Chapter Two

 

I caught a cab to the Garden and spent the trip daydreaming about Todd. Two hours after our meal last night a ticket had turned up via courier at my door. There was a note with it saying that if I had the ticket in my hand there was no reason for me not to go and discover the real team I should be supporting.

Okay, so Todd wasn’t gay, and no matter how many lusty thoughts I had about him, that wasn’t going to change. But we could be friends. He was new to the city and although he had teammates, it would surely be good to have acquaintances outside of his profession to give him a break from work, work, work.

After the ticket had arrived I’d gone through all the Armani shots, studying them late into the night. There were so many great ones to choose from and I didn’t envy the marketing guys who had the final decision.

Todd looked gorgeous in each one—whether he was grinning or sulking, they all had charm about them. Though if I had to pick, my favorites were definitely the ones on the Intrepid. The low-rise jeans he’d worn and his tantalizingly smooth, broad chest were nothing short of perfect. Not to mention the feathery hairs on the base of his belly. They really got to me. What would they be like to tickle over with my fingertips? Snuffle my nose in, explore lower and find out the shape, taste and texture of his cock? There were just some guys on the planet who filled out a pair of denims to perfection. Todd was one of those guys.

Eventually I’d had no choice but to go into my bathroom and jerk off. I felt like crap afterward. I hadn’t done that in years—got myself off over a straight guy. It just didn’t seem right somehow. Kind of seedy and underhanded. But I’d had no choice. My cock had been fit to burst by the time my artist’s imagination had wound itself up and the final swift climb to orgasm had been painfully intense.

But now, walking into the arena amid the swarm of fans, I felt good, hopeful. There was certainly an abundance of hot guys around and the atmosphere was buzzing.

The cold hit me like a slap in the face as I entered the rink. I turned up my collar. Impossibly loud music rang out, some kind of high-spirited tune that a good proportion of the crowd was clapping along to.

I was directed up a set of steps and found my seat. Unfortunately, I wasn’t next to a ripped fan but a small boy who appeared to be with several siblings and a harassed mother. He wore an out-sized Ranger shirt over his jacket and was munching on a ketchup-laden hot dog that was making more contact with his huge foam hand than with his mouth.

Suddenly the music that pounded the air switched to a beating rendition of Eminem’s 8 Mile and the Ranger players shot onto the ice, a fast blur of blue, white and red. The crowd went wild and I spotted Todd, number six, ahead of the pack. He was fast and nippy. It was what he was famous for, speed and being a danger to the opposition every time he had the puck.

He took his place on the goal side of the blue line and stared down a Coyote player as the puck dropped. Instantly the music was replaced with the sound of ice being sliced, the slap of sticks and yells of encouragement.

The boy next to me leapt up, a chunk of his hot dog landing in the hood of the man in front’s jacket. His mother pretended not to notice.

I latched my gaze on to Todd, happy to follow the action and him in the process. He hung out near the goal line, waiting for his teammates to feed him the puck. Finally, he got it. The crowd around me went crazy as he dashed forward, but he took a hard hit from one of the opposition. It slammed him into the boards and he lost the chance to shoot.

But he barely seemed to register the cross-check and my heart swelled with pride as I watched him race after the puck again. His grim determination was one of the sexiest things I’d ever seen.

In an instant play was happening at the other end of the rink, the Rangers defenders were having a hard time fighting off the shots. Suddenly the game changed yet again, and through an alley of players the puck hurtled back toward Todd. He caught it in the curve of his stick, belted forward and went for the goal.

The whistle blew. The ref signaled offside.

“Son of a bitch,” a guy behind me yelled. “No way was that offside. Are you blind, ref?”

Todd clearly didn’t think it was offside either and sped over to the ref. I could tell by his body language that he was angry. There was a lot of shouting going on, other players joining in. The ref simply shook his head and moved backward. Todd followed, tugging off his helmet as he went and pointing toward the goal.

