Chapter 3

Mo

Nico Montez is a pain in the ass.

The two-week training camp at the end of August is supposed to be difficult. It's supposed to catch you up on the missed months of training and get you prepped for the season. The fatigue and pain level should be so high, you are crawling from the field by the end of each day, wishing like hell you didn't have to come back and do it all over again the next morning.

And yet, no matter how much endurance the team does, one of the co-captains manages to look fresh as a daisy every time he steps off the field.

It pisses me right off.

"Montez!" Nico looks over at me from his position in goal. I've watched him play these last few days and was surprised to learn he actually has decent talent.

If only he didn't have such a big mouth on him.

"A word, please."

Nodding for a sub to take his place, Nico runs off the field, taking off his helmet as he approaches me.

"Why is it that all the other players out there, including your co-captain, look like they've been giving it their all these last four days while you look like you just took a vacation at the spa."

A growl seeps into my voice and Nico smirks at me, "I must have better stamina than the rest of them."

I glare at him, his dark hair slightly damp from his helmet but nowhere near the drenched state it should be.

"Or maybe you aren't putting in substantial effort."

My accusation only makes his smug smile grow wider.

"I'm sorry, have I not been performing up to your standard?" His gaze trails down my face to my chest, sending a jolt of irritation through me.

"It's not about how you're currently performing it's about how you could be." I can see my father's look of disapproval as I echo the words of my childhood.

"Nah."

I feel my nostrils flare as I force myself not to react, "I'm sorry?"

"Nothing to be sorry for, Maurice. I forgive you."

I take a deep breath and count to three.

"I don't think you understand me."

Nico grins, the dark scruff along his jaw making his teeth look like a set of veneers, "I understand you perfectly. You"re pissed that I don't look as tired as the other players and are about to tell me how much of a terrible role model I am for the new recruits."

I narrow my eyes as he continues, "But you see, unlike the diehard players here, I play lacrosse because I enjoy it. I perform to the best of my abilities, but I will not kill myself trying to be the best goalie to ever walk this Earth. That's for people like you and Wes who feel the need to be the best."

He shrugs, "So unless my performance is negatively affecting the team, don't bother with the pep talks."

I'm speechless when he turns and walks away, unable to remember the last time someone spoke to me like that. Even Steven wouldn't dare turn his back on me during an argument.

Glaring at the orange and black jersey swaggering back to his position, I refuse to acknowledge the tanned calves flexing with every step.

Nico's legs are built for running, goddamn it. He should be out chasing the ball, not just standing around a crease.

Let it go.

I suck in a breath, wishing it didn't still smell like Nico's cologne. The spicy scent lingers throughout the next play where Nico manages to save every shot that comes his way.

This is going to be the longest training camp of my life.

"He puts in fifty percent less effort than everyone else but still manages to catch every fucking ball." I spit out the words as I push the barbell above my chest.

Last year's lacrosse captain grins down at me, "Maybe he's just doing it to rile you up. Nico loves making waves."

Cody goes to take the bar as I hit my last rep, but I shake my head and push for five more.

"I don't get riled up." I finally let him re-stack the barbell and sigh, "Normally. But it's bullshit when people don't use their full potential."

Cody watches me silently as I sit up on the bench. Using my shirt to wipe the sweat off my face, I give him a look, "Spit it out, Ellsworth. Your thoughts aren't worth anything unspoken."

"Not everyone was raised like you and Stella." Tilting his head to the side, his spiked blonde ends follow suit, "You're both extremely driven and you love being the best. But not everyone is like that. Some people are happy just hitting their goals and not pushing beyond that."

"Why would anyone be happy with the bare minimum?" I force my brows out of the scowl they seem determined to be stuck in.

Cody laughs, "Everyone has a different minimum, Mo. Some are higher than others, it's impossible to compare."

We switch places and as Cody readies himself under the barbell, I glance around the university gym.

"That's ridiculous."

A familiar sight greets me, the lower floor of Taber's gym exactly how it was back when I was a student. The upper floor is dedicated to cardio machines and fitness courses while the bottom floor is split in two: one side for free-range activities with yoga mats and a climbing cage while the other side makes up the weight room.

Normally, varsity athletes use the high-performance gym, which is where I spent most of my time as a student, but given my friend is no longer a varsity athlete, we are back with the general public in the main one.

Even the desk attendant, the guy with the crazy curly hair and permanent smile looks exactly as I remember.

It's nostalgic in a claustrophobic way.

"Maybe, but that's what makes life interesting." Cody gives me the signal and I help him lift the barbell off the rack, "How's the training camp going otherwise?"

"Fine. Wes has star potential. One of the rookies needs a confidence boast and the others need less confidence. All in all, fine."

"Are you glad to be back?" Cody pants as he pushes the bar back up for his final rep. I smirk at his trembling arms, making no move to take the barbell.

He knows the drill by now.

"I am. Boardroom meetings were getting dull, so the change in pace is welcome."

I watch the bar hover dangerously above Cody's chest, the veins running down his arms bulging impressively. He's about two seconds from breaking, so I relent, reaching down to help him re-stack the bar.

"Asshole."

Watching Cody rub his arms, I smirk, "Just making sure you don't do the bare minimum."

Nico

"He hates me."

Wes doesn't bother looking up from his phone, "Probably."

"Dude. You're supposed to take my side."

He looks up with a grin, "I did. I agreed with you."

"Dick."

Wes blows me a kiss and goes back to texting. I sigh, throwing myself on the patchy dorm couch across from him.

