering my ass than him.

The door swings open and my attention whips up immediately. It’s not Beau though, it’s Harlson. My stomach sinks just a little. What’s taking so long?

Harlson glances around, giving each of us a nod of greeting. His attention settles on me for a beat longer than anyone else, and his face twitches with a weird expression that almost looks like pity.

“No Beau?” he asks, looking around again, as if Bozy is someone anyone could miss in a room. Sure, he’s quiet, but he has a presence that can’t be ignored.

“Coach called him in early.” I help Klaussen guide the bar back into place when he finishes his second set.

Harlson grimaces. “Shit. I was hoping they’d at least wait until after the game tonight.”

The pit in my stomach deepens.

“Wait for what? What are you talking about?”

He rubs the back of his neck and winces. “Ah, fuck. Forget I said anything. I figured…” He shakes his head. “It’s nothing.”

My pulse thunders in my ears and my fingers suddenly feel numb. No. Hell, no. It’s not what it sounds like. I’m moving before I even realize what I’m doing, storming straight up to Harlson and grabbing the front of his t-shirt roughly in my fists. I slam him up against the door and he doesn’t try to fight me on it. He’s a D-man and he outweighs me by a good thirty pounds of muscle—he could definitely take my ass down if he wanted to. Instead, he holds his hands up in surrender and gives me another pitying look that makes me want to scream.

“Fucking tell me,” I growl. I don’t even recognize my own voice, but everything inside me is suddenly in panic mode. Nothing bad is happening to Beau. It can’t be. I won’t let it.

“Levi told me last night that Beau was getting traded to make room in the salary cap for a new goalie. He wanted me to be prepared when they bring Reggie up from the second line to fill his spot.”

“Fucking Albert is getting first line over me?” Basilio shouts, but I can barely hear him over the blood rushing in my ears.

I jerk Harlson forward an inch, then slam him against the door again.

“You’re fucking lying. Why would they do that when we’ve been playing so well together?”