Chapter Five
Olle didn’t regret telling Jamie the truth, no matter how embarrassing it was, but holy shit, this was awkward. He could only hope this would make things better. Maybe he and Jamie could be friends again. Maybe Jamie wouldn’t feel weird hanging out with a guy who’d admitted to an unrequited crush on him.
You broke my heart.
What on earth had made him say that?
“Do you remember what we’d done the night before?” Jamie asked.
Olle darted a look at Jamie, then away. “Yes.”
“You put your arm around me, do you remember?”
While they’d been watching a movie. And Jamie had cuddled into his side.
Olle nodded.
“I thought you were just being nice. And Swedish. I thought you were straight,” Jamie said, as if begging him to understand. “I thought nothing would ever happen, but your thumb rubbing over my arm and the smell of your shampoo, it got me all…”
Olle cocked his head, certain Jamie couldn’t possibly mean—
“…hot,” Jamie admitted. “I went out to hook up that next night. I thought if I could blow off some steam, we could keep doing that and it wouldn’t slowly drive me insane, because I really, really liked it.”
“You’re very dumb.”
Jamie accepted that with a helpless shrug.
“And not very observant.”
“How was I supposed to know?” Jamie squawked.
“Do you see me cuddling anyone else on the team?” Olle asked, exasperated.
Jamie huffed. He was pouting and Olle despaired that he found it adorable. He traced his fingertips over Jamie’s pink cheeks. The skin was smooth over his cheekbones, then went rough with stubble along his jaw.
Jamie stared up at him, his lips parted, and didn’t move.
Olle traced his fingers over the stubble again, fascinated.
“Olle?” Jamie asked, his voice soft.
Olle snatched his hand away.
“No!” Jamie said, grabbing Olle’s wrist and bringing his hand back up. “Do it again.”
Olle’s cheeks burned and his heart beat hard against his ribs, but he did. Jamie hadn’t shaved this morning, and while Olle would be the first to tease him about his sad playoff beard, he shivered to feel it under his fingertips.
Jamie’s lower lip was caught between his teeth, and Olle couldn’t resist touching there, too. Tugging on the thin skin and freeing it. He watched the blood rush back, turning it pink again.
Jamie pressed a palm to Olle’s chest, right over his thumping heart. He lifted onto his toes and tipped his chin, his eyes darting to Olle’s lips.
Jamie’s fearlessness had always been what had drawn Olle. He bent slowly, the hair that had escaped the elastic hanging around his face, framing Jamie’s as he got closer.
Their noses brushed and Jamie tilted his head to the side, surging up the last inch to press their lips together.
Olle caught Jamie instinctively, a hand spread across his back and another wrapped around his hip, holding him steady. Jamie kissed him again, and it was just as sweet.
A needy noise escaped Olle a second before someone pounded on the door right behind him and scared him half to death.
“Hey guys! If you’re done with the tour, there’s fresh coffee out here!” There was absolutely no reason for Callum to be shouting that loudly. He was also perfect aware that Olle drank tea.
Jamie and Olle stared at each other and listened to the not-so-innocent giggling coming through the door.
“We’ll be right out!” Olle called, trying not to stare as Jamie shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and rearranged his dick.
Not that Olle was in better shape. The sweatpants had ended up being a bad idea for a lot of reasons.
With a deep breath, Olle opened the door and rolled his eyes when he found Callum standing right there, grinning at him like a lunatic. At least it was an effective erection killer.
“Did I hear something about fresh coffee?” Olle asked blandly.
“It’s right here!” Alexei said helpfully, standing behind Callum and holding the pot aloft.
Jamie squeezed out of the room behind Olle, his hands fluttering over Olle’s hips and waist. “I’d love some, please.”
Chris took one look at him and his eyebrows shot up to his hairline.
Jamie ignored him and studiously doctored his coffee with his usual abundance of sugar. Olle felt like he was on stage, with all the attention he was getting, and wondered if this were a comedy or a tragedy.
He went back to his seat at the table, across from Christian. “I meant to ask you. Can I come watch you compete sometime?”
Christian smiled hesitantly. “You’d want to do that?”
“Sure. You watch us play hockey all the time, right?”
Christian laughed. “Yeah. Okay. I guess that would be cool.”
Olle’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He tugged it out while taking a sip of his lukewarm tea.
Go on a date with me?
It was a lucky thing he didn’t spit his drink all over the table. It took him a solid thirty seconds of pretending to drink more before he could get his face back under control.
Then he sent his reply.
Yes.
Never in a million years did Jamie think it would be possible for the Moncton Ice Cats to be too nice and accepting, but within a day of leaving on their week-long road trip, it was very clear it would actually be an issue.
“Jamie! What about that guy?” David asked. He tilted his head toward the admittedly very handsome man at the hotel bar, who was doing a pretty good job pretending an entire hockey team wasn’t staring at him.
“No,” Jamie said with a laugh, tucking in closer to Olle, who’d planted himself in the corner of the booth. They’d checked into the hotel a couple hours ago and were supposed to be bonding as a team.
