Chapter Eleven

 

 

CONTACTS WAS crowded, and it took Shane a few minutes to find Troy at a table near the back. It was karaoke night, and while neither one of them was fond of the activity, it was always entertaining to watch. Although Shane wasn’t entirely sure how, they came there on Wednesdays now. Together. Then they went home and fucked. But they’d done that before New Year’s. This was different. This was like… dating or something. Maybe.

It’s definitely dating, idiot. You text him about stupid things you see at the grocery store. You almost bought him a puzzle of half-dressed hockey players just because. Admit it.

He shook it off and went to the bar to get a drink. He was never clear on whether Contacts actually had table service, or if River—the only reliable bartender—would just come over if they weren’t that busy and take their drink orders. They were usually pretty busy on Wednesdays, so Shane paused by the bar and waited.

“There’s my favorite hot jock,” River exclaimed as he hurried over with a bit of sashay in his walk. Shane had been surprised to learn that the surly-looking guy with the beard and the facial piercings was River’s boyfriend, Ben. He was as quiet and gruff as River was flirty and sociable, and Shane might never say it out loud, but he sort of thought they were adorable together. Apparently Ben owned a tattoo and piercing shop, and River was in the process of fundraising to open a LGBTQA bookstore and community center. He had a Kickstarter and everything. Shane would have a brick with his name on it for his contribution to the campaign.

“What? No pirouette?” Shane said when River came to a stop in front of him. River was a former ballet dancer, and he had the moves to prove it. He did a perfect spinning turn and flashed his smile at Shane.

“What do you want, sweetie? Your boyfriend got a Miller Lite, as always.”

“Troy’s not my boyfriend.” Shane scowled as River recited it along with him. They also did that every week, which, ugh. “And I’ll have a Coke.”

“Also as always.” River winked. He had on his purple lipstick and glittery eye makeup. “With a cherry in it?”

Shane leaned against the bar and gave him a playful leer. “Make it two.”

River laughed and handed the drink over. “Got a game tomorrow?”

Shane wondered if he should be concerned that he went there often enough for River to know his schedule based on his drink order. “Yeah. You want some tickets?” He offered them all the time, but River taught ballet in addition to working at Contacts, and never seemed to have a free evening.

“One day I’m gonna take you up on that.” River handed another Miller Lite to Shane. “For Mr. Tall, Dark, and Intense over there.”

Shane paid for the drinks—as usual, River only charged him for the beer—and joined Troy. “Hey. River sent this over.” He took one of the cherries, sucked on it, and met Troy’s eyes while he did.

Troy scowled, but Shane knew it was his “Stop doing that. You’re turning me on in public. So really, don’t stop doing it” scowl. “Who said I wanted another one?”

Before Shane could answer, someone got up on stage and decided to torture them with a rendition of “The Devil Went Down to Georgia.”

“Maybe River knew that guy was up next,” Shane said, wincing. Troy snorted and took a drink of his beer. “You want this other cherry? Thought you might want some kind of flavor to go with that piss water you’re drinking.”

“Offering me your cherry, Shane?”

Shane laughed outright. “You’re a bit late for that, man.”

Troy grinned back at him. “That’s fine with me. I like my men with a little experience.”

Shane choked on a sip of his Coke. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

“Really? How long have we known each other?”

Shane ate the other cherry and shook his head as he tapped his fingers along with the terrible music. No one knew the words to that song. What would possess anyone to try to sing it? And it seemed to be fifteen minutes long. “So, you worried about the playoffs?”

Troy shrugged. Talking about hockey was as natural as breathing, and it was nice to be out with someone who understood how hard it was just to turn it off and leave it in the locker room. “Won’t have anything to worry about if we don’t win some more games.”

That was true. The Ravens were previously a strong team in the regular season, but they were barely above .500. It was going to come down to the wire as far as earning points, and Shane wasn’t sure how it would all shake out. The Ravens weren’t playing like assholes, which was great, but that hadn’t translated to wins.

