CHAPTER EIGHT

Dom raised an eyebrow at Shea as an usher guided them through the arena halls to the swanky lounge their tickets gave them access to. Shea gave Dom a brief smile, then glanced away, responding to something Myles said.

In the lounge, Myles and Ethan quietly exclaimed over the food and drinks that were available free of charge, while Dom wondered who the hell had gifted Shea these tickets.

Clearly, the person had splurged on them. As they followed an usher all the way to their seats in the front row, Dom grew increasingly flabbergasted.

"Jesus, Shea," he muttered. " Courtside ? How good of a friend is this?"

Dom had sat courtside before. He knew exactly what four tickets there cost.

Shea shrugged. "I know him through work."

Dom's stomach sank. Wait, was this a client ?

As they took their seats, Dom ended up on one end, with Shea next to him, then Ethan and Myles.

The seats themselves were close together and it was impossible to keep their arms and thighs from pressing together. Dom kept trying to pull away, not wanting any photographs to show them looking like they were too comfortable with each other's bodies, but when he glanced over at Ethan and Myles, they were almost as close and Dom finally gave up.

Was he overthinking this? Maybe. Probably.

But he knew that they'd be photographed and that this would make the rounds on social media.

He hated the way they twisted things, feeling like they had the right to make up anything he didn't willingly tell them.

Dom glanced around, surveying the arena. It was always strange being here as a spectator. Weirder even than sitting in the box when he was out as a healthy scratch or injured. And it never failed to blow his mind at how quickly they were able to transition the space from hockey to basketball.

Last night, a crew had removed the glass and boards, laid a subsurface down over the ice, then covered that with the wood panels of the basketball court. The court was smaller than the ice surface, so they'd brought in risers and the courtside seats and Dom marveled that he sat overtop of the ice right now.

Overnight, the crew would switch it back, and he'd play a game here in twenty-four hours.

"It's crazy the way they convert these spaces," Shea said a moment later, glancing around.

Dom laughed softly. "I was thinking the same thing."

Some of the guys playing tonight came out onto the court for warmups and Dom idly watched as they dribbled the ball, then did a few free throw shots.

One of them, a tall, good-looking guy with medium brown skin and hair cut in a fade with short curls on top, approached.

Travis Rogers, number 77.

"Hey there, Barnett! Happy Birthday, man!" His shot them a bright grin, stopping in front of their seats.

"Hey!" Shea rose to his feet, his smile equally wide. "Good to see you."

He palmed the ball he'd been carrying and gave Shea a one-armed hug, big hand lingering on Shea's arm. "Glad you could make it tonight."

"Yeah, thanks for the tickets. These are amazing."

"Hey, that's the least I can do for you."

Dom blinked, surprised by the interaction and how chummy they seemed. Is that a flirtatious note in Rogers' voice? Dom wondered, studying their body language.

Rogers hadn't looked away from Shea once, his expression animated as they spoke about the game, reaching out to touch Shea's arm every so often. They were definitely comfortable together.

Dom's mind whirled, imagining Travis' body pressed against Shea's. Picturing those broad palms and long fingers wandering across Shea's skin and Shea sinking to his knees to take Travis in his mouth …

Dom's stomach twisted. That wasn't … Shea and Travis weren't … were they?

"Hey, you should meet my friends," Shea said brightly, half-turning toward Dom.

He rose to his feet and held out a hand, pasting on a smile. "Dominic Olson."

Travis flashed another wide grin. "Yeah, I know who you are, man. My dad's a big fan."

Dom tried not to wince. Ouch. Was that a dig at his age?

"Tell him I said thanks," he managed. "And great to meet you. You've had an amazing season so far."

"Thanks. Great to meet you too. Any friend of Shea's is a friend of mine."

He turned away, greeting Myles and Ethan, then giving Shea another hug before he excused himself.

"You're buddies with Travis Rogers ?" Dom said under his breath as they took their seats again. Travis was a young superstar in the NBA and had been tearing up the league this season.

"Yeah," Shea laughed. "I told you. We met through my work. He's the one who gave me these tickets."

Dom took a seat again, his stomach knotted. What the fuck? Was Travis paying Shea for style advice or sex? Dom couldn't see Shea being that indiscreet and outing someone so boldly but he couldn't help but wonder.

"I swear to God," Myles said, leaning forward to speak to Dom. "This asshole has all the luck. I get assigned to some random middle-aged golfer and this guy gets the celebrity client."