Jamie was now concerned what exactly that meant.
Olle didn’t look at him, but he stretched his arm along the back of the banquette. It wasn’t quite around Jamie, but he liked it.
“You haven’t even looked at him,” David protested.
Jamie rolled his eyes. “It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not,” David said firmly, capturing a number of their teammates’ attention. “Look, I know you had a hard time with the Eagles, okay? But you don’t have to live like a monk. If you want to go talk to him, and maybe go off and…”
Jamie almost laughed at David’s vague hand waving, but his gut also curdled a little. “Sneak off to the men’s room?” he asked, failing to keep the bitterness from his voice. He immediately regretted saying it. It wasn’t like he had expected his reputation to magically repair itself overnight.
“No! I was going to say get laid,” David said—far too loudly. He looked sincerely horrified. Or he did, until a slow grin spread across his face. “Though, you know what? Who cares? Maybe restrooms are your thing, and that’s cool, too. If tiled walls and towel dispensers get you going, there’s nothing wrong with that. Right, guys?”
Heads bobbed all around and Jamie couldn’t help but laugh, his cheeks burning. Predictably, the conversation at the table immediately devolved into a series of lewd suggestions of what his teammates’ various kinks might be.
Olle sank back into the corner, and while most of the table was captivated by Tim’s insistence there was something hot about a quickie in the bathroom, Jamie slipped his hand beneath the table and squeezed Olle’s knee. He didn’t dare look at Olle’s face, but smiled when Olle pressed their thighs together and kept them that way.
The team only got worse—or should he say, more enthusiastic?—after that.
By day three on the road, Jamie marched up to Rupert and suggested he change their name to the Moncton Matchmakers. Rupert guffawed, but his smile was proud, which did not help with Jamie’s mounting exasperation.
Fortunately, the incessant meddling didn’t prevent him from spending time with Olle, who derived far too much amusement from Jamie’s torture. They sat together on the bus and on the bench at practice, and sometimes in the locker room. Jamie was certain the rest of the team didn’t read anything into it, while being perfectly aware of the looks he was getting from Tim and Chris. And possibly Mike and Alexei.
Jamie liked being with Olle. Talking to him. Flirting with him. So much, in fact, that by the end of the week, he had no choice but to avoid being alone with him for fear of ruining the plan. He was determined to do this right. To go on a date with just the two of them.
Of course, it hadn’t occurred to him there wouldn’t be time to do that until they were home, which had zero bearing on how much he wanted to kiss Olle, all the time.
Jamie thought he was being subtle, since there was still so much time he could spend with Olle while the team was around, but it only took a day before Olle caught him in the hallway of their hotel and dragged him into the alcove with the ice machine.
“Did I do something wrong?”
Jamie’s skin was buzzing, just from having Olle close. He clasped his hands behind his back to keep from touching.
“No,” Jamie said, swaying closer.
“Then why are you avoiding me? Have you changed your mind?”
“No.” Jamie threw his good intentions out the window and stepped closer, pressing his palms to Olle’s chest. “No, it’s not that at all. Just the opposite. I can’t…”
“You can’t what?” Olle asked, sliding a hand onto Jamie’s hip which resulted in the immediate scrambling of his brain.
“Oh, fuck it,” Jamie muttered, dragging Olle’s head closer and practically climbing him to press their lips together.
Olle let out a surprised grunt, but before Jamie could back off, let alone apologize, Olle was cupping a huge hand around the back of Jamie’s head, another under Jamie’s ass, and pulling him in close, his feet leaving the ground.
Jamie gasped and Olle’s tongue slid into his mouth, enthusiastically tangling with Jamie’s.
Was this going slow? Olle had said something about going slow, but damned if Jamie could remember now. He wrapped his legs around Olle’s hips, a shameless and eager noise slipping out of his throat and killing any hope he’d had of retaining his dignity.
Who the fuck cared?
Olle clearly didn’t. He turned and pressed Jamie to the wall, one hand cupping his head to protect it, the other digging into his ass.
Jamie was lost. Fucking gone. He sank his fingers into Olle’s hair, clutching the long strands and tilting their heads so their noses bumped and their tongues and lips slid together. Olle tasted like chocolate and beer and sin and everything Jamie had ever wanted.
Olle leaned closer, grinding against Jamie’s growing erection.
A door slamming down the hallway was like a gunshot in the tiny alcove. Olle stepped back and Jamie landed on his feet with a jarring thud, the wall behind him critical for keeping him upright.
Olle smiled at him while they listened to the footsteps moving away down the hall.
“That’s why,” Jamie hissed in a whisper when he was sure no one would hear him.
Olle’s smile got bigger. He pressed a palm to the wall by Jamie’s ear and leaned in close. “Three more days?”
Jamie brushed their cheeks together. “What’s in three days?”
“A night off, no team, no game. Our date.”
Jamie’s knees actually shook.