Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

CAULDER

My entire body is still as Lo heads for the door. What the fuck are we going to do if they try to stick in a third guy? Sure, the bed is big enough but fuck. No. Absolutely not! I won't allow that. I won't?—

As my stomach is ready to heave, I hear Lo say, "Bozik. Hey, man."

The relief that floods me feels like I was just doused with water. It's so intense that I shiver, but I don't move as I listen to the two of them.

"Hey," Jakub greets. "Have you met my husbands? This is Ethan and Creed."

I'm used to Jakub's accent by now, and think it's really fucking hot. But now that I'm sitting back here, hiding behind a wall where Lo can't see me, I can fully appreciate his, too. I'm not sure what it is, but I think it's French? Does he look French?

What am I saying? What do French people look like?

Whatever it is, it's really… I don't even have words. Sexy. His voice is low, kind of deep. Melodic. The way English sounds with his accent is just… sexy. Yep. That's the word.

"Caulder in here or did you kick him out?" Ethan asks.

That's my cue to get to my feet. I jump up, run a hand through my hair and then cringe. I hope it doesn't look like I have bedhead now! Oof.

More relief floods me when I actually see them. Once again, I'm thankful for their presence on this trip.

Creed gives me a smile, but I can see the concern and question in his eyes. Am I okay? I incline my head. Jakub was right; Lo seems cool.

As I approach—now that I'm not ready to jump out of my skin—I realize just how attractive Lo is. His hair is brown, short, and kind of messy. Like he doesn't give a shit and lets it do whatever. When he shifts to let me at the door, our eyes meet and his are simply breathtaking. I've never seen eyes so light. They're blue gray, but so light that they're almost white.

His lips are quirked, perfect. His jaw has a hint of stubble. Through the black-button down that's unbuttoned at the top, I catch a black cord around his neck that disappears behind the fabric.

I look away, meeting Creed's gaze instead. My heart races, but I try to hide it. While it's fine to admit others are attractive, it's more difficult for me when I'm stuck in close proximity to them.

"Ready?" Ethan asks.

I nod.

"You have plans, Lo?" Jakub questions.

Lo nods. "Getting together with the Pacific Division team."

"Ah. That's what we're doing," Ethan says. "Not Pacific, but Atlantic. The better of the oceans."

Lo snorts. "Right. Not that either of us are located on the ocean."

"I much rather take the ocean," Creed adds. "Lake effect is wild. I think the lakes are trying to kill us."

Ethan nods.

Their jokes make me smile.

"Meanwhile, I'm in the middle of the desert. Seattle is on the coast and they're not in the Pacific divisions, but Central. Someone was drunk when they were splitting us into divisions," Lo says.

Ethan grins.

"Catch you later," Jakub says.

Lo nods. As I walk by, his eyes meet mine again and I swear, I feel a charge pass between us. It must just be because I have to walk so close to him, not for any other reasons. As soon as I can manage, I look away. Swallowing.

Damn.

I ignore the way my body heats as I step into the hall.

"You have your key?" Lo asks.

There's a strange domestic feeling about the question, and I turn my head in his direction but can't bring myself to look in his eyes again. He's far too attractive to keep looking at. "Yeah," I answer, then stick my hand in my pocket to be sure. Feeling it there, I nod again. "Thanks."

Lo nods. "See you later."

I mimic his nod. "Yep. Later."

We're a few steps down the hall before I hear the door close. Glancing back, I assure myself that he's back inside. Jesus, I need to get a hold of myself.

"Everything okay?" Creed asks.

"Yes. It's fine. He's a nice guy. This is just weird."

"It is. Hopefully you two get along and it's not awkward the whole weekend."

I wave him off. "It'll be fine." Once I get over the fact that he's hot. It took me by surprise when I got close to him since I'd been so concentrated on not freaking the fuck out when he walked into the room to begin with.

It hadn't mattered who he was or what he looked like then. Only that I didn't know him, and I was going to be forced to share a bed with a stranger. A man.

Although now it might be worse. He's not just a stranger and a man, but a man I'm attracted to. Awesome.