“That bother you?” Troy asked. He wasn’t any good at sounding casual, so Shane appreciated that he didn’t try.

Shane shrugged and pushed his glass from side to side with his hands. “I don’t know. I mean, it’s weird to think that in a few months, I’ll be done playing hockey. But it has to happen sometime, you know?”

“You really don’t need to retire,” Troy said. “I know Bowie’d sign you again if you wanted to play next season.”

Shane raised his eyebrows. “Should you be telling me that? I mean, isn’t that, like, against the rules?”

“Isn’t that, like, our thing?” Troy mimicked. Which, okay, fine. He had a point. “And I mean, come on, Shane. It’s not like you’re stupid. You have to know he’d be willing to extend an offer if you wanted.”

“Yeah. I don’t know, though. I mean, I think about not playing hockey, and I think it’s mostly weird because I don’t know what I’d be doing instead.” Shane made himself stop pushing his glass back and forth. That was something he should have thought about before, but for some reason, he’d been so intent on ending his career on his own terms he hadn’t thought about what came next. “I should have done something so I wasn’t in this situation. Had some kind of backup plan.”

Troy was quiet for a moment as he absently stroked his beer bottle with long fingers. “Sometimes you have a backup plan, and that goes to shit too.”

Shane had no idea why Troy saying stuff like that made him feel better, but for some reason, it totally did. “You’re such an inspiration, Cally.”

“Yeah, well. I try.” He turned his piercing blue stare at the stage. “If I won a golden fiddle, I’d use it to brain that guy for trying to sing this. Jesus Christ.”

Shane couldn’t say he disagreed.

“You thought about coaching?”

Of course he had, but he had no idea how to even get into that. “I… well, I mean, maybe? I don’t know if I’d be any good at it.”

“You would be.” Troy sounded typically self-assured. “You’re good with the team. In the locker room, at games, in practice. You’ve stepped up, and it shows.”

Warmed by the compliment, Shane ducked his head. “Thanks.”

“I know you probably didn’t mean to get this involved, but I’m glad you did.”

“Stop it, Cally. You’re freaking me out.” Shane listened to the next singer deliver a fantastic version of Pat Benatar’s “Heartbreaker,” and thought about what Troy said. “I think I would like it, yeah. But I have no idea how to even get into that.”

Troy shrugged. “Well, unless Brian Quinn impresses the fuck out of me in the near future, we’ll probably have an opening.”

Shane frowned. Something about that nagged at his innate sense of fairness. “Cally, I can’t coach here.”

“Why not?”

Was he serious? Did he miss the part where his hand was on Shane’s knee under the table? “Umm, because we’re sleeping together?”

“So are Samarin and Ashford, and their team seems to be doing pretty well, winning the Kelly Cup and all.”

Shane stared at him. “You’re not saying you’re fucking me for team morale, are you? Because I’ll throw what’s left of this drink in your face. Wait. And maybe be kind of flattered? You make me feel complicated things, Troy.”

“Yeah, well. Like I said, I try. And you wouldn’t do that with your drink if it meant River had to clean it up, and you know it.” Troy was also fond of the bartender, and Shane knew he’d contributed substantially more than a brick-worthy amount to the Kickstarter.

“No. I’d borrow a mop and do it myself. It’d be worth it.” Shane didn’t know why the idea of coaching the Ravens in any capacity made him so uncomfortable, but it did. “It just…. There’d be other people who were more qualified than me. I’d feel like I got the job on my knees, you know?”

“You have to know me better than to think I’d honestly want an assistant coach just because he sucked cock like a porn star and had a tight ass.”

It took a lot to make Shane blush, but somehow Troy managed to do it quite often. “Jesus, Troy.”

Troy turned his head from the stage to look at him. “What?”

“How many porn stars have sucked your cock? Maybe they’re not as good when they’re doing it for the camera.”

“Wanna make a porno and find out?”