Oh, oh . Shea had met Rogers through his work as a physiotherapist, not an escort. That made so much more sense. That was quite the coup for someone as new as Shea to work with clients of that caliber though, and Dom felt a flash of pride for Shea at how accomplished he was.

Though it begged the question. If Shea had clients like that, why in the hell was he still working as an escort?

"Dude, I had just gotten hired and I was shadowing Vinny!" Shea protested, glancing over at Dom with a shake of his head. "He's the owner of the clinic. He got the celebrity client; I was along for the ride."

Myles scoffed. "Except you spotted the issue Rogers was having and made this miraculous suggestion that solved all of his issues! He still swears you were the one who got him back on the court faster than anyone anticipated."

Shea grinned, polishing his fingers on his sweater. "Well, what can I say? I am a genius at my job."

"I was so fucking jealous too." Myles laughed.

"Sounds to me like you still are," Dom threw over to him.

Myles laughed. "You're not wrong. None of our patients get me tickets like this."

Dom laughed, glad he finally understood the situation.

If Rogers felt indebted to Shea for saving his career, of course he'd give away tickets like that.

It was probably a drop in the bucket to Rogers since NBA stars made four to five times what NHL players did, even the top tier hockey players. And that didn't even include endorsement deals, which were astronomically larger.

Travis Rogers made Dom look like a pauper.

So maybe this wasn't quite the huge, splashy gift Dom had initially imagined.

Dom stared blankly at the guys warming up, wondering why he'd leapt to the assumption that Rogers was someone who Shea'd had sex with. Even if they had known each other through Select, he still could've hired Shea for image consultation.

Why had Dom's brain gone to Rogers being an escort client immediately ? Why did the thought bother him? He knew damn well Shea slept with other men. It had never bothered him before.

Dom rose to his feet—the conversation Shea and his friends were having abruptly breaking off.

"Hey. You okay?" Shea asked.

"Yeah." Dom smiled tightly at him. "Just … I'm gonna grab a drink from the lounge."

Shea's mouth tightened, and Dom wondered if he was biting back a lecture on his drinking.

"I'm not on the Toradol right now and it's been a few days since my last shot," he assured Shea.

"Good," Shea said, a little of the tension easing. "How about OTC painkillers?"

"I haven't taken any today."

Shea held his gaze. "Okay."

Truthfully, Dom's back was fucking killing him but he was being good. Tomorrow, he'd probably have to get another shot but he'd wanted to be able to enjoy celebrating Shea's birthday. To fully participate.

"Anyone want anything?" Dom asked the group, finally looking away from Shea's sharp gaze.

"I could use a water," Myles said. "If you don't mind."

"Sure. No problem," Dom said. "I'll be back in a few."

As he walked away, he wondered what the hell he was doing. Medication aside, he shouldn't be drinking this much tonight. He couldn't afford to be tired and sluggish for the game tomorrow.

But as he glanced back and saw Travis make a particularly showy basket, then wink at Shea, he had a feeling this probably wouldn't be his last drink of the night.

As they left the arena and walked to the curb to wait for the driver, Shea frowned at Dom's back. He was deep in conversation with Myles, paying Shea no attention at all, but he'd seemed … odd all night.

Had it been since they arrived at the arena? Maybe? Shea couldn't be sure. He'd certainly seemed closed-off when they were talking with Travis.

Shea blinked. Dom hadn't … he hadn't thought that Travis was one of his escort clients, had he? That was ridiculous. Dom didn't get jealous. He'd never once seemed to have an issue with the idea that he wasn't the only person Shea saw regularly.

Was it only because he'd never been forced to see that person? To acknowledge it?

If he had been jealous, was it the idea of Shea and Travis having sex that bothered him? Or some ridiculous, primal male territorial thing? That seemed unlikely but man … that would explain a lot.

It wasn't racism, Shea felt confident of that.

He'd once heard Dom go on a rant about some asshole fan who'd made a horrible comment to his teammate, Jordan Stokes. Dom had spoken highly of Stokes many times and they regularly hung out away from the team. Besides, Dom wasn't that kind of guy.

It felt like … jealousy . Was it that Travis was younger and in the prime of his career?

Shea stifled a groan. God, he was ridiculous. He was seeing jealousy because he wanted it to be there. Wanted Dom to care enough about him to be jealous.

