Page 49 of Tutoring Mr. Hotshot

“Amen!” she shouts from the kitchen, obviously listening in.

Rodney shakes his head, then leans against my chest. I pull him closer, happy to be holding him this way in his home.

Being with him like this feels natural. This is how we should always be.

“Don’t you have practice today too?”

I pull back to look down at him. There’s a weirdness to his voice that makes me want to see what he’s thinking. I can’t read minds, but my boy’s face is expressive enough to give me an idea without him voicing anything.

His gaze is cautious, almost like he’s afraid of what will happen when I’m around the guys after this. Does he think they’ll change my mind in some way? That I’ll not want him anymore?

“Later, yes. I’ll be there for a few hours, then I’ll come meet you wherever you are.”

His brows dip. The urge to smooth them out is strong. I hold off, curious about what he’s going to say next.

My little genius nearly whispers when he asks, “Are you sure?”

“More than sure. If I knew it wouldn’t bother you, I’d have you bundled up and on the bench at practice just so I could keep an eye on you. Doubt I’d be able to focus though because I’d only want to look at you the entire time.”

The smile he gives me makes me want to skip practice. It has me thinking of a million excuses as to why I can’t actually make it in.

But skipping out on my responsibilities isn’t who I am. It’s not how I’ve gotten this far. And if I want a spot with the Bears, then I have to bring my A-game. Being with Rodney depends on it.

* * *

When I get to practice, it’s obvious the others aren’t happy with me. They try really fucking hard to pretend I don’t exist.

Coach blows the whistle, halting play in an instant. “What the fuck are y’all doing? This isn’t a game of keep away! You’re playing like the fucking Phoenix Penguins out there. Get your shit together!”

His voice echoes around the ice like a battering ram. The guys drop their heads, embarrassed to be called out for their stupid choices. I shake my head as I bring my hands to my hips. This talk isn’t for me. If anything, I’m as pissed as Coach.

“You’re going to pass the puck to Rykov or you’re going to get benched for the rest of practice. Then after, I’m going to make you run drills until you puke. And maybe, if I’m generous, I won’t make you add weights on top of that punishment. Everyone understand?”

All the heads around the ice move up and down to say they’ve heard him as a unanimous, “Yes, Coach,” rings out. I might not be the biggest fan of how he’s handled Liam and his crew being assholes, but I can admit he knows how to get everyone on board for the sake of the game. His form of punishment would make anyone want to stand up straighter and pay attention.

I blame it on his father’s military past, a fun fact I only recently learned. Coach had no hope of being anything other than a hard-ass when it comes to getting serious about training.

The final hour of practice fairs a bit better. Everyone stops pretending I’m invisible, and we manage to be a touch more cohesive because of it. I score two goals, which earns me a clap from Coach along with some verbal praise. The sound of his words is lost amongst the homophobic slur Liam grunts as he skates past me.

While I’d love to bash his fucking teeth in, I know it’s not the time for it. He’ll get what he deserves later. I’ll make sure of it.

After practice, I rush through a shower before the others even manage to get fully undressed. I’m pulling my shirt down when I feel a presence at my back. Turning, I see a few of the guys gathered as if waiting for me. The little group might be scary to some. For me, it’s amusing.

I put on a grin as I lean back against my stall. “How can I help you?”

“You can stop being a fucking disappointment, Rykov,” Liam bites out.

Shaking my head, I keep my smile in place. “In what way am I disappointing you? Coach didn’t bitch me out for skipping over myself during practice.”

A vein in his forehead jumps at my words. He’s obviously not used to being called out. Maybe that’s why he’s such a dick.

“You’re a fucking —”

Raising my hand, I lose the calm exterior. “I have already warned you about that. You can be mad at me for playing like shit or missing a shot. That I understand. The game is important. But who I’m with isn’t your business.”

“It is when it’s him!”

His shout makes the men behind him frown. It’s clear they thought this was your run-of-the-mill‘bash the gay guy’sports shit. They have no clue about the obsession their self-declared leader has for my boyfriend.

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