"I'd offer you to stay with us, but a king bed is already a little snug for three guys. Not sure we could squish in a fourth," Ethan admits. "Unless you're super into cuddling and don't mind an errant dick pressed against you from time to time."

"Generous," I deadpan, glancing at him with a frown. "I'll… deal with it. It's fine."

Maybe if I say it enough times, it'll be fine. It will be fine.

There's still chaos in the lobby. The yelling at the reception hasn't stopped. I don't even feel bad. Maybe someone should have figured this out before hundreds of people flocked to check in. Not only do they have their fuck up to deal with (and being yelled at), but they also have cranky guests waiting a really long time to check in who are angry when they get to the front before even getting bad news .

Okay, I feel a little bad. I don't think these particular employees are the cause of the fuck up. But whatever. Not my concern.

Thankfully, there's a car waiting for us when we make it downstairs.

"I'm starving," Ethan says as we climb into the car.

I look at him incredulously. "You haven't stopped eating since I met you at the airport."

"He has three stomachs," Jakub teases.

"And the one under his abs is broken since his stomach stays flat," Creed mutters.

I laugh, shaking my head.

The restaurant is, shockingly, not as crowded as literally everywhere else we've been. Even with the half dozen hockey players already there, it's blessedly peaceful.

Between Jakub and Ethan, they know all six of the guys. I recognize Link J?rdik from Florida and Stark Meierklein from Boston. As I'm sitting at the table listening to them talk, not for the first time I marvel at how diverse hockey can be. At this table, I'm listening to Czech, Austrian, German, and… I think Imanov is Russian. The name sounds Russian. He's hardly said anything, so I'm just guessing right now since I don't have a clear accent to identify.

You don't see it a lot in high school. Even on state teams, there's mostly American kids around unless you're close to Canada or a place with an exchange program or something. I didn't have that. I grew up in the south. Enough said.

"I see you've been playing defense," Link says to me, his Austrian accent thicker than I remember.

I nod, shrugging. "I was recruited as a diverse player, bouncing between defense and offense, though even in college I stuck to offense a lot since that's where the need was. I think Buffalo kept me on offense once Creed arrived because they were hoping I would magick up with Ethan and Creed."

Link snorts. "Not likely."

Grinning, I shrug. "Yeah, exactly. We had an injury during a game last year and Coach put me on defense. I guess he was happy with what he saw."

"It's good," Links comments. "We will make a good team."

"We know who our goalies are yet?" Ethan asks.

"You could have read the email," Creed deadpans.

Ethan shrugs.

"Fournier from Montreal and Davies from Ottawa," Stark offers. "Good goalies. Not as good as Boston." His German accent has faded some since the last time I spoke to him.

"Not as good as Buffalo!" Ethan says.

"No Badcock this game," Link cheers. "We have a better chance when the goalie isn't as big as the goal."

I laugh. Yeah, Felton definitely fills the net.

"He's going to love that you miss him," Ethan says.

"Who're the other goalies?" I ask.

"Mmm," Stark starts. "Dayne and Gibbon for Pacific. Trustein on Metro. Drick is Central…. Those are names I remember."

"Ohh, Azure's here!" Ethan says. "Have you ever looked into that man's eyes when you try to score on him? It's like someone walking over your grave, holding your soul down and bringing a knife through your lungs all at the same time."

"Pleasant," I mutter.

"I do not look in goalie's eyes," Stark says. "They're all a special kind of crazy."

"I don't know. I think Asael's pretty cool," I comment, referring to one of our goalies.

"Asael is weird for not being weird," Stark says.

We laugh.

It isn't long before the rest of the Atlantic team joins us. I hear more names dropped concerning who's been spotted so far. Ethan keeps announcing people when he looks at his phone. Eventually, Creed leans into me and says, "He has a chat with the Gays Can Play guys. I think they're all checking in when they get here."

"Are they all here?" I ask.

Creed shakes his head and shrugs. "Dunno. However, so many of the best players in the league are LGBTQIA+. I think that says a lot."

"And Max was voted in," Ethan says. "Also says a lot. Especially after everything he's been through."

"Max Latham is great player, he should be here," Link insists.

