Page 30 of My Brother's Teammates

Mateo: Your loss. More of her for me.

Jace: Fuck off. We need to focus on hockey. We’re all slipping and it’s going to fuck up our chances at making the playoffs.

Jace: Or did we forget that’s kind of our job?

Mateo: No, I didn’t forget, Mom.

Jace: Well, maybe act a little more like a hockey player and a little less like a teenage boy and I won’t have to remind you that we have a job to do.

Jace: You know, one that pays all your bill and gets you that underwear you like.

Roman: To be fair, I’ve been going in for extra goalie practice.

Mateo: No one likes a show off.

THIRTEEN

Roman

What the actual fuck was that?

It’s the question I’ve asked myself about three hundred times in the past two days. It’s now Tuesday, and I still don’t have a damn answer.

After practice the other day, I kept my head down, hung out in my room, and got the hell out of Dodge yesterday morning before anyone else woke up. I almost wore my sneakers out on the treadmill, but no matter how many miles I clocked, I couldn’t outrun the awkwardness that had nestled underneath my skin.

Waking up covered in sweat with a raging boner propping up my sheets isn’t exactly a newsworthy event in my life. But the dream that led to the raging hard-on, the dream that came from whatever moment my best friend and I had in the locker room—I have so many questions and not a single answer.

Hands clenching the sheets, our skin clammy as we cling to each other, flashes through my mind… Fuck. I can’t get lost in how his lips felt. I can’t get lost in his fingers skimming the sensitive skin of my thighs or how he growled my name in my ear.

I need to get some air, put some distance between me and whatever fucking voodoo is being worked in that apartment since Charlotte moved in.

It’s the only explanation for all the things I’m feeling, all the thoughts that have worked their way into my head.

I’m not gay, and until a couple days ago, I’ve never before wondered if I’m bi. And now my insides are molten every time I close my eyes and think of Mateo. He’s in the kitchen, ass-naked with a towel dangling from his cock, in the locker room pulling his gear on for a game, in the showers after practice…

Fuck.

Those broad shoulders, those wavy blond locks…

Shit.

My dick twitches, my pulse pounding in my ears.

My insides twist into all sorts of knots, and the weight of the entire world is sitting on my shoulders.

He’s my friend.

That’s all he is. Nothing more, nothing less.

Yes, we’ve shared women, we’ve watched each other fuck. I’ve seen him naked countless times, but never once have I looked forward to it. Never wondered how his skin would feel against mine, how my cock would feel in his mouth, but ever since that damn moment in the locker room, it’s all I can think about.

It has to be because of Charlotte. I’m so overburdened with guilt from all these secrets and my own attraction toward her—a woman who is completely off-limits—I’m projecting my feelings.

That has to be it.

Hissing out a slow breath, I roll my shoulders, pacing outside the rink. I really should be inside getting ready for another practice. With playoffs approaching, Coach has increased our practices from three to four times a week.

Works for me. The more I’m on the ice, the less I’m at home with Charlotte.

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