The referee blew his whistle and Todd was given two minutes in the penalty box.

I sat back down with the rest of the crowd. Play resumed but my attention was stuck on Todd. Once off the ice he squirted water into his mouth and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. Said something no doubt very colorful to a coach, then rammed his helmet back on.

By the time his two minutes were up the Coyotes had scored. But that just seemed to make Todd even more resolute in his checks. I was excited for him, my fists clenched and my stomach tensed. When he finally got the puck and a clear line to the net he scored.

The crowd went wild with applause. The other players slapped Todd on the back and his smiling face filled the big screen. I punched the air in triumph, hardly believing that after several years of supporting the Penguins I was rooting for the Rangers. The boy next to me waved his foam hand so much that it flew into the air. I caught it and passed it back to him.

After fist-bumping his teammates, Todd skated up to the edge of the rink, just down from where I sat, held up his stick and grinned. The crowd nearest the perimeter jumped up and down, flags waved, horns blasted and scarves were held aloft. They loved him. The new boy in town was doing what he did best and this was what the fans needed—pucks in the net, points on the scoreboard and a new hero to worship.

 

*****

 

I was still floating on a high when I arrived home. The Rangers had won three-one—Todd getting his first hat trick with his new team. I’d been ridiculously proud of him and hoped I’d soon get the chance to tell him. Though when that would be I had no idea. The photography stage of the ad campaign was over and he’d have very little involvement, if any, in the next decisions.

After hanging up my jacket, I filled the coffeepot. It was raining again so I shut the blinds against the dark evening and flicked on the lamps in my living room. I glanced at the mirror and rubbed my palm over my chin. I really should have shaved today. It had been two mornings now and I was looking Neanderthal. I’d make the effort tomorrow.

There was a loose thread on the old hockey jersey I wore. I’d order a new Gatsby one next time I was online. Or would I? I stared at the familiar penguin clutching his stick. It seemed strange, disloyal even to consider buying a blue-and-red Rangers jersey, but I was. And would I choose number six? Or would that be too weird?

The rich aroma of coffee wafted toward me and I wandered into the kitchen. I was just reaching for a mug when my intercom buzzed.

I wasn’t expecting anyone. “Hello?”

“Matthew, it’s me. Can I come up?”

Oh my God. He’s here!

“Yeah, er, sure.” I buzzed him in and replaced the handset. What did he want? Who cared? Todd Carty was here, the Rangers’ new golden boy was right this minute traveling up the elevator to my apartment. I hoped the damn thing didn’t break down again. It had been acting up lately.

I glanced around, heart thumping and stomach somersaulting. The place was as tidy as it ever got. It would have to do, and there was coffee on. Damn, I should have shaved.

I paused in the hall. Why was I thinking like that? Should have shaved. Of all the ridiculous things to go through my mind. As if Todd cared whether I’d shaved or not. He’d probably only stay a couple of minutes, ask if I’d been to the game and what I’d thought of it. It wasn’t as if my place was out of his way, he only lived on the next block.

Two solid bangs echoed around the hallway.

I paused for a few seconds before opening the door, relishing the knowledge that two hundred pounds of elite athlete was knocking for me. It wasn’t something that happened every day. But I could get used to it.

I was greeted by his smiling, heart-stoppingly handsome face, words of congratulations piling up in my mouth. But his smile suddenly slipped, his gaze dropped down to my chest and the corners of his eyes crinkled.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” He stepped quickly over the threshold.

I backed away, suddenly realizing how unnerving it must be for an opponent he was hunting down.

“What the fuck is that?” He prodded the center of my chest, right in the eye of the penguin.

“It’s a hockey jersey,” I said as my shoulders hit the wall. His voice was deadly quiet.

“It’s a Pittsburgh jersey.”

“Yeah, so?”

The door slammed. He’d back-kicked it closed. He pointed accusingly at the eighty-seven on the sleeve. “Not only is it a Pittsburgh jersey, it’s fucking Gatsby’s number. I hope to hell you didn’t wear that to the game just now.”