"Shea?" Dom said. "Are you coming?"

"Yeah, sorry."

In the back seat, Myles and Ethan chatted excitedly about the game, talking about the fact that they'd been allowed back to meet some of the players after and had gotten a few autographs, including ones from Travis.

Travis had asked them if they'd wanted to grab drinks after. Dom had declined, citing his own game tomorrow, and Ethan had said he needed to get home to his family.

Shea could have said yes—probably should have, since Myles looked very hopeful—but he'd said no.

Why? He wasn't entirely sure but he had a sneaking suspicion it had something to do with Dom. Then again, what didn't?

"So we're headed back to the restaurant and you guys can get your cars from the parking ramp," Dom said, talking to the guys in the back.

Everyone had stopped drinking a while ago, except for Dom. Come to think of it, that was odd too. Dom didn't drink that often. Or at least not more than one drink on the night before a game.

Weird . Though thankfully he wasn't still on the Toradol.

"I took a rideshare," Shea said. "So I can pick one up from there."

"Oh, well, I could have the driver drop you off at your place before I head to mine," Dom said. "If you want."

Shea hesitated. They probably shouldn't. If anyone photographed them ending the night going off together alone …

But God, a part of him wanted to hoard every little moment with Dom, snatch at every opportunity he got before everything ended.

"Yeah," Shea said, knowing it was a stupid idea but unable to say no. "Actually, I can introduce you to my roommate, Audra. I think you two would hit it off."

"Yeah?" Dom looked puzzled.

"Yeah. She's great. Hell, I bet you'll be so into her, you'll invite her to be your date to that team event you've got coming up ," he said pointedly.

"Ahh." Dom's expression smoothed out. "Well, I'll give it a shot."

Myles snorted, leaning forward. "Good luck, dude. I tried to shoot my shot there and she turned me down cold."

"Yeah, but that's because you're pathetic," Shea fired back.

"Fuck you," Myles said but he was laughing. "I've got rizz."

Ethan shot him a skeptical look. "Yeah, well, you may have rizz but you're not an NHL player so …"

"Ugh. You suck." Myles flipped him off.

They laughed and bantered on the ride to the restaurant and once there, on the sidewalk, Shea hugged his friends goodnight.

"Happy Birthday, man," Ethan said. "This was fun. We should do it again."

"It was fun," Dom agreed. "Let me know when you guys get together again."

Shea wasn't sure if that was politeness or if he meant it but Myles' face brightened. "Yeah, we totally will. Great to meet you."

After the goodbyes were done, Shea and Dom got back in the SUV. Shea gave the driver his address and when they were moving again, the silence grew awkward.

"Great game, huh?" Shea said. The Titans had won tonight by a pretty big margin.

"Yeah, it was good. Your guy had a great night."

"My guy? Oh, Travis? Yeah, he did."

There it was again.

"You know, I honestly don't think I did as much for Travis physically as I did mentally," Shea said.

Dom blinked.

"As far as the physiotherapy," Shea clarified, realizing how that sounded. Whoops . "I noticed he was having some weird external rotation and correcting that helped stabilize his knee, but I don't think that's what was holding him back. He was in a rough place after the injury, you know? He hadn't been in the league that long and he was already out with an injury and I think he could see his career circling the drain before it ever fully started. And I was there to listen and understand, you know?"

"Ahh," Dom said. "Yeah, that makes sense. It's easy to get up in your head after an injury."

"Exactly. And I'd been through all that," Shea said. "Well, I never even made it to the pro level, but …"

"You would have," Dom said when he trailed off. "You would have gone in the first round at the draft."

"Yeah." Shea glanced out the window of the moving SUV. "Probably. My dad thought it would be top ten overall. I kept telling him he was fucking delusional. Top twenty-five or thirty, maybe . But he's good at ignoring the facts."

"How so?"

Shea huffed. He hadn't meant to bring it up but his parents had called this morning to wish him a happy birthday and it had been lingering in the back of his head all day.

Well, to be more accurate, his mom had called. His dad had gotten on for about sixty seconds of stilted conversation.

"My dad, he, uh, didn't want to accept that my career was over," Shea said, shifting in his seat to get a better look at Dom. "He was convinced that if I kept working at it, my knee would improve. If we found the right doctor, if I did more rehab. He wouldn't listen to the surgeons. Or me."

"You had problems with the growth plate, right? On top of the injuries?"

