10. Tyler

CHAPTER 10

TYLER

I yank open my locker, the metal door clanging against the others. The dank smell of old hockey pads assaults my nose.

My head's not in this today. All those late-night workouts, the extra time on the ice—I'm putting in the hours to get my game back. But if I'm being honest with myself, it's also been a damn good distraction from a certain someone.

No, scratch that. Two someones.

Sydney's dark eyes, beckoning me closer on the dance floor. DJ's penetrating gaze, undressing me with his eyes as I pressed against the soft curves of Sydney's body …

The images are all burned into my mind and I can't shake them loose. I've been ducking the two of them for days now, unsure what the hell I even want.

"Yo, Ty!" Slade's booming voice pulls me out of my daze. "You bringing your A-game today or what, bud?" He chucks a roll of stick tape at me.

I catch it against my chest. "Aye aye, Cap'n." A weak attempt at a joke.

"Better get your ass in gear," pipes up Ethan, the rookie. "Or Slade might make you bag skate again!" The guys chuckle.

"In your dreams, rookie." I force a grin and busy myself taping my stick. Their good-natured ribbing washes over me but I'm still lost in my own world.

The locker room fades away and I'm back under the lights of the dance floor, my body moving against Sydney as DJ stares at me, eyes never leaving mine.

Heat coils in my gut, and I shake my head to clear it.

This is a locker room, for God's sake, not some porn site fantasy. I need focus—we've been winning more games lately, but our playing has still been erratic, like my thoughts bouncing from one memory to another. I tighten the grip on my stick, willing myself to keep my head in the net.

The team is counting on me.

I head to the ice for practice, my body thrumming with energy. All the extra hours I've been putting in, working on my technique and mental game—today, it all seems to click into place. As I take my position in the net, a sense of calm washes over me, a quiet confidence I haven't felt in weeks.

The pucks come flying at me, but I move with fluid grace, my glove hand snagging even the trickiest shots. Sweat drips down my brow but I'm laser-focused, anticipating each shot before it happens.

"Way to go, Ty!" Ethan hollers from defense. "You're on fire, man!"

My teammates whoop and holler their assent, their sticks tapping against the ice in a rousing chorus of support. The sound sends chills down my spine. This is what I live for, these moments when it all comes together.

I glance over at Coach Daniels. He gives me a rare nod of approval, his usual stony expression softening with pride. Validation courses through me.

All the long hours, the sore muscles, the self-doubt—it's all worth it for this feeling.

"Keep it up, Simmonds," Coach barks. "Don't let it go to your head. We've got a long way to go."

"You got it, Coach." I flash him a grin, invigorated by his praise but humbled by his reminder. He's right: I've got to keep my head in the game.

As drills continue, I'm in the zone, unstoppable. Puck after puck meets my glove, my pads, deflecting away. I could do this forever, just lose myself in the rhythm and the thrill.

It's damn good to turn my brain off, after how much I've been torturing myself with memories of the event last weekend.

Too bad practice has to end.

Afterwards, I'm on a bench packing up my bag, taking my time getting ready for the showers, wanting some space to myself once everyone else clears out. Most of the team has either left or is still showering off, and I'm taking in the quiet, letting that confidence from today sink in, willing it to stick around.

Then the locker room door swings open from the showers and DJ saunters in, his hair damp and tousled, a cocky grin on his face.

My breath catches in my throat as he makes his way over to me, eyes locked on mine, just like they were on the dance floor at the gala.

"Damn, Ty, I know basically the whole team has already said it, but you really were on fire out there today," he says, his voice low and smooth. "Watching you in the net...it was something else."

My cheeks flush at the compliment, my body thrumming with nervous energy. "Thanks man, I was really in the zone. Felt good."

DJ steps closer, crowding into my space. The scent of his body wash envelops me. "I bet it did. You were incredible. Superhuman, even."

A laugh bubbles out of me as I look up at him. "Nah, c'mon, I'm not that good."

He arches an eyebrow. "Don't sell yourself short. That glove save during our scrimmage? Unreal. Had me all worked up."

There's a glint in his eye that makes my pulse race.

"Well, I aim to please," I joke, trying to play it cool.