Shane’s laugh was sudden and loud. “Fucking hell, Cally. No. I can barely stand watching myself give interviews. I do not want to make a porno.” He deliberately did not mention New Year’s, when he admittedly enjoyed watching himself fuck Troy in Troy’s bedroom mirror. Shane finished the rest of his Coke. “I’m happy to get out of here and go suck your cock, though.”

“Good. Because here comes that girl that sings ‘You Oughta Know’ every week, right on time.”

“She oughta know she can’t stay on tune,” Shane joked, and they stood up to leave. For some reason Shane found himself moving close and trapping Troy against the table. “What would you do if I kissed you?”

Troy blinked. “What have I done every other fucking time you’ve kissed me?”

Shane reached up, grabbed Troy’s tie, and pulled him in. “I meant if I did it right here.”

“Shane, haven’t you figured out that I apparently get off on public sex?” Troy slid an arm around his waist and pulled Shane flush against him. His cock was already hard, because yeah, Troy really did have a thing for public sex.

“Woah, cowboy. Just talking about a kiss here.” They probably wouldn’t be the first to go have a quickie in the bathroom, but it wasn’t like Troy lived that far away.

“So kiss me or stop wasting my fucking time.”

Shane leaned in and pressed his mouth to Troy’s. He expected it to be their usual, the kind of rough kiss that felt like arguing, but it wasn’t. Instead Troy took him by the back of the neck and kissed him slowly, with all of his usual intensity, but none of the frantic energy. Someone wolf whistled, and since the girl who liked to think she was Alanis hadn’t sung yet, Shane assumed it was for them.

When Troy pulled away, Shane was dazed and Troy’s eyes were blurry, the blue a thin rim around the dilated black of his pupils. They stared at each other, and Shane remembered telling River, “He’s not my boyfriend.” He should know better than to lie to himself. He’d done it enough when he was younger, when he tried to make himself feel about girls the way his friends did. He didn’t want to do it again.

“Let’s get out of here,” Shane murmured, and a truly awful rendition of a ’90s pop classic sang them on their way.

 

 

TROY WATCHED Xavier Matthews try an ill-advised drop pass and cause yet another Raven turnover, which led a Renegades player to fly down the ice unopposed and score a goal. Troy resisted the urge to turn and bang his head on the glass next to him. Why couldn’t he put his own players in the penalty box for making stupid decisions?

Because they wouldn’t all fit.

“Goddammit. We practiced this shit.” Troy turned to Quinn. “We did, right? I wasn’t dreaming that we talked about our passing decisions and how they’re usually all wrong?”

“No, Coach,” said Quinn. “You weren’t dreaming.”

Matthews hopped over the boards and met Troy’s eyes, but only for a second. He winced and dropped his gaze. “Sorry, Coach.”

“What was that? Sorry? You mean how that was a sorry excuse for a drop pass? Yeah, it was.” He patted Xavier on the shoulder. “Shake it off, Matthews. We’ll get the next one.”

Xavier was clearly not happy with himself. His movements were tense and angry as he grabbed his water bottle and drank with a vengeance.

Shane slid over next to him on the bench. He pointed with his stick toward the ice. “You telegraph that pass every time, Matty. I saw you do it, and so did that Renegades player.”

“Do I really?”

“Yeah, and it’s only drop passes too. It’s like you want to trust your winger is there, but you don’t. Also, you had a clear lane to the goal. Why’d you pass it in the first place?” Shane bumped him with his shoulder. “Go for some glory, Captain. Geez.”

Xavier smiled a little, and his shoulders relocated from up around his ears. “Thanks, North.”

“No problem.” Shane stood up to take his shift and rubbed a hand over Xavier’s helmet.

“He’s right,” Troy said to Xavier when Shane hopped over the boards. “You shouldn’t have passed that. And you do telegraph it, but you telegraph your other passes too. Not just drop passes. You don’t do it as much, but North’s right. If you don’t trust your winger, then don’t pass until you see you have an open lane. And go for the shot if you can, Matthews.”

Xavier nodded. “Yeah, okay. Thanks. I’ll work on it.”

