Page 72 of Home Ice

What I’m feeling for Hawke right now isn’t friendship.

Then the sound of the front door scuffing open breaks the moment, and we jolt apart like we’ve been caught in the middle of something. My pulse is humming, every cell prickling to get back to him, and disappointment at being interrupted settles over me.

“Think I’m done,” Dad says, moving to the hall table to drop his hat and gloves onto it. “Mind if I jump in the shower?”

“Ah, no.” I’m still trying to retrieve my brain from the fog around it. “Just going to make this call and get started. This feels like a chicken pot pie and gravy fries night.”

Hawke’s surprise is obvious on his face.

For the first time all day, I don’t feel like I’m being crushed under my worries. “Yeah, I remember that’s your favorite. And I’d guess that it doesn’t fall under a hockey player’s standard diet.”

“You’d be right about that.”

“I can’t remember the last time we had gravy fries,” Dad says, rubbing his good hand against his stiff one. “I’ll shower quick, then be out to help.”

He disappears down the hall, and my phone grows heavy in my hand.

“Okay. I’m calling.”

“Want me to stay or go?” Hawke asks.

If he leaves, I don’t trust myself not to chicken out. “Stay. Please. If you’re glaring at me to go through with it, I won’t be able to back out.”

“Ah, scared of me, are you?”

“No. But it reminds me of how bossy you were the other night, and something about that makes me want to do everything I’m told.”

Hawke’s jaw drops, and before he can answer, I make the call, loving the way I’ve caught him off guard and how his darkened gaze watches me through the entire conversation.

Chapter Twenty-Three

JENSEN

Dinner is the fucking greatest. I have a personal chef back home who keeps me stocked and fed during the season based on the meal plan my nutritionist has created for me. When it comes to hockey, I’m tipping toward the older end of the player spectrum, and while I still have plenty of years in me if I stay healthy, I’ve passed that thirty mark now. I have to be more careful than ever with looking after myself.

Right now though? Fuck hockey. The pie and fries have hit the spot that’s a mix of nostalgia and plain old food porn. I drove Kasen home today and got a few words out of him, and then the gardening with Ben was actually fun. Barrett has finally got the appointments lined up that he needs, and ever since his phone conversation, I’ve been sitting here, half-hard at the memory of him telling me he’ll do whatever I ask.

Life is fucking good.

And when Barrett’s gaze dips from my face, down my throat, and over my chest again, I wonder if he’s having the same thoughts I have been. Helping him coach has been a good time-filler, but it’s meant a lot of side by side with him wearing skates, in athletic gear that really emphasizes his ass. I’ve been looking. A lot. Unlike the photo I took of him that I haven’t opened once.

I shift in my chair as my dick gets harder. Barrett is and always has been a sexy guy. I felt like all my fantasies were coming true at once when I had him on his knees, but I don’t know whether it’s something he’s open to doing again.

I’ve had plenty of people do the casual hookup thing, and it’s not like I’m in town for any longer than the summer.

What’s holding me back is all those years of no contact. It feels like he’s finally in my life again, and I’m scared to do anything that will fuck with that. If he’s not interested in hooking up, will he get weird around me for suggesting it?

Will my dick give me a choice?

I’d really like to think I’m stronger than sexual attraction, but I doubt it. My dick is uncomfortably tucked into my shorts, and I have to shift again to try and find a better position.

It doesn’t work.

Barrett lets out a choked laugh that drags my attention back over the table. There’s something lurking in his deep gaze that’s calling to me and doing nothing to fix the situation I have going on. It’s like he can sense how turned on I am, and he’s doing everything he can to make it worse. Maybe I’m so turned on that it’s all in my head, but when his gaze slowly, deliberately sinks to my chest again, it’s a struggle not to call him on it.

And if he’s checking me out … does that mean he wants to hook up again too? Or is he teasing me?

“Want seconds?” Ben asks, snapping my attention back to him.