Page 59 of No Pucks

“No one knows a damn thing about you. Not the media, not friends. Once you retired, it’s dead silence. You really ready to open up to me?”

I take a slow breath. “No, but I will.”

“You’d tell me knowing who my dad is?”

“I don’t think you’re going to say anything to your dad. If I did, I wouldn’t be fucking you.” I trust him, I realize, and that’s fucking scary. I haven’t trusted anyone but Krista since my divorce.

He smiles, fully sucking on my thumb. “I think that’s the sexiest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“My room after the team dinner.” I reach into my pocket and pull the key out of my wallet. I’m about to leave when I stop myself. I look down, finally enjoying the full sight of him half hard in the jock. I rub the back of my fingers over his bulge. “Wear the jock.”

EIGHTEEN

LOGAN

Ialmost don’t use the key card he gave me. Anyone could spot me going to his room, let alone hotel cameras. I sit on my bed, thumb hovering over a hookup app. A stranger will be so much easier. They won’t want to fucking talk, but I can’t bring myself to look for someone.

I need a drink, so it’s either find an upperclassmen going out to ensure I can drink or raid Anthony’s mini bar. I hit up on the elevator but then ditch the idea, going to the stairs. I don’t have a reason to go to a higher floor. But on the stairs, I can say I’m working out my aggression with cardio, even if it’s insane after a game. There are plenty of guys who run or do that kind of shit after a loss.

I get to his floor without seeing a soul and, thankfully, his room is on the end. I use the key he gave me and step into the dim space. He, of course, is in a suite. Nothing spectacular, but it’s nicer than the team rooms. I set my key on the table near the door and venture further inside. Anthony stands with his back to me, leaning against the frame of one of the floor-to-ceiling windows facing the DC Harbor.

“What are you looking at?” I ask, not wanting to startle him.

He glances over his shoulder. “Nothing really. The boats going in and out.”

I tip the bottle on the credenza. Scotch. Not my favorite, but it will do. I drop a few pieces of ice into the second glass and fill it before shooting it and refilling.

He lifts a brow. “Right off the bat?”

“Don’t worry, I can still perform.”

He looks at the ceiling. “Not what I meant.”

“What did you mean?”

“Need to be drunk for this?”

“I could ask the same of you.” I take a healthy swig and join him at the window.

He nods and looks out over the water. “Is he always like that?”

“Damn, right off the bat?” I throw his words back at him.

“I deserve that.”

I don’t reply.

“I’m taking that as a yes.”

“Take it however you want. I’m assuming he’s the same person he’s always been. I’m sure you know what he’s like.”

“I can’t imagine what he’s like to live with.”

“I don’t know any different.” It’s the excuse I give any time my father comes up. The fame, the asshole, the ego, the pressure—it’s all I know.

“Doesn’t mean it’s okay.”

I shrug, finishing my drink before setting the glass down, already feeling it. The unique lack of care alcohol provides courses through my blood, dulling all the rough edges.

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