"I agree," Ethan says.

The first order of drinks arrives and as soon as I take a sip, the burning liquid down my throat makes me shiver. I can feel my skin heat as it always does with the first few sips of anything alcoholic, be it a wine cooler or a shot of whiskey, but following that first heat, my body relaxes, and I enjoy myself.

I'm not big on social engagements. Being an introvert means I talk to people I get close with and, while I'll talk to people who talk to me, I don't voluntarily get involved in conversations. When the table fills and I'm surrounded, I enjoy the meal as I listen to everyone else.

It's a good time and I'm glad I went. I definitely wouldn't have liked it much if I didn't have my teammates here too. Hell, I'm more convinced now that I'm here that the moment reception told me I was sharing a room, I'd have turned around and gone home had my friends not been here to talk me down.

Okay, no I wouldn't have. Because I would have let the team down. But had Ethan not been invited, I'm positive I'd have declined. This is far too many unfamiliar people. Far too many people that I constantly have to pretend around.

As it inevitably does, the conversation eventually turns to personal lives and they're all talking about wives and girlfriends and shit. I sit resolutely quiet, balancing between nodding along to their conversation and trying to be invisible so they don't ask me.

Lying has gotten easier. I hook up when I'm interested. Otherwise, I'd rather just play hockey right now. When really pressed, I have flings in the summer to pass the time. Some pretty girl I pick up on the beach or something.

Thankfully, I'm believable enough and the conversation moves on, and I'm feeling good by the time we get back to the hotel room. My belly is full, my chest is warm, and I'm less stressed than I had been.

Until I step into my room and promptly walk into the wall with absolutely zero reason to, I realize that maybe I've had one too many drinks. I'm not drunk, but I am tipsy. Since I don't drink often, it's obvious when I am.

Shutting the door and then tugging on the handle far too many times than necessary to make sure it's good and latched and won't just swing open, I turn for the room and stop. It's dark. My heart races when I think maybe I'm not alone.

I tiptoe further in, which is a fail since that's more coordination than I have right now, and practically fall over our bags. If Lo's asleep, he's awake now. But when I look up, the bed is empty. Only rumpled at the very sides where we'd been sitting earlier.

Taking a breath, I grab my carry on and head into the bathroom. Since I didn't take a shower once we got here to get the airport off me, I turn on the water and then stand underneath with my eyes closed for far too long.

By the time I step out and wrap a towel around my waist, I feel less tipsy. Less sluggish. Now I'm just looser. More relaxed and optimistic. This will be fine. I'm not sure why I was worried at all.

I brush my teeth and then step into clean underwear. That's where I pause because that's all I brought to sleep in. The shorts I brought aren't the kind that would be comfortable in bed. Wrong material. Far too thick, with no give.

My options are few. I could try Lo's idea and demand that the hotel staff go get me some bed clothes. This is their fault that I'm faced with sleeping in my underwear with a strange man in my bed. A very hot strange man.

Peeking out the bathroom door, I look around the room. It's just as I left it. No more lights on. No movement. No sound. I'm still alone.

If I quickly climb into bed, then it's not a big deal. He won't know. I can sneak out in the morning and get dressed before he even wakes up. Decision made, I close my bag and shove it into the closet before hurrying into bed and under the covers.

A sigh escapes and I close my eyes. With any luck, I'll be passed out before he gets here. Then I won't have to face him at all.

Luck is not my friend this trip. No sooner do I hunker down under the blankets than I hear the beep of the door and the lock click. My eyes snap open and my breath freezes in my lungs. The door opens, then closes. I hear the locks click into place and then his shadow walks further in. He pauses, so he's nothing more than a black mass with the light of the bathroom behind me.

I should have turned off that light.

"You awake?" he asks, voice quiet.

I nod. Realizing he probably can't see it, I answer, "Yeah."

"Cool. I locked up."

"O-okay."

Maybe I imagined it, but I think he might have smiled. He turns away and disappears into the light. I hope he hurries and comes back.

Oh no. No, no, no. Maybe the drinks were a bad idea. I say things when I feel loosey goosey like this. Bad. Idea!