12. Wes

Wes

Something magical happens tonight. It’s as if all my frustration and distress over my strained relationship with Jamie spills out onto the ice, turning me into an aggressive, determined, unstoppable motherfucker. I score a hat trick. A fucking hat trick, and the Toronto fans in attendance cheer their lungs out when the final period ends and our team beats New York in their own arena.

The locker room is buzzing with excitement, and nearly every man on the roster wanders over to slap me on the back or, in Eriksson’s case, lift me off my feet and spin me around like I’m a toddler. “Shi-it, kid!” he exclaims. “That was the best fuckin’ hockey I’ve ever seen!”

I smirk. “Three goals is nothing. Next game, I’ll score four.”

He guffaws. “I fucking love you, Wesley. I really do.”

Coach pops in to give us a quick you-kicked-ass speech, which is unnecessary because we’re already pumped up and riding a victory high. Several sports reporters are allowed into the locker room for post-game press, which is my least favorite part of playing in the NHL. All the interviews get tiresome after a while. Tonight, though, a female journalist corners me and decides to spice things up. Becky somebody—she covers us a lot.

“We’ve got a new feature here on Sports Tonight,” she explains with a huge grin. “We call it Fast Five. Just five fun questions that tell the fans who Ryan Wesley really is.”

Trust me, the fans don’t want to know who I really am.

“So how about it?” she prompts.

Like I can really say no. Talking to the press is a requirement in my contract.

“Hit me,” I say.

She gestures to her cameraman and the next thing I know, there’s a microphone in my face and she’s introducing me as “rookie sensation Ryan Wesley” to the viewers.

“Here we go!” she chirps, as if this is the most fun a person can have. “Coffee or tea?”

“Coffee,” I reply, hoping all the questions will be this easy.

“Rock music or EDM?”

“Rock. Duh. I’m on a Black Keys kick right now.”

“Awesome!” She grins. “Beach or mountains?”

Like I even remember. Vacations are for other people. “Beach,” I say, because Jamie likes the beach, and I want to take him to one. Of course, I want a lot of things I can’t have.

“Dogs or cats?”

“Eh, neither? I’ve never had a pet.”

“Wow,” she says, as if I’ve confessed to something scandalous. If you only knew, little lady. “Last one—do you go for the blond-haired, blue-eyed girl next door? Or do you like ’em dark and mysterious?”

“Uh, blond hair and brown eyes,” I say quickly, happy to be rid of her.

She nods slowly, as if I’ve just said something fascinating. “Interesting choice. There can’t be many women with that coloring.”

“Well, Becky, maybe that’s why I’m a bachelor.”

She giggles, and the interview is finally over.

But when she turns away, I see Blake watching me, one eyebrow raised. So I do the closeted man’s instant replay—running through everything I just said, searching for any incriminating nuggets. And I kick myself for telling the world that I like blondes with brown eyes.

Eh. There’s no way Blake made that connection. He’s probably over there wondering whether he’d be more likely to encounter a seventeen-foot velociraptor on a beach or in the mountains.

I finally hit the showers. By the time the team is on the bus and ready to head back to the airport, our manager makes an announcement from the front. “Guys? We’re headed for the Marriott Marquis. Can’t get out of La Guardia tonight.”

At the same time I groan, Blake lets out a happy bellow. “Party in my room!” He reaches across the aisle to shove my shoulder. “Late flights suck, anyway. Let’s order some food and some brewskis. It’ll be great.”

It won’t, though. Because I need to see Jamie. I can’t stand the distance between us and it needs to end. I thought getting rid of the death chair would be the perfect opening for us to hash everything out, but the only response I got from him was a grunted “Thanks for doing that.” I’d answered with a teasing quip about how our condo was now ghost-free, since he’s convinced someone died on that chair, but he’d barely cracked a smile.

Now I’m five hundred miles away from him, once again unable to fix a damn thing between us.

The hotel is only a mile from Madison Square Garden, but that’s about a half hour in snowy traffic. And then we’re delayed while they find rooms for all of us and pass out keys. Blake’s food delivery shows up immediately, though, because he started working on it before we even got off the bus. (“Is this Brother Jimmy’s BBQ? I have an emergency. It’s bad, man. Only you can save me…”)

He’s ordered enough for everyone. No wonder the place was willing to deliver in the snow. So I perch on the radiator in his room and put away a pulled-pork sandwich. When I try to kick in some money, he waves me off. “You guys feed me sometimes, right? Your money’s no good here. I got someone from room service bringing up a couple cases of beer. Stick around.”

That’s nice and all, but I need to talk to my man. And holy shit—my man wants to talk to me. Even though it’s past midnight, I discover that Jamie has tried me on Skype three times in the past hour, which makes me giddy. Maybe I didn’t strike out with the new chair, after all.