"Yeah," Shea said. "The growth plate issue was part of it for sure. I was a little bit of a late bloomer. Undersized for a hockey player but fast . Good hands. Good grasp of the game. My growth plates hadn't fused yet though. My dad was so intent on me making it to the NHL, he had tunnel vision. He had me training way too fucking hard and I was already struggling with issues in both knees before the first injury."

"That was the meniscus tear, right?"

"Yeah," Shea said. "When they did the repair on the tendon, they found bony growths in my knee. They cleaned up as much as they could and I battled through that recovery but …"

"Then you had the second injury."

"Yes. Exactly."

Shea had taken an ill-timed puck to the side of the knee that fractured the patella into tiny little pieces.

"They replaced the patella and found more bony growths. Both knees were a fucking mess. I was having a ton of instability too and it—it wasn't going to get better. I'd keep having problems. If I pursued a pro career, I'd be signing up for surgery after surgery, issue after issue. I was eighteen and had already had three knee surgeries or procedures by that point and I was watching my future career slip away."

"Fuck," Dom whispered.

"My dad kept pushing me though and I worked my ass off at my rehab but I kept having these setbacks. I was injured the first time at seventeen and I was nineteen before I finally admitted that I wasn't ever going to be NHL ready. And even if I did somehow, miraculously get there, I'd be signing up for a career riddled with injuries and I probably wouldn't be able to walk by the time I was forty. But my dad, he couldn't accept it."

"Shit I'm sorry," Dom said softly, reaching out to touch his thigh. "That sucks."

"Yeah." Shea gave him a lopsided smile. "So when I decided to go to university to become a physiotherapist, he lost it. The fights between us got so bad that I finally moved out. I was a late start at university and I went part-time for a while, working every job I could find to pay for school."

"That sounds rough."

Shrugging, Shea glanced out the window. "It was hard but I got through it. I knew I couldn't do multiple side gigs like that while I got my master's though so when Audra asked if I'd want to work as a stylist, I jumped on it immediately."

"What about your family?"

"Oh, we didn't speak for years. My mom kept trying though and, eventually, we reconciled. It was slower with my dad and, to be honest, it's still awkward. Still a struggle sometimes. I'm not sure that even now he truly believes that my NHL career was over before it even started. I think he still thinks that I could've made it happen if I'd wanted it."

Shea sighed, then continued. "Which, maybe he's right? Maybe I could have played for a little bit in between surgeries and rehab. But I guess we'll never know. Last year, he did finally apologize for some of the things he did and said then and, you know, making progress on the relationship, however small, feels good."

"Man, I had no idea," Dom said, reaching out to touch his thigh again. "You've been through a lot."

Shea looked out the window again. "I guess. I always figure most of us are carrying around a lot of stuff like that. We just don't talk about it."

"True."

They fell silent until the SUV pulled up at Shea's building. He asked, "You still want to come up and meet Audra?"

Dom shook his head. "Maybe you can introduce me another time. I think I'll head home. I have the game tomorrow and I'm starting to crash."

"Yeah, no problem." Shea unbuckled his seatbelt. "Tonight was fun. Thanks for doing this."

"It was fun." Dom licked his lips. "Uh, before you go though … could you hand me that bag, Rick?"

For one wild second, Shea wondered who the hell Rick was before he realized it was the driver. He passed a handled brown paper bag back and Dom took it, handing it to Shea.

"Happy Birthday."

"What?" Shea blinked. "You didn't have to … dinner was more than enough."

"It's nothing big," Dom said.

Shea peered inside and although the light in the SUV wasn't very bright, he realized there was a cake box.

"You got me a birthday cake?" Shea asked, surprised.

"Yeah. At dinner you mentioned you loved chocolate cake but were too full to have any …"

"You got the restaurant to sell you a whole cake?" Shea asked, surprised but touched.

"No. That would have been a way smarter choice now that you mention it." Dom laughed ruefully. "I, uh, had Rick pick it up from my favorite bakery while we were at the game."

"Dom, most bakeries aren't open that time of night," Shea said slowly.

"Yeah." He smoothed down the back of his hair. "I, uh, may have called in a favor."

"You—you made a bakery open just to buy a cake for my birthday?" Shea blinked at him.

"Well, when you say it like that …" Dom darted a glance toward Rick. "You know, just thought it would be a nice way to wrap up the evening. No big deal."