“So what if I did? No one would have seen. I had my coat on. It’s a hockey game, I wanted to wear my hockey jersey.” Okay, so perhaps instead of worrying about not shaving, I should have stripped off this top while I’d been waiting for Todd to ride the elevator. I’d had no idea he’d be so incensed by it. But the rise of color on his cheeks and the menacing way he was looming toward me told me he was not happy.

“I can’t fucking believe it,” Todd said. “I told you that wannabe fouled me last season, more than once, and then he whined like a girl to the ref whenever I went near him.”

I rested my palm over the number eighty-seven. “Gatsby is hardly a wannabe, more of a been-there-done-that, and besides, I like wearing his number.”

“Why?” He was so close now I could hear his breaths and see his chest rising and falling beneath his leather jacket. “Why do you like wearing his number?”

“Because not only is he a class player he’s also fucking gorgeous.”

He widened his eyes. “You think Gatsby is gorgeous?”

Not as gorgeous as you.

“Yeah.”

“He’s a hairy-assed pansy.”

Fleetingly I wondered whether Todd knew from locker room gossip whether Gatsby really did have a hairy ass. It was something I’d thought about myself over the years. But I didn’t have time to ponder now, because suddenly Todd gripped the bottom of my jersey and yanked it upward.

“Hey!” I grunted.

“Take it off.”

“No.”

“Take it off. I can’t talk to you while you’re wearing it.” He was deadly serious.

“No,” I said again.

As soon as I did, I knew protesting had been a mistake. Todd now had that grim look on his face, the same one I’d seen on the big screen earlier when a call hadn’t gone his way. It was right before he scored his third goal. His lips twitched and his eyes let everyone know he was all about getting what he wanted.

“Then I’ll make you,” he said through gritted teeth.

I was aware of his hands on me. I was every bit as tall as him, but completely outmuscled. I didn’t have the time to train in the gym several hours a day like he did. But that didn’t stop me wriggling, shoving and fighting against the way he was dragging the jersey upward.

Cool air hit my stomach and I tensed my abs as I twisted. But it was no good. He was pressing into me now. Pinning me to the wall with his legs. My heart was racing, little prickles of excitement tickling over my skin, each spot he touched with his fingers and knuckles becoming sharp fizzes of awareness.

He was breathing harder now; so was I. I stared at his face, at his hair that had flopped over his eyes in our tussle. Suddenly I was blinded and had no choice but to lift my arms as the jersey was peeled off. It flew through the air and landed with a whump against the front door.

“That’s the last time you wear that,” he said breathlessly. “Next time you wear a hockey jersey it will be a Rangers one, and it’ll be number six.”

“You gonna make me?”

He smirked, his eyes full of triumph. “Yeah, I reckon I am.”

We were standing toe-to-toe, chest-to-chest, nose-to-nose. I couldn’t move away. I was backed up against the wall, trapped by the pure male grit of Todd Carty.

I swallowed and relished his body heat seeping onto my now bare chest. The open zipper of his jacket brushed my nipple. I had to suppress a whimper of pleasure.

What the fuck is going on?

He glanced down, his eyes narrowed and his mouth parted as he breathed deep.

I was aware of a jump in my pulse as he studied the dark whorls of hair on my chest. My nipples tingled all the more. His gaze was like a hot caress. He was so close to me, I could feel his breaths on my throat, smell his light, citrus aftershave.

“Todd,” I whispered.

His piercing blue gaze settled on mine again and he leaned even farther forward, placing his flattened palms on the wall on either side of my head. His pupils were wide and dilated, the depths bottomless and I realized, with a jolt, the last man who’d looked at me like that had been Tony, right before we’d made love.

I swallowed again and licked my lips, hyperaware of the brush of denim on denim as our thighs touched. God, I was getting hard, heat and blood rushing to my cock. I couldn’t help it.

