Page 10 of Breakaway Goals
“Then what the fuck, dude?”
Finally, Hayes lifted his eyes up. “You’re just . . .I’m just . . .I’ll get it together, I promise. Don’t take me off your line.”
Morgan was beginning to understand what this was. He knew what pressure could do to a person. Make you crumple like a damp piece of paper or crush you until you became as hard as a diamond.
He’d have assumed Hayes was more the latter than the former, but there was no question there’d been a whole lot of media bullshit around this tournament. About Hayes and Morgan playing together for the first time. Even if you thought you had your shit handled, it could still sneak up. Being locked in one day didn’t mean that you were locked in forever.
“Listen,” Morgan said, “you gotta forget about all that bullshit. About how you watched me as a kid. Thought I was the greatest thing you’d ever seen—”
“Presumptuous,” Hayes interrupted, and Morgan saw a little of his fire flame back to life.
“Hey, I’m not the one who’s playing afraid of fucking up, of making a mistake in front of my childhood hero,” Morgan retorted.
“Did you even have childhood heroes?” Hayes sounded annoyed now. Which was better than afraid, at least.
“You gotta be more like Danny. Don’t be afraid to tell me to fuck off, okay? I’m just . . .” Morgan put a hand on Hayes’ chest and paused, suddenly and horribly aware of how close they were standing. They had all their gear on, sure, but it felt intimate.
Morgan told himself he was just trying to bridge the gap between them. Forhockey.
Not because there was a frisson of something like awareness skittering through him, suddenly wild and untamed.
Hayes was a very good-looking guy, even dripping sweat and wearing all his smelly gear. It was the eyes, but it was more than that too. The sharp jawline. The wet strand of hair falling across his forehead. The plump pink lips.
Hayes bit that bottom lip and the sight sent a jolt through Morgan. “You’re just what?”
Morgan couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this flustered—suddenly or otherwise. “Uh.” He tore his eyes away from the indent in Hayes’ bottom lip. “I’m just a man, Monty.”
Hayes looked like he’d just been hit with a puck to the head. “What?”
You’re doing this for hockey. You do everything for hockey.That had been true for so many years Morgan barely even remembered when he’d had other priorities. Could he evenhaveother priorities?
Morgan was still touching Hayes’ chest. Hockey players were super touchy, always, but this felt like a step further. He curled his fingers into Hayes’ jersey. Right above the eagle’s wings thatwere spread across his chest. “I’m just a man. I’m not special. I’m not anything—”
“Untrue,” Hayes said.
Morgan shook his head. “You gotta forget about . . .I don’t know . . .any of the times that you jerked off to my hockey highlights, okay?”
He’d been seventy-five percent joking, but the way his words hit Hayes, making him flush bright red, told him that he’d hit the nail on the head.
Oh, God.
“I didn’t . . .I wouldn’t . . .” Hayes stammered. He smacked Morgan on the arm and pulled back. He looked annoyed, now. Like he hadn’t liked being called out on it. Annoyed was better than timid, any day of the week. Morgan was a self-professed asshole; he could work withannoyed.
“You sure fucking did, and I can’t even blame you. They’re some damn good highlights.” He shot Hayes his best cockiest smile. Ignoring the flames licking up inside him at the idea that Hayes thought he was hot.
It was hardly the first time that had ever happened. He was rich and famous and successful and hardly ugly on the eyes, either. But this wasHayes, who was all those things too and was still looking at him like there was something worthy deep down inside Morgan, something he’d lost sight of a long time ago.
“They were okay,” Hayes said, and the corner of his mouth quirked up in a grin. “You’re really an asshole, you know?”
Morgan knew. “I’m gonna remind you of that fact when Danny’s being a dick. In fact, maybe we should move Danny to center, you can make some plays for him.”
Hayes made a face. “Don’t.”
“Then fucking play better,” Morgan said.
Hayes didn’t know whether he was burning with anger or embarrassment.
Or something else, entirely.