"It was nice," Shea said, clutching the handles of the bag so he wouldn't do something stupid like grab Dom and yank him in for a kiss.

Not that they'd ever kissed before.

But this seemed like a good moment to make an exception, although that was Dom's rule, not his, so it wasn't his call. But fuck, he wanted it.

Dom cleared his throat. "Anyway, I need to get to home and get to bed, so …"

"Yes, sorry," Shea said. "Guess I'm tired too. Have a good night. Thanks for dinner and the cake. It was a nice surprise."

"Sure, no problem. Happy Birthday."

"You too," Shea said, still feeling a little dazed.

Dom chuckled. "Thanks? Mine's in November but …"

"No, right, I knew that." Shea reached for the door handle. "I meant … Never mind. G'night."

"Night."

Somehow, Shea made it out of the SUV and onto the sidewalk. He didn't allow himself to turn around for one last look like he wanted. He marched to the front door and took the elevator straight up to his floor before he did something he'd regret.

When he opened the door to his apartment, Audra was curled up in her usual chair in the living room.

She rose to her feet, then frowned. "Hey, where's your hockey man? You texted me that he was coming over."

"Change of plans?" Shea managed.

"You couldn't have told me that half an hour ago?" she grumbled. "I would have changed into pajamas and taken my makeup off if I'd known."

"Uh, last-minute decision," Shea said. "Sorry."

She squinted. "What is up with you? Why are you all …" She waved a hand vaguely.

"So, um, I think Dom got jealous of Travis tonight. And then he made a bakery open up to get me a chocolate cake."

She blinked. "Well, is that the cake in the bag?"

"Yeah. You want some?"

" Obviously ." She turned away. "Cut me a slice while I change and wash my face."

"Your night routine takes you like half an hour!" he protested.

"Well, blame your hockey man for that."

Laughing, Shea carried the bag over to the counter. He lifted the box out and opened the lid.

Inside was the most gorgeous chocolate cake he'd ever seen. A sticker on the box held a description.

A three-tier chocolate layer cake filled with light, airy whipped chocolate ganache studded with honey and almond nougat, then covered with another thin layer of smooth, silky ganache. Topped with fresh berries.

"Wow," Shea muttered. The cake was stunning and it looked and sounded delicious. He reached for his phone. He had to take a picture before he cut into this thing.

Fifteen minutes later as Audra walked into the living room, face bare, dressed in pajamas, Shea was still staring at the cake. He'd moved it to the coffee table along with a knife, fork, and plates. But he hadn't cut it yet.

He almost couldn't bear to.

"He bought me a cake, Audra," he whispered. "What does that mean?"

She patted his head before she reached for the knife. "It means you're an idiot."

"Yeah," Shea grumbled as she placed a slice on a plate and handed it over. "I probably am."

Heating Up? All Signs Point to Olson and Barnett's Flame Still Smoldering

Speculation around Fisher Cats forward Dominic Olson and stylist Sawyer Barnett began after they were spotted together following the High Park Towers building fire several weeks ago.

Although the Fisher Cats PR department released a statement indicating Olson had experienced no ill-effects following the fire and that Barnett was merely a friend Olson was looking out for, the men have attended several events around the city recently.

The duo has been spotted sitting courtside at a Toronto Titans game, attending a stand-up comedy show, and learning axe throwing at the stockyards.

The sudden spate of time spent together in the public eye has raised a few eyebrows, including ours here at JockGossip.

Mutual friends—as yet unidentified—have been in attendance as well but if you ask us, Olson and Barnett have looked awfully close lately.

Lingering looks have led to increased speculation that the two are dating.

One fan stated, "It's weird, right? I mean, you never see Olson out with anyone but the guys on the team and then he gets spotted hanging out with this Barnett guy constantly now? And always with other guys there as "chaperones"? Totally suspicious if you ask me, especially after they were caught spending the night of the fire together."

But whether that night was spent cozied up in bed together or with Olson platonically sleeping on the couch is up for some debate.

Another fan was less sure of their involvement. "Maybe we need to stop assuming that two men hanging out and having fun together means they're dating. I know like half the team is gay now but Olson? Really? I don't see it."

Whatever is going on, it doesn't seem to have improved Olson's game.

In the final years of his contract, Olson has stepped into a lesser role on the team as fourth line center, but despite the team-friendly deal to retire a Fisher Cat at the end of this season, many fans believe he's still being grossly overpaid.