I sneak out when everyone’s attention turns to the television and let myself into my room to find that my duffel bag has been delivered. I toss it onto the luggage rack and hang up my suit. The second I’m in sweats and a T-shirt, I return Jamie’s call. “Hey!” I say when he answers. “Sorry it’s so late. We’re not getting home tonight.”

“I figured, babe. Just wanted to see you so bad.” He gives me a smile, and I’m so happy it’s aimed at me I could cry.

My mouth works open and closed again. I have no idea what to say to get us past the rough week we just had. “I miss you so much,” I tell him. Maybe that’s lame, because we woke up in the same bed together this morning. But at least it’s honest. “I mean, this past week…”

Jamie nods. His brown eyes crease around the edges as his brow furrows. I know that look. He has something on his mind, and I feel a pang of apprehension. Jesus. He wouldn’t break up with me over Skype, would he?

Break up with me?

Oh dear God. Did that thought actually cross my mind? Did I really just fucking go from “rough patch” to “the love of my life is dumping me”?

“Babe?” I say in a timid voice that I’ve never heard leave my mouth before. My heart is pounding faster than ever. “You okay?”

He opens his mouth. “Yeah. I am. But I…” That sexy mouth closes, and then he sighs softly and offers another smile. This one looks a tad forced. “Just tell me about your game, because it was really fun to watch. Honestly, it reminded me why we’re in this mess in the first place.”

“Okay,” I say, trying to wrap my head around the change in temperature between us. “Tonight I just unleashed myself out there. I’m not even sure what happened. It’s like the net had a magnet under it just for me.”

“Glad I wasn’t the goalkeeper.” Jamie lifts his sexy arms overhead, and I notice that he’s in our bed. That’s the wooden headboard I chose and the flannel sheets I bought when winter hit and Jamie began objecting to the cold.

A wave of homesickness hits hard. “I would kill to be there right now.” Can’t believe I messed up our time together last week. “I’d show you exactly how hot you look.”

Jamie grins, and I practically smack myself in the head when realization strikes. “The beard! Where’d it go?” His face is now perfectly clean-shaven.

“Eh.” He shrugs. “Got sick of it. Beards itch.” He lifts a hand to his cheek and slides it slowly down to his chin.

When his little finger drags across his lower lip, I hear myself growl. “Do that again, Canning,” I demand.

He quirks an eyebrow at me. “Why?”

“Because I need to see it.”

He must hear something desperate in my tone, because he complies without any more lip. He lifts his palm to his cheek again and closes his eyes. I watch him take a deep breath, and on the exhale, he slides his hand down his jaw. When his fingertips reach his mouth, he slants his eyelids open just a couple of millimeters. Then he slides two fingertips into his mouth and sucks on them.

“Fuck,” I breathe. I’m jealous of the fingers, the camera and the bed. “Take off your shirt for me.”

For a fractional second I think he’ll protest. We never do this. And we just had the shittiest week ever. But Jamie sits up a little, the camera losing him and showing me the ceiling instead. But then I see his arm sweep past, his T-shirt flying up and away. When the camera tilts again, Jamie’s golden chest is on full display. He must have the tablet propped on his thighs because the camera angle shows his abs as a ramp up to his pecs. Wide-set copper nipples tease me at the edges of the shot. And one perfect hand lays across his bellybutton, the golden hairs glinting in high-def.

“Touch your chest,” I order. I sound like a surly dom in some sleazy video chat. Except it’s Jamie at the other end of the scene. And his fingertips are teasing his happy trail now. He spends a moment exploring the light trail of hair up the center of his belly.

My hips shift on the bed and my cock is hard already. I’ve seen Jamie shirtless a million times. But he’s putting himself on display for me. His hand flattens out on his breastbone. He stretches across until his fingertips part over his nipple, and then he shivers.

I hear myself grunt with longing. If I were there, my mouth would be all over that. I’d shove his hand out of the way and suck on that pebbled nub. “Other one,” I grind out. “And go slow, Canning.”

First, he tips his head back on the pillows, and his eyes fall closed. Then his hand traces a slow path across his chest until he holds his pec in his palm. His thumb and forefinger circle the nipple and then give it a pinch. “Mmm,” he sighs, and suddenly I have goosebumps everywhere.

“Canning.”

“Yeah?”

“I am so fucking hard right now.”

He smiles without opening his eyes. “How hard is it?”

A bark of laughter escapes me. “Lose the rest of your clothes, babe. I want to see you.”

First he groans and stretches, making me wait. Then his chocolate eyes open again, and he licks his lips. I lose him on camera again and the room rolls under his motions. A few seconds later the camera tips slowly back toward vertical, and I have a view of Jamie’s bent leg, his perfect hip, an oblique taste of his ass in shadow and most of his very bare chest. He must have propped the tablet up on my side of the bed.

