Page 57 of Hat Trick
That should be the saying.
And from that moment on, my eyes have been glued to the ice.
The second the puck drops, it’s pure pandemonium. It takes me a minute to even realize where Emerson is. He’s skating around like a wild man, but once I spot him, my eyes don’t leave him. That is unless the other team is trying to score, then I find my ass out of my seat screaming, making sure Dom is blocking the puck from getting into the Panthers’ net.
I don’t know how they keep up with where the damn puck is.
I might not know hockey, but most sports have some kind of defense and offense, and my years playing volleyball made me a little more aware of figuring out how other sports work. Emerson seems to stay on the side of the ice where Dom is, protecting him, and to say it doesn’t make me hot would be a lie. Since Emerson is a defensive player, he and the other guy, who plays on the opposite side of him, protect Dom at all costs.
Dom is guarding that net like his life depends on it, and it’s one of the most attractive things I’ve ever seen the man do. And that’s saying a lot because he’s done some hot shit in the time I’ve known him. I mean he’s a damn erotic voice actor for crying out loud. But this… this tops that bya lot.
He’s so powerful out there.
Sex on blades.
The way his body can move at the speed it does is genuinely shocking, especially knowing how big he is. I’ll never understand the science behind it. All I know is that he’s a fine-tuned machine. Mentally and physically.Every so often, my eyes will find his through his goalie mask, and even from here, I watch them darken as he stares at me across the ice before refocusing his attention on the game in front of him.
And when I’m not ogling Dominic, I’m staring at Emerson. Like right now. Emerson’s more like a blur as he passes, chasing down the other team’s offensive man who currently has the puck in front of his stick. They both get to the end of the rink and Em slams the guy into the boards. I grimace because I sure as hell wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of that. But the check works. The opponent isn’t able to keep control of the puck and is too stupid to pass it to one of his teammates.
I watch as Emerson gets the puck back to the other side, slamming it to who I think is the center, only for him to quickly pass it to one of Palm’s offensive men.
And before I can even blink, the buzzer behind the goal is going off, and everyone’s out of their seats screaming.
Holy shit. We scored!
Call it naivety, but I really didn’t realize how athletic these two actually are. I guess I underestimated what it took to be a hockey player. Why?
I have no clue.
For God’s sake, they’re on blades, skating on ice, chasing a damn puck around. All while the other opponents are actively trying to get the little rubber disc away from them in any way they can. It could never be me, but I can appreciate the hell out of them and their athletic abilities. There’s something so attractive abouthow passionate they are about the sport and how the two of them dominate the rink around them. Like they own the ice and nobody can tell them otherwise.
Ugh, maybe I am getting invested in hockey after all.
I feel like it’s similar to baseball—hate watching it on TV, but in person it’s an experience you can’t put into words. The energy in here is electric. Contagious. You can’t not pay attention to what’s going on. As the second line hops over to give the first line a break, I meet Emerson’s eyes right beside their bench, and the smile he gives me is infectious. I can feel the power of it sink into my chest. I think he’s happy I seem to be enjoying myself, and I’m not absolutely miserable sitting here watching them play.
I don’t think I could be miserable watching the two men I lo—fuck.
Fuck.
Fucckkk.
It hits me.
It’sbeenhitting me.
All of the moments, big and small, hit me in rapid succession. I think I’ve been brushing it to the side for days now. But watching the two of them have the moment before the game, seeing them out on the ice tonight, the feeling in my chest when Emerson simply winked at me, and the way they care for one another… the thing that hits me the hardest is how they both care so much forme. Together, separate, it doesn’t matter. They’re always there when I need them, and even when I don’t think I do… they’re there. Both of them. From the lock on my apartment door that Emerson replaced, toordering me food when I don’t schedule enough time between clients for lunch breaks, and dropping anything at the drop of a hat if I call or text them.
I’ve always looked for a love that was loud. Bold. One like I’ve seen in some of my favorite couples. A love so loud it outshines me even on my boldest of days. But here they have been, loving me in the quiet moments. The ones that go almost unnoticed unless you’re really paying attention.
My god.
I love Emerson Baker and Dominic Foster.
I sit in my epiphany for the remainder of the game. When I thought about this moment, I figured it would send me spiraling into a panic. Commitment used to scare the shit out of me, but with Emerson and Dominic I feel we could take on the world when we’re together. I’ve known for a while now how much I care about these two—I was just heavily in denial.
When Palm University wins 3–0, the seats clear and I wait as everyone leaves the arena. Once the majority of the people are cleared out, I make my way to the locker rooms. The guys wanted me to meet them down here, and I’m not putting up a fight knowing damn well they’re about to look good as hell with their post-game suits on.
Right as the thought pops into my head, they seemto appear out of thin air. They come out of the locker room door, snatching the breath from my lungs. Emerson is wearing a dark, forest-green suit, which is the perfect contrast to Dom’s creamy-beige suit.