“I want…” he said on an expired breath.

“What?” I whispered, not daring to hope Todd was having sexual thoughts about me, but unable to deny the tension sizzling through the air and the very real arousal growing in my groin.

“I want,” he said again, then paused, “some of that damn coffee I can smell. It’s been a long fucking day.”

I poured the coffee and took it into the living room, passed a big red mug to Todd and sat on the chair opposite the sofa. My erection had thankfully abated and I rested back and smoothed out the plain navy t-shirt I’d pulled on.

“Well played today,” I said.

“Thanks, it was tough but we got there.”

“Because of you.”

“Because of teamwork. I couldn’t get the shots without great passes.”

“But your first hat trick. That’s impressive.”

He shrugged and sipped on his coffee. “My first hat trick for the Rangers, yeah.”

I laughed. “So modest.”

“You call me modest, but I guess you took all the pictures hanging around this place?”

I grinned. “You like them?”

“Love them. The one of the mountain, where’s that?”

“The Himalayas. I did a trek a few years ago with a nature journalist. We were looking for rare insects he was doing a series about, but it turned out the biggest thing, Everest, was what really did it for me.”

“I can see why, I love the clouds on top, looks like a chimney.”

“It was amazing, looked different every day, and do you know they’ve found fossils right at the very peak? All that damn rock used to be under water, millions of years ago.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, fascinating place. I’d love to go back.”

“I’d like to go to the Far East. I went to Great Britain earlier in the year, on a tour. That was a blast but the weather sucked.”

“I had a trip to London in the spring, that’s when I took that shot.” I pointed to a young girl wearing a flowery bonnet and dancing around a maypole. “I was doing an ad for Burberry and trying to catch English traditions. They used that one to head the campaign.”

“It’s cute,” he said then held up his coffee. “You got any spirits? Whiskey in this would be good.”

“Yeah, somewhere. Hang on.”

I quickly found a near full bottle of JD and passed it to Todd. He sloshed a generous measure into his mug.

I did the same to mine.

“Ah, much better,” he said, taking another sip. “I’m always tense after a game. It must be the adrenaline.”

“I thought you’d have gone out celebrating with the rest of the team.”

“The Rangers don’t party the way the Vipers do. My old teammates were always up for a few drinks afterward. These guys go their own way and then spend the next day at training discussing every move instead of practicing.”

“And that annoys you?”

“No, I’ve played for lots of teams over the years. They all have their own personality over and above the individuals. Sort of like the sum total equals more than the parts.”

I nodded and enjoyed the warming sensation the whiskey had produced in my gullet.

“Plus, my dad wasn’t able to make the game tonight, so it gave me a chance to call him.”

“He must be very proud of you.”

“Yeah, especially now I’m playing for the Rangers. He’s supported them all of his life. It was one of his ambitions for me.”

“Was it an ambition of yours?”

“He’s always been supportive of every decision I’ve made so to make him happy, sure, but not to play for the Rangers particularly. I liked it in Florida, the weather suited me and the Vipers were top of their game. Every time we hit the ice it was a privilege to be their forward.”

“Plus that’s where a certain someone lives,” I said quietly.

He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. “Yep, that too.”

“So tell me, what happened. How come the Todd Carty didn’t get what he wanted?”

He gave a snort, drained his coffee and splashed neat whiskey into the mug. “Contrary to popular belief, I don’t always get what I want.”

I gave him a gentle smile, hoping he’d give me the details.

“Her name was Fiona. She was beautiful, damn clever, too, wild red hair and a cute Welsh accent. I was drawn to her the first moment I saw her and so was he—”

“He?”

“Yeah, Raven.”

“Raven, as in Raven Starr?”

“Yeah, best damn defenseman I’ve ever played with.”

I nodded, impressed. Raven Starr was indeed one of the best defensemen in the league. He’d had a string of injuries lately, though from what I’d heard he was due to return to the ice soon.