His hand is between his legs, but I can only see the curve of his biceps and his muscular forearm. The rest is hidden from view.

“That’s just mean,” I say, and he grins. “If I were there, I’d…”

“What?” he asks in a rough voice. “Tell me exactly what you’d do first.”

“I’d suck on your tongue until you got hard.” Jamie’s mouth is his most pronounced erogenous zone. The man can practically come from me chewing on his lips.

“Too late,” he says, dropping his leg to the bed. And there’s my prize. I groan at the sight of Jamie’s erection rising proudly from the thicket of pale, soft hairs at his groin. Even after these eight months, I still feel lucky every time he responds to me.

“God, I want a taste.” My voice is gravel. “Are you leaking for me? Get that drop. Use one finger.” Don’t I feel like a bossy motherfucker tonight. My gaze is glued to the screen, though. He’s really the one in charge. If that weren’t true, I wouldn’t be gripping myself over my sweatpants now, salivating at the view on the screen.

He does as I ask. He swipes one finger over his cockhead. Then he looks me right in the eye and licks his finger.

“Unngh,” I say, and he sucks on his finger just to torture me. And I fucking love it. “Stroke yourself, now.” I can’t wait any longer. “Use one hand.”

Jamie slides his hand down his chest and takes himself in hand. He gives his cock two good strokes.

“Slower,” I demand. “That’s it,” I encourage when his movements turn languorous. His chest rises and falls with each breath, and his forehead is creased with tension. “Do you want to come, Canning?”

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Been thinking about you a lot today. Waiting for your game to start…” He strokes himself a little faster. And I’m practically vibrating from the news that Jamie misses me. I haven’t messed things up too badly. Or maybe I have, and it’s just that our sexual chemistry isn’t one of those things. We might be awful communicators lately, but turning each other on has never been a problem for us.

“Cup your balls,” I offer. “If I was there, I’d suck on ’em.” He groans, and his eyes grow heavy-lidded. “I’d taste you everywhere. Every fucking place. Lube you up with my tongue.” His rhythm falters just a little. His head falls back further, and he widens his legs, as if opening his body to me.

That’s when looking isn’t enough anymore. My own hand sneaks into my sweatpants, unbidden. I grip my cock and give it a squeeze. Screw it. I rise up on my knees and yank down my sweats. The angle of the tablet on the bed makes my dick appear comically large. It would be funny if I weren’t so horny. I pump myself in earnest.

“Want you so bad, babe.” My voice comes out as a gasp.

Jamie turns his head to see the screen. His lips part slightly as he tracks the frantic motion of my hand. His fist moves faster too, matching my tempo. For the first time all week, we’re in sync. We’re not even in the same room, yet I feel closer to him than I have in days, and we’re so hot for each other right now that we’re both panting and groaning and tugging our cocks with damn near desperation.

“Gonna come,” he moans.

“Do it,” I moan back. “Shoot on your chest.”

He makes a beautiful sound, and a pearly ribbon of perfection paints a line down his abs. His six-pack clenches as he shoots again. And again.

Me too. I fuck my hand hard and fast. I want to be home with him so badly it aches. But the last dregs of my game-night adrenaline still fuel me. All that anguish and longing surge down my spine and I erupt in my own hand.

A minute passes while I calm down. Wordlessly, Jamie disappears from view. I clean myself up and wait for him to reappear.

After a minute or so, he slides into bed, under the covers this time. Then he rolls to face the camera, his smooth cheek propped in his hand. “I spoke to Jess today,” he starts.

I smile. I love Jamie’s youngest sister. She’s the flightiest chick I’ve ever met, but boy is she entertaining. “How’s she doing? Still designing jewelry?”

He chuckles, and the sound warms my heart. “Nope. Now she wants to be a party planner.”

“Of course she does.”

“Hey, she might be good at it.” But he’s still chuckling even as he comes to his sister’s defense. Then he goes quiet for a beat, and just like that, my nerves are raw again.

“What’s wrong?” I ask gruffly.

I see the telltale dip of his Adam’s apple as he swallows. “Nothing. Well, something. Not wrong, really, but just some things I wanted to get off my chest.” Another beat. “But it can keep.”

My throat is so tight I can barely speak. “Jamie…” That’s all I manage to get out.

“You look beat,” he says firmly. “You should get some sleep. We’ll talk when you get back.”

Talk...or break up?

I think he sees the panic on my face, because he lets out another breath, then speaks in a firm voice. “I love you. So much.”

My heart does a little flip. He sounds like he means it.

Damn it, of course he means it, I assure myself. We fucking love each other. “I love you, too,” I say softly.

A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Good. Now go to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow.”