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The generic response cuts. Do hockey players have meetings? I try to picture a group of burly men sitting around a boardroom table discussing…what? They don’t really do that. My mind quickly goes to the vision of them warming up on the ice. They have the most unflattering uniforms of any sport, but the way they warm up…oh my gosh. My pulse pounds just imagining that rhythmic pounding into the ice. My cock is enjoying these thoughts, too. I press my palm to my growing erection. A shower may be in order.
TJ sent me the most gorgeous cashmere sweater ever, so whatever this meeting is, I can still enjoy the gift. And I can still enjoy thoughts of him. Memories of my hand wrapped around his cock. My hand making him come. My hand covered with his come. I wanted to wrap my lips around him so badly. Wanted to kiss him…wanted to make him feel everything.
Nandy stopping me didn’t surprise me. I was surprised by how it made me feel. How much I didn’t want to leave the room. How unsatisfying having Derek get me off was. I couldn’t see TJ when I closed my eyes, because I knew where TJ was, who he was with. And I saw them leave the club together. Nandy took him home.
Nandy doesn’t take anyone home. Not even me.
It’s a few more hours before my phone buzzes again and this time, not with a text.
“Hi, sorry about that,” TJ’s deep voice rumbles through the phone.
“It’s okay.”
“We get in serious trouble for messing with our phones during team meetings unless it is a family emergency or something.”
“What do hockey players do in meetings?”
TJ laughs. “Lots of things, actually. This time of year, we are discussing the playoffs, watching game films of our next opponent. That can be us playing them earlier in the year, but also recent games of them playing anyone. Especially if we played them months ago. Lines change, come together. A team we played in October can look entirely different in April.”
He stops to take a breath. “Sorry, you don’t care about any of this, I’m sure.”
“I do,” and I mean it, because it matters to him. I’m finding that anything that matters to him matters to me. “It’s just all very new to me.”
“You should come to a game. When Nandy feels up to it, you guys need to come. It’s playoff time and playoff hockey is amazing.”
“I’d love that.” I hate that the mention of Nandy sends a wave of jealousy and disappointment through my veins. I know he wants Nandy. I’m just…. the sidekick. The sidekick he buys $1000 cashmere sweaters. Sweaters that make him think of my eyes.
“How is he? I haven’t been able to get in touch with him and when I do, I don’t know. Is he okay? I don’t want to push.”
The truth. I wonder how much to reveal. Nandy has been a bit off. Closed off. He is so good at that. So good at not making it seem like that is what he is doing, until, well, until he has slammed the fucking door closed in your face.
“He says rehab is going well, slow, but good,” I say, hoping TJ can’t hear the hesitation in my voice.
“But?”
“Nothing,” I lie. “He’s never been through anything like this before, so I’m not sure what to expect. And neither is he.”
TJ sighs and I can imagine that hand raking through his hair.
“I’ll keep you posted, TJ, I promise.”
“Please do. I can’t be of much use right now…the playoffs are looming…”
“I know, it’s okay.”
“Maybe you could at least get him to answer my calls, so you don’t have to be in the middle.”
Oh, I’m happy to be in the middle, I think.
Chapter thirty-seven
You can hear a pin drop in the locker room.
Logan isn’t even yelling. We are all too shell-shocked to say anything. And where exactly do you begin the yelling after a 7-0 rout by a team we shutout twice during the regular season?
But this isn’t the regular season.
“You know, I usually like to find some positives to pull out of games,” Logan begins. His voice cold. “I like to tell you all the things that went right before diving into the things we need to improve on.