“I know you will.” Troy watched as Shane muscled his way with the puck toward the goal and sent a slapshot that hit the crossbar.

The team groaned at the familiar sound of the puck hitting the iron, and Troy clapped brusquely. “Good effort, North,” he said when Shane returned to the bench. He looked pissed about missing the shot. “Little more lift on that one next time and you’ve got it.”

Shane was breathing too hard to say anything, but he nodded and grabbed his water bottle.

“Coach?”

Quinn was trying to show him a diagram on his stupid dry-erase board. “What do you think of trying this play?”

Troy tried to think if Quinn had ever had any sort of suggestion for a play before, but he couldn’t, for the life of him, think of when that might have been. He took a look, and his brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of Quinn’s scribbles. The play wasn’t bad, exactly. It was just… convoluted. It also relied on a speedier offense. Was Quinn watching a different team than he was? Still, instead of outright rejecting it, he said, “Why do you think it’ll work?”

Quinn looked at the board, shrugged, and said, “Just a thought.”

That was not the answer, and goddammit, Troy wasn’t opposed to trying something different if there was actual thought behind it. He looked at the play again and said, “we’re running a 2-1-2 defense here, Quinn. Keep that in mind, because it limits the number of guys in the neutral zone if it doesn’t work.”

“Ah.” Quinn nodded. “You’re probably right.”

Troy was most certainly right, and maybe he should be appreciative that his assistant was trying to actually coach, but it annoyed him because it seemed that Quinn was trying with an entirely different team than the one they had. His plays were more suited to a fast-skating team like the Spitfires or the Storm, rather than a heavy-forechecking, defensive team like the Ravens. Or theoretically the Ravens, if they’d get their shit together.

The game ended with the Ravens barely eking out an overtime victory, and they desperately needed regulation wins if they wanted to get the number of points they’d need to secure a playoff berth. In the locker room, Troy yelled at the team about their passing, reminded them not to let off the pressure when they scored, and threatened a few drills. Then he told them what they’d done well and sent them to the showers.

Before he went to make his game notes—not that he was waiting for Shane to finish showering or anything—he went to find Quinn. He wanted to see if they could have a chat about that play Quinn wanted to run and talk about getting on the same page. It bothered Troy that when Quinn did speak up, it seemed like he wasn’t in the same universe as Troy. Honestly, Troy coached like he didn’t have an assistant because, for the most part, he didn’t. That little pep talk Shane gave Xavier after that flubbed pass should have come from Quinn.

Troy had casually mentioned to Gabe that Shane would be a good fit behind the bench, even if it’d ended with Gabe crowing about how he’d been right all along to sign Shane. It bothered Troy that Shane might not take a job offer because they were sleeping together, when that really had nothing to do with why Troy brought it up.

Are you sure about that?

Troy couldn’t lie and say he didn’t enjoy the thing with Shane, even if he was well aware how risky and ethically sketchy it was to sleep with a player. They got along, they could talk hockey until they passed out asleep, they were phenomenally compatible in bed, and Troy liked having Shane around even when they weren’t fucking. He tried to remember that it wasn’t permanent, that Shane would leave after the season, and the idea made him cranky as hell. Was he angling to get Shane a coaching job because of whatever was between them?

And if he were, was that so fucking wrong? He made the decision to become a coach after that shit with St. Savoy, and he threw himself headfirst into his career, which left little time for anything else. Maybe he’d given hockey enough. Maybe it was all right to take something for himself.

But what if Shane stayed in Asheville and didn’t coach? What would he do, and would he be happy? What if he stayed another season and played? Could Troy honestly keep this secret-relationship shit up for another season?

But it wasn’t the time to think about a future assistant coach. He had to deal with the one he still had. Only Quinn was nowhere to be found, which was both typical and irritating. But Shane was there, showered and dressed in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs, and that was a lot better sight than Brian Quinn.

“I gotta show you something in my office.”

