Page 24 of Jaded

A tall, built guy who immediately draws my gaze.

Black T-shirt, backwards black baseball cap. Two sleeves of black-and-grey tattoos, cheekbones to absolutely die for, and my God he’s got the most beautiful green eyes I’ve ever seen. Short-circuits my brain a little, because nobody should be allowed to be that beautiful.

Not if they’re straight-ish anyway.

And definitely, definitely not if theykissedme . . .

Holy crap.

I almost choke on my own spit. It’s the guy from the bar. You know,theguy. The. Gorgeous. One. The straight guy I should not have been looking at, let alone flirting with, let alone kissing.

That guy.

That guy is here. In my new locker room. Holding a pair of skates.

“Oh good.” One of the men pops off his cubby seat towards Hottie McHotstuff, hands extended to take the skates. “One last sharpening before I head to Minnesota.”

“Right, ’cause after this, you’re going to have to rely on whatever plebian the Wild’s got,” Hottie says, his voice a low purr of sound that hits me square in places it should definitely not be hitting me. Oh, I remember how beautiful his voice was . . .

Remember other parts of him that touched other parts of me . . .

His tongue in my mouth. My hips against his, pinning him to that wall—

“Oh, have you met the new captain yet?” The former captain takes his skates from the dark-haired hottie, and then they’re both turning towards me.

And Hottie’s beautiful, big green eyes round into beautiful, big green quarters because he recognizes me. Of course he does. How many other adorable, awkward, half-Black guys built like pro athletes just rolled into town?

“Olli, right?” Cap says, jarring me. I pull my head out of my ass with almost physical force that hopefully isn’t too noticeable.

Me, that’s me. He’s talking about me.

I force a smile, or what amounts to my best approximation of a smile.

“Yeah. Right,” I hear myself saying, like it’s coming from a distance. And like I’ve rolled outside my body to watch from afar, I see myself stride across the room. “Center for the Dingoes. And I guess Captain now too.”

I try not to inhale the sweetness of his cologne.

“Nice to meet you, Olli,” he says. “I’m Nat. Taylor.” Both his voice and his face are so carefully neutral, I can’t even guess what he might be thinking. “Equipment manager. One of them anyway.”

He certainly doesn’t seem twisted out of sorts over a silly kiss like I do. So I give it my all, to pretend like I’m not either. “Good to meet you, Nat.”

I turn my attention back to the departing captain. “I’m obviously the new guy here so . . . got any final words of wisdom for me? Any parting insights?”

“Yeah. For sure.” But his eyes slip sideways towards the clock on the wall—like what, he’s eager to get on the road? Hit up Minnesota?

Because that’s better than here?

Wow.

Could it really be that rough here?

“You’ll be taking my locker, I guess.” Cap waves me over to the cubby at the end of the row beside an unoccupied slot, Charlie Holland on the other side. He reaches into the back of the locker to extract a battered glove. “Huh. Was wondering where these went. Anyway. I already took my gear out. So you should be set.”

He really is ready to get out of here. Damn.

“Right,” I say, because what else am I supposed to say? I drop my bag onto the ground in front of the cubby, shoot Holland half a smile. Won’t be the first time I’ve unpacked it into a new spot, probably won’t be the last.

I crouch beside my bag to start unloading my gear and getting dressed. Let the wash of conversation offer a meditative background lull. I’m just pulling open the zipper on the oversized duffle when someone plops down onto the seat of the empty locker beside mine.

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