"Quit texting Trip and sympathize with me. Better yet, let's hit the town tonight."

Wes sighs, putting his phone down, "I haven't talked to her all day. What are you moping about now?"

"Our assistant coach. Why does he have to be so attractive?" I groan, grabbing a nearby pillow and covering my face.

"Told you he was your type." He sounds smug but I can't even be mad about it.

"We need to change my type. Let's hit Lifestyle tonight."

Southern Alberta is pretty limited in the homosexual department, so we have to make an hour"s drive to the nearest city so I can keep my reputation going strong.

When in doubt, hit a gay club. That's my life motto.

"You know, that's not a bad idea." Wes snatches his phone, "It's about the same drive for Trip, so maybe she could meet us there."

"You know what? Why don't you go back to Trip's place after, so you guys can spend the weekend together. I'll cover tomorrow's practice."

Wes pauses his furious texting, "You sure? It's still the first week of training, I don't want to put that pressure on you."

Tossing the pillow back on the coach, I sit up with a smile, "Hell yeah, it'll be great. I'm still on probation from last weekend so I'll stay sober and drive home."

Wes grins, excitement sparkling in his eyes, "You're the best."

"I know."

I feel the beat before I hear it. Wes climbs out of the passenger side and lets out a whistle when he sees the line snaking along the outside of the nightclub.

"We might not get in before it closes."

I grin, "Have a little more faith. Once your girl arrives, I'll work my magic."

Wes groans, leaning against my car, "Try not to get us arrested this time."

"Low blow, man. That only happened once."

"Twice."

My jaw drops, "When was the second time?"

"When you failed to be my lookout for skinny dipping?"

Oh shit. He's right.

I laugh, remembering teenage Wes and his hookup being pulled from the community lake we'd broken into.

"It was 4AM. How was I supposed to know there was a guard making his rounds?"

Wes groans, "That's the whole point of having a lookout. To look out for guards."

"Hey, did I or did I not bail you out?"

Headlights flash our way as Trip pulls into an empty spot.

"You did, but not before the guard saw my junk."

I smirk, watching Wes visibly melt as his girlfriend climbs out of the car.

And that, my friends, is the definition of being pussy whipped.

"If that's all the guard saw, he didn't have much to remember you by."

Wes flips me off as he walks over and scoops Trip up off the ground. She laughs when he swings her around, her converse nearly giving me a concussion before we even get inside. The display of affection tugs my heartstrings, but it's more about my friend finding his person than me wishing I had my own.

Let's be honest: women don't align with my particular tastes and the thought of dating a man makes me want to poke my eyes out. I live for thrills and terrible decisions. First dates and weekend cuddles do not fall into either category.

"Enough being cute. It"s time to find me a man."

Trip turns to me with a smile, "Good to see you, Nico. What's the criteria for tonight?"

I give Wes a pointed look, "Did you hear the lack of judgement in her tone? That's what being supportive looks like."

He laughs, burying his face in Trip's golden-brown curls, "She doesn't have to put up with your moaning all day. Did I mention Nico's got a thing for our assistant coach?"

I shoot Wes a glare but he's too busy sniffing his girlfriend's hair to notice.

"Mo?" At my nod, Trip throws her head back and laughs, "Stella is going to die when she hears this."

I groan, "Don't tell Stella. The worst thing a man can do is admit their attracted to someone's older brother."

"You know I can't keep anything from my roommate."

Trip is still laughing when we approach the bouncer at the front of the ridiculously long line. Snips of lyrics drift out the open door.

"But I'll do my best to keep quiet. Can't say I'm surprised, though. Mo fits your type."

My body starts to sway to the beat pulsing through the sidewalk. One of the many things I love about Lifestyle is the Latin playlist they always have on hand.

"Why does everyone think I'm into douchebags? Just because I like tall men doesn't mean I like them mean."

Trip bites her lip, "I wouldn't say you like douchebags, Nico. You just tend to go for confident men with big egos."

"Which is a nice way of saying you like douchebags." Wes cheerfully interjects just as we reach the big, burly bouncer.

I smile at him, the neck tattoos and face piercings adding to the intimidation factor.

"Raphael, babe, it's been too long."

A pierced eyebrow lifts as the man who may or may not be part of a motorcycle gang rakes his gaze down my body. The red silk shirt I'm wearing tonight is one of my favourites and I made sure to leave the top three buttons undone to show off my tan, and dare I say it, hairless chest.

Raphael's eyes gleam as he brings them back up to mine, and I already know what he's going to say before he says it.

"Depends on your definition of long."

This is why I love hookups. You get the chase, the challenge, and the satisfaction all in one night. The after-effects aren't always pretty, but that's why I normally go for guys with the same morals as me.

That is to say, none.

I smile and lean in, "Pretty sure you still owe me that BJ from that last game of pool we played, remember?"

Pulling back, I catch the flinch he tries to hide.

"But I'm not really in the mood tonight, so why don't you let my friends and I skip the line and we"ll call it even."

Stepping aside, Raphael doesn"t look at me as he unhooks the rope and beckons us inside.

"Can we rewind to when you were telling us about your type?" Wes cracks the joke as we enter the nightclub, but I don"t crack a smile.

Being a gay man in a conservative small town has its minefield of downfalls but the moments that suck the most are when closeted gays would rather bend over backwards pretending the slip-up never happened than accept their sexuality.

"What is this place?" Trip looks around the room in wonder and I smile, forcing myself out of my sullen thoughts.

"Welcome to Lifestyle. Otherwise known as my religious temple of choice."