Shane gave him his best “fuck me” smile and leaned against the lockers. “I bet you do, Coach.”

“It’s actually about hockey, North.” The way Troy stared appreciatively at Shane’s body probably made that seem like a lie, but it wasn’t. Not entirely.

“Wait, seriously?” Shane padded after him, hair spiky from his shower, dark eyes narrowed. He crossed his arms and scowled. “Should I be offended? I’m offended. I’m practically naked, here. We’re alone. And you want to talk about hockey without fucking?”

Troy admittedly was distracted by the sight of Shane, lean and muscular, tattoos in stark relief on his crossed arms as he stopped next to Troy’s desk. There was still some water running down his neck and chest, and Troy wanted to lick it off him. Instead he pushed the dry-erase board over at Shane. “What do you think of this play?”

“You have the weirdest kinks, Cally. That’s what I think.” Shane peered down at the board and then leaned over and brought that hot, damp, half-dressed body closer to Troy. Water dribbled on the desk and splashed on the dry-erase board. Some landed on Troy’s dress shirt. “You really want to know? This is one of those times I can’t tell.”

Troy snorted. “It’s an actual question. But hurry up and answer it, so we can get to the sex.”

“You are blurring so many lines right now, Coach.”

“Oh, like there were any left for us to blur. Seriously, North. Answer the goddamn question sometime before the next game.”

Shane straightened. “It’s fine, as long as it’s not our team running it.”

“And why is that?”

Shane looked at him as though Troy were exceptionally dull. “Well, for one, we’re not speedy enough for this kind of play. It relies on skaters who don’t make terrible passing decisions, and it leaves the neutral zone wide open. We already have problems with turnovers.”

Troy threw his hands up in the air in vindication. He loved being right. “Exactly. Quinn wanted to run this in the second period, by the way.”

Shane squinted at it. “We were only down one goal in the second. I guess if it’s a last-shot offense, but… why would we risk expanding their lead when we couldn’t buy a goal with a million bucks?”

Troy aggressively erased the markings with his fingers. “Right? Fucking idiot.”

“You just got blue marker all over your hand,” Shane pointed out.

Troy stood up and pushed the dry-erase board away. He had confirmation that he was right and that Shane would indeed make a much better coach. On to other things. “Oh, no. Now I’m all messy.” He took off his suit jacket, draped it on the back of his chair, and pushed the chair out of his way.

“You gonna make good on your sexy jigsaw-puzzle talk and fuck me over your desk?”

“Sexy jigsaw-puzzle talk? Really?” Troy patted the top of his desk. “Get over here.”

“I like how you think it’s gonna be that easy.” Shane grabbed him by the tie, pulled him in and, instead of kissing him, bit at his jaw. “Wait. Fuck. Do you have anything to use?”

“Desk drawer.” Troy rubbed a hand over Shane’s dick, which already tented out the front of his briefs. “Brought some things in a few days ago. Figured we wouldn’t be able to help ourselves.”

“Smart thinking, Coach.” Shane turned around and bent over the desk, then pressed his ass against Troy’s groin and ground back against him. “Just pull those down and go for it. Fuck, this is getting me hot.”

Troy’s breath caught at the sight of Shane bent over, his muscled back still slightly damp from his shower, legs apart as he leaned his weight on his elbows. He gave Shane’s ass a smack, reached down, pulled the drawer open, and found the prelubed condoms he shoved in there a few weeks ago.

Troy was burning up in his dress shirt but didn’t want to take the time to undo the cuffs and roll up the sleeves. He kept one hand on Shane’s back, rubbed up and down and occasionally smacked his firm ass until he had his pants undone and his dick in his hand. Troy sheathed himself in the condom, then reached down with two hands and yanked Shane’s underwear down around his upper thighs.

“Fuck, this is hot,” Shane mumbled into his arms.

Troy took a moment to appreciate just how goddamn hot it was as he positioned himself between Shane’s spread legs. He nudged his cock against Shane’s hole, rubbed his hands up and down Shane’s back, pressed in. Shane hissed and arched his spine as he tensed around Troy so hard that Troy nearly came right then and there.