DJ chuckles, his gaze dragging over my body in a way that is almost physical. "Mmm, I bet you do..."

Fuck . I shift on the bench, arousal coiling in my gut.

I'm still not sure I'm ready to acknowledge what I'm feeling—no matter how many times I've replayed images from the dance floor the other night, relived having DJ's eyes searing into mine.

And god, the way he's looking at me now...

He notices my squirming and smirks, flopping down next to me, his towel falling slightly open. "You doing okay there, Ty? You seem a little...tense."

I avert my gaze from the lean muscles of his legs. "No, no, I'm good," I stammer. "Just uh, tired from practice, y'know?"

"Right. Practice." His hand lands on my thigh and I nearly jolt out of my skin. "Gotta make sure you take care of this body. It's your greatest asset, after all."

His fingers start tracing teasing circles against my pants.

I swallow hard, trying to remember how to breathe.

"You could help me with that," I blurt out before I can stop myself. "Taking care of my body, I mean." What am I talking about? Where did that come from?

DJ's grin turns positively wolfish. "Oh I'd be more than happy to...take care of you, Ty. Anything you need."

His double meaning rings out clear as a bell. I know I should put a stop to this, laugh it off, but... I don't want to. DJ's thumb keeps stroking, higher now, and it's sending sparks of want zinging through me.

I lean into his touch, craving more.

"Yeah?" I ask, my voice rough to my own ears. "I might have to take you up on that..."

DJ hums, looking extremely pleased with himself. "Standing offer. Trust me, I've got mad skills...on and off the ice."

I'm sure he does . The thought alone has me half hard already.

This flirty back-and-forth promises so much more, and I'm quickly getting addicted to the rush. I've never wanted anyone so badly in my life. And from the hungry look in his dark eyes, it's mutual.

Fuck it.

Before I can even process what I'm doing, I stand up from the locker room bench and lean in to kiss DJ, finding his lips soft and insistent against my own.

My mind goes blissfully blank, my body taking over as I kiss him with a hunger that surprises us both.

DJ responds instantly, his hands gripping my waist, pulling me closer until there's no space left between us. Heat radiates from his body, the firm muscles under his skin pressing against mine. His kiss deepens and I let out a low moan, my hands moving to tangle in his damp hair.

We stumble back and I press him against the lockers, our bodies aligning perfectly.

Breaking the kiss for air, DJ rests his forehead against mine, his breath coming out in ragged pants.

"Tyler," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. And then his lips are back on mine.

The kiss deepens, and I can taste the mint on his breath as our tongues slide together. It's intoxicating, dizzying. We lose ourselves in the sensation, hands roaming and tongues tangling.

Until the sound of approaching footsteps jolts us back to reality and we spring apart.

Several of our teammates burst in from the showers, joking and laughing loudly, and in the chaos I grab a towel and practically sprint out of the room, leaving a stunned DJ in my wake. I don't stop running until I'm safely locked in a shower stall.

I turn on the water and lean my forehead against the cool tile, trying to calm my racing thoughts.

Holy shit. Did that really just happen? Did I seriously just make out with DJ?

The hot water cascades over my body as I replay that electrifying kiss with DJ in my mind. Fuck, his lips felt so good on mine . My hand unconsciously drifts lower, wrapping around my aching cock as I imagine DJ's strong, capable fingers in place of my own.

I bite back a moan, hips rocking into my fist.

I squeeze my eyes shut against the pleasure, imagining that I'm back in the locker room, where DJ slams me up against the lockers, hands sliding beneath the waistband of my pants to grip my ass. He sinks to his knees, tugging my pants down and taking my throbbing length deep into his skillful mouth.

The fantasy of DJ's lips wrapped around me is almost too much to bear. I pump faster, the slick sound of my hand slapping against my skin echoing in the steam-filled shower.

My breath catches as pleasure builds, and I imagine DJ redoubling his efforts, my cock hitting the back of his throat, him moaning around my rock-hard length. I picture Sydney suddenly walking in on us, eyes dark with unmistakable desire as she watches DJ work me over.

The erotic image pushes me over the edge. My body shudders as I spill over my fist with a muffled cry of pleasure. As the intense high fades, confusion clouds my post-orgasmic bliss.

Where the hell does Sydney come into all of this?