Todd rested back, stretched one arm out over the top of the sofa and crossed his feet up on a footstool. “Whenever she walked into a room his eyes lit up, whenever she spoke he listened, and when she touched him he used to get this gooey expression. One I’d never seen before. He’s a grumpy fuck and until you get to know him that’s unnerving. It didn’t seem to bother Fiona, though. No matter how much shit he gave her in the beginning she was patient with him. I think that was partly what did it. He admired her staying power, and of course her hot little ass and great tits.”

“So you both liked her?”

“Yeah, it wasn’t the first time that’s happened. But we’re good buddies, a woman would never come between us. Plus, we came up with a solution.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Can you keep a secret?”

“Of course.”

He grinned sinfully and his eyes sparkled. “We shared her.”

I could barely hide my surprise at the sudden confession. “Really?”

“Yeah, it was a blast. Not just for her, us too. But you can’t say anything to anyone. That sort of thing can’t hit press.”

“Goes without saying. Who would I tell anyway?”

“I dunno, just don’t.” His eyes darkened and he took a slug of whiskey.

“I won’t mention it to anyone. Friends don’t do that kind of thing.”

One side of his mouth tilted in a half-smile. “Yeah, we’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Sure, and stuff between friends stays within the four walls.”

He leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees. Swiped his tongue over his bottom lip. “Raven and I were buddies, still are, and seeing him, you know…” He paused and shook his head, tugged his bottom lip with his teeth. “Seeing him with a woman, fucking, it took the friendship to a different level. We knew stuff about each other after that, we’d seen stuff, experienced stuff.”

My mind whirred with this new information. Todd Carty was telling me about threesomes he and Raven Starr had enjoyed together. Was this real? I couldn’t help but wonder for the first time whether perhaps I should entertain the idea of screwing a woman, just so I could share her with Todd and see him in action. What a glorious sight that must be.

I poured us another neat whiskey and a new thought developed. It was a small seed, it had barely germinated, but it was a thought just the same. “What do you mean stuff?”

He sighed and sat back again. “I’m sure I don’t need to explain to you, Matthew.”

“Er, I’m not following.” His words were like a fog I needed him to clear. Was he saying that he enjoyed the threesome because he enjoyed Raven?

Surely not?

“Stuff. We were together naked and aroused. I saw his face when he came, heard the sounds he made and watched the way he treated a woman, gentle but firm, taking control. It wa….” He shook his head and frowned.

I struggled to keep a lurch in my belly under control. “A turn-on?”

His frown deepened. “Don’t get me wrong, I like pussy fine, it just made the whole thing real erotic seeing him like that.” He shrugged. “And it was great for a while until I became a spare part. Not that it was their fault, but he fell in love with her, he just wanted Fiona in his bed, no one else.” His heavy blond eyebrows pulled together. “There was no room for me.”

A silence stretched between us and thoughts tumbled through my mind. I was trying to read between the lines of what Todd had just told me, sift through the way he’d talked of the two people he’d left behind. It seemed it was Raven he was missing, not Fiona. He’d only mentioned her once and that was describing how Raven had reacted to her, not what he, Todd, felt about her. “So tell me more about Raven. What’s he like? Not the player, the guy?”

Todd smiled and nodded. “Sure, he’s a great defenseman and teammate but he’s also got a dry sense of humor and a steel-hard loyalty. Plus, he’s worked his ass off to get where he is. I remember this time…”

And so I sat back and listened as Todd talked of various adventures he and Raven had been on. Games they’d played, places they’d visited, parties they’d been hammered at. All the time his eyes held a sparkle, his hands moved, his gestures animated and enthusiastic. And all the time my heart beat with a tremor of hope that although Todd Carty clearly wasn’t in the one hundred percent gay category, perhaps he was fifty-fifty. And if that was the case, maybe I stood a chance with him. A slim chance admittedly, but that didn’t matter. I’d take any odds.