“Ease up or this isn’t gonna be a very long ride,” Troy said gruffly. He slid one hand up to grip the back of Shane’s neck and squeeze. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Hell, yeah.” Shane looked over his shoulder at Troy. His eyes were blurry and wide, his face flushed. “God, you have no idea how good you look right now.”

The frank appreciation in his gaze made Troy smile briefly. “You too.” Shane did look incredible—tattooed and shower-damp, briefs pulled around his thighs, and leaning over Troy’s desk. It was better than any porn Troy had ever seen. He took his time and enjoyed the slide into Shane’s body because he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep up the slow pace for long. Especially not when Shane growled, tried to push back on his cock, and muttered things like “Fuck me, already,” and “Goddammit. Stop teasing me.”

Troy settled his hands on Shane’s hips and fucked him. The snap of his hips drove Shane against the desk and caused it to skitter forward on the smooth floor. Troy gave his laptop a cursory glance and decided not to care about it.

“Mmm. God, that feels good,” Shane groaned, his head thrown back. “Jack me off, you selfish bastard.”

Troy gave a gruff laugh, adjusted his stance, and reached down to get a hand on Shane’s cock. “Like you don’t get off on it.”

Shane threw a filthy grin at him over his shoulder, and the muscles of his back flexed as he took everything Troy gave him. Troy moved his hand over Shane’s cock in time with his increasingly rapid thrusts, and he could feel his shirt sticking to his back with sweat and his fingers slick on Shane’s skin.

“Do it harder,” Shane panted.

“My hand on your cock, or my cock in your ass?” Pleasure pooled in Troy’s stomach, and he gritted his teeth, knowing it wasn’t going to take much to make him come.

“Both, goddammit.” Shane pushed his hips back and ground against Troy’s cock.

Troy tightened his grip and fucked him harder. He was glad everyone was gone because they were both moaning loudly, and the sound of skin slapping against skin echoed in the quiet of the empty locker room.

“Fuck,” Shane groaned. Troy felt him come in his fist, but he didn’t stop the rough pumps of his hand until Shane twitched and his cock began to soften.

Troy grabbed Shane’s hips with both hands and drove into him a few more times, until he came so hard his toes curled in his shoes and his knees buckled. He let himself sprawl on Shane for a few seconds as he caught his breath. They were both a tangled sweaty mess, and in about two seconds they’d probably collapse on the floor. Troy pulled out, fell back on his desk chair, and gasped for breath while his muscles shook from pleasure and exertion.

Shane was still bent over the desk, his head resting on his folded arms, underwear still pulled down. His face was turned so Troy could see his profile, and it looked… peaceful. Relaxed. Happy. A lot like Troy felt, actually.

“I came all over your floor,” said Shane without opening his eyes.

Troy reached down to take care of the condom. “Luckily it’s easy to clean.”

Troy finally got to his feet, tucked himself back into his trousers, took off his tie, and undid a few buttons both at the collar and the cuffs. He rolled his shirtsleeves up, grateful for the cool air on his heated skin. His hair was sweat soaked and he felt like he did after coaching a winning game—satisfied and tired, knowing he’d given all he had to his team and it’d given them a victory. Or, in this case, an orgasm.

Troy smacked Shane on the ass. “Pull your pants up, North, before I take a picture and make it your contact photo.”

“Ha, ha.” Shane stood up and pulled his underwear back into place. Then he stretched, yawned, and said, “I’ll go get a towel.”

He cleaned up the floor, and they put the desk back to rights. Then Shane leaned in and kissed him. “You up for round two, old man? Maybe over that table with your stupid puzzle on it?”

“It’s a jigsaw puzzle, Shane. Not a jizzsaw puzzle.”

Shane laughed as loudly as he had moaned earlier. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

“Believe it,” said Troy.

It wasn’t until they were leaving that Troy noticed Quinn’s car was still in the parking lot.