Page 23 of Until He Scores

“Yep. We’re not kids anymore and if he can’t at least say hi, that means there’s nothing left between us.” I shrugged, trying to act like what I’d said didn’t affect me, even as the hole where my heart once existed ached.

“Cut him some slack,” Rick said, his gaze tracking those leaving the sports center. “It’s been a long time.”

He was right. It had been and yesterday proved I had nothing to go back to. “Well, I’m glad you came. I hope you had a fun night out.”

Lily-Mae’s brows furrowed. “Now you hurt Thierry’s feelings.”

I chuckled softly and shook my head. “No. He said what needed to be said. I agree with his assessment. I’m being an as—butthead. No one else.”

“Well, at least Pope could have said hi,” Lily-Mae pouted.

Nah, that wasn’t Pope’s style.

Walking away was.

Chapter 9

Thierry

Previously, mornings after game day sucked, no matter if we won or lost. The issues compounded when we played back-to-back games before a travel day. The aches and pains of skating along with being checked into the boards left me limping and groaning as I made my way to the bathroom for a shower. This morning, however, I got out of bed with minimal issues.

Yes, I was tender from standing through the game and my knee ached like a sore thumb, but nothing I couldn’t handle. The tension of not being able to get out there and do what I loved or fix mistakes added to the aches and pains. Still, I didn’t feel like a Zamboni had run me over. Couldn’t say the same for that Sharpe kid. He got into a fight and probably woke up with a black eye and a busted lip.

Upside, that brief fight got the crowd into the match and turned the tide in our favor.

I turned on the water to warm, then relieved myself. After the little conversation with Lily-Mae and Rick, I thought I’d sneak in an hour to read over some files Alexander gave me access to. That didn’t happen. Even though the AHL wasn’t as big as the NHL, local sports shows who broadcasted on YouTube and radiostations had post-game pressers. Lucky me, the team chose me since it was my big return to the ice to hit the mic.

For an hour, I forgot about Pope.

I turned on the charm and answered each question as they came, including if I’d ever be back with theThunderbirdsor if coaching was now my permanent position with the team. If anything, being with theMountaineersshowed me how much I’d been going through the motions before my injury. Matter of fact, that complacency probably caused me to lose focus and get injured. Didn’t that just suck? I’d mentally checked out of the game and ended my career.

It'd been a week since then and, in that time, I thought the team turned the corner of their standings. They’d moved up a spot and increased their point differential. This weekend, thankfully, was a bye-week. However, come Monday morning, we’d have several games on the road before returning home.

I sighed, staring at my reflection in the mirror. I guess I should’ve been happy no one asked about my ex. Still, the epiphany rocked me. A renewed sense of purpose filled me being out there, helping the team in a different capacity. Conceited as it might sound, I felt like the teacher and the other guys were my students. I also realized I could learn a lot from my new teammates, too.

A glimmer of hunger sparkled to life in my gray eyes as that excitement burned in my gut. I stepped into the shower as the mirror over the sink fogged and sighed. The warmth of the water pelted my abused body, relaxing the tension in my shoulders and back.

I could stand there forever.

Eventually, the water would go cold, though. So, I showered and contemplated going to the party at the compound. As much as Wes wanted me there, I had my doubts. I hadn’t seen most of the guys in years. Mack and I got together every so often becauseI lived in Nashville and ate at his restaurant. Gareth, Sage, Cobi, and the others? Not so much.

Then there was the chance I might run into Pope. What happened then? Did I confront him about walking out of the sports complex without so much as a hello? Ask him what the fuck he thought he was doing kissing me like that? Should I ignore him completely? My gut knotted. Why was this so hard? I wasn’t trying to get into his pants or anything. Pope liked women. I liked men.

End of story.

Yet the longer I stood there, the more hope bloomed within me that at least I’d have my friend back if we just cleared the air and talked like adults. Stupid, right? Even if I never meant to hurt him, I had. Couldn’t even apologize. We’d gotten so far off course and it was all my fault. My hand slid across the top of my groin, and I groaned. Why did the thought of Pope turn me on while the truth stared me in the face? What was the point? What kind of evil sickness was that?

You’re a masochist.

Plain and simple.

I should have ignored the throb in my cock and finished showering. I had shit to do before I left for the compound, including checking out a few apartments in Murfreesboro. Couldn’t do that if I spent more time than was necessary jerking off in the shower. Still, as much as I told myself I didn’t need the added frustration in my life, I pumped my fist over my cock.

It’d been months since I got laid. The simple caress of my hand had me on edge. Maybe my obsession with Pope had to do with my libido and needing to have my ass filled with cock. Or the fact I’d played my first game—even if I was coaching—in almost six months before a roaring crowd and this was the result. With each stroke, my ass clenched as did the muscles ofmy stomach. I rode the natural excitement building in my gut, taking myself to the brink repeatedly.

When the images of Pope began to float through my mind—the man who used his tongue as a weapon to kiss me and steal all my self-preservation, my hand stuttered. Those obsidian eyes of his swallowed me whole. The slash of his mouth dared me to do obscene things to it, including rubbing my cum across them and making Pope lick my fingers clean before he sucked my dick.

A soft grunt of pleasure fell from my lips as I stood there conjuring up some of the best fantasy scenes I’d be saving in my spank bank for later. Although I’d always been a natural bottom, with Pope, I’d top him, just to break him in, show him what he’d been missing all these years, then I’d let him fuck me so I could experience the same. By the time we were done with each other, we’d be limp, dripping messes.

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