Page 18 of Icing the Play

“Ace hates being the goalie. He likes to score, and he never gets to do that in real life.” Myles rolled his eyes.

“Oh.” With a nod, I chuckled. I liked these guys. This was going to be great.

After cleaningthe dishes with Myles, we sat on the sectional with our laptops open, reading the project we had to work on. Ace and Zoma left to watch some queer band play at a casinowith a funny name, Not Me or something. “So, first I think we need to pick a product.”

Myles leaned in toward me, his gaze scanning across my laptop screen. “How about a hockey stick?”

The flowered scent of his shampoo wafted over me, his blond hair so close I could push my face in it. What would kissing him be like? Fucking JJ knew.

“Did you hear me?” He lifted his face, and his big brown eyes focused on me.

“Uh, what? Hockey stick?” With a crazed pattering in my heart, I swallowed hard. He was so fucking close. I had to think of something fast. “How about a football with real pigskin?”

He tutted, his brows lowering. “Pigskin? Is that a real thing?”

“No, but they used to use a pig bladder inside the ball at one point. I think.” I scratched my head. Where the hell had I heard that?

“Gross, eh.” Myles giggled. “I think that’d be a hard sell. Hockey sticks are easy. Every player has their favorite brand and type. It’s very personal.”

“Then how can we make it an easy sell?” I lifted my brows, my gaze drawing to his lips and back to his gorgeous eyes. I didn’t know a damn thing about hockey sticks.

He shrugged with a sigh. “I don’t know. I was just looking for an angle.” He twisted his lips and straightened.

“We could focus on any great NHL players who also used certain sticks. And aren’t you guys really superstitious? What if we used some famous superstition on our campaign?” Now that he wasn’t sitting so close, my brain cleared. I typed in a Google search for hockey sticks. “Maybe we can get some ideas from the ads the stick manufacturers are running.”

“Yeah, a superstition would work.” Chewing his lower lip, he typed on his laptop.

I glanced at him. “Do you have a superstition?” Some guys I played football with had them, but I didn’t believe in that shit.

As a smirk played on his mouth, he said, “Yeah.” His gaze dropped to my lips, and he looked away.

Oh, that’s interesting. “So, what is it?” I rested my fingers on my keys, watching his cheeks pink.

Dipping his head, he said, “I gotta bust a nut about an hour before the game starts.” His ears turned red, and his smirk widened.

As the vision of Myles jacking off filled my head, my dick plumped in my shorts. “Oh, my God.” With a soft snort, I rubbed my eyes, the vision taunting me. Fucking hell, now I’d know what he’d be doing before each game. And I’d want to join him. “That’s uh, that’s interesting.” As I opened my eyes, my gaze caught on the tent in my shorts. “Fuck.” I slid my laptop over it and peeked at Myles, staring at my boner. “Um…”

His gaze lifted to meet mine. “Well, you asked. There you go.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Sometimes I do it before we play NHL too. It helps.”

As I barked out a laugh, I said, “You’re fucking with me now.” How often did he jerk off?

“Maybe, but you’ll never know.” He threw me a coy grin. “Now, let’s look at my stick.” He clicked on a website link.

I stared at him. Did he not know the double meaning behind his comment?

After getting mostof the way done with our assignment, I closed my laptop and tipped my head back on the couch, gazing at the dark wood ceiling fan centering the room. “We learned a lot tonight. I didn’t know buying a hockey stick was so complicated.”

“Well, isn’t there equipment football players pick for personal preferences?” Myles mirrored me.

“I’d have to say cleats. Having your feet comfortable during the game while not letting you slip on the field is important. Butthen, the helmet you choose is huge for safety.” I turned my head at the same time he did, and our gazes locked. My heart danced in my throat.

“Want a beer? I think we deserve it.” Slapping his hands on his thighs, he stood. “I can show you your room, too.”

“Oh, yeah.” I hadn’t even thought to ask. Rising from the couch, I followed him into the kitchen.

He opened the refrigerator, handed me a canned beer and took one for himself. After snicking it open, he waved me on. “Come on, it’s right next to mine.”

My eyes popped open. So before his home games, I’d be right next to him while he took care of his superstition. This would not be easy.

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