Page 3 of Scoring Slater
Needing a distraction, he scrolled through the photos he'd posted on his favorite social app. So many pictures and videos included Noah. So many fans' comments had mentions of boyfriends, as though the fans wanted them to get together as much as Slater did.
Maybe the invitation to the auction was the universe's gentle nudge for him to move on from Noah. He hadn't dated anyone since Noah had rolled into town. Hadn’t wanted to pursue anything with the guys who’d shown him the least bit of interest, either. Not with Noah being everything he wanted. He went back to the photos in his camera roll, and uploaded the one of the city skyline with only his reflection in the window. Maybe it was time to stop living in his head, hoping for something that might never happen.
He tapped on the message from the auction's coordinator. Typing out extra exclamation points in his response made up for an enthusiasm he didn't feel.
He'd do the auction.
Anything to get Noah out of his head and out of his heart.
CHAPTER TWO
Noah zipped around the ice, chasing the puck into corners and knocking into bodies that got in his way. The cold air rushing over his face did nothing to cool the adrenaline surging through his body.
He battled for control, going head to head and skate to skate with Toronto’s captain and finally nudged the puck loose. A backhand pass to Anton Celek set the Bedlam captain up for a shot. The puck flew toward the net. Noah sped into the bodies crowding the goal crease. He poked at the puck through a sea of legs and skates. Someone’s fist slammed into his back, pushing him into the goalie. He lost control of his stick and skates and flung his arm out to ward off the brunt of a check from an incoming Toronto defenseman.
The goalie dove and covered up the puck. The whistle blew. Guys milled around the crease, yelling and chirping at each other. Noah rescued his stick and stood. To his right, the huge Toronto defenseman took a cheap shot at Celek. Anger ignited, and Noah launched himself into the mountain of a man. Standing at six-foot-seven, the opposing team’s player had a full six inches in height on Noah and probably outweighed him by a good forty pounds. Even so, he was ready to drop his gloves and go. One touch on his shoulder from Celek, along with a brief shake of the head, told him to stand down.
A red light turned on over the penalty box, indicating a commercial time-out. He skated toward his bench for some water. The Jumbotron over center ice flashed with an animated game designed to trick the eye for the fans’ entertainment.
Defenseman Vince Forsberg, his best friend on the team outside of Slater, met up with him and nudged his side. "Whoa, bud. You looked like Slater out there, knocking bodies around. Your roommate’s rubbing off on you."
"Ha, ha." That was the problem. Imagining Slater rubbing off on him in all sorts of ways had dominated his thoughts for weeks. Months, if he were being entirely honest with himself. He reached for a water bottle and sought out the redhead on the opposite end of the bench. Slater’s agreement to participate in the auction had thrown him. But not as much as his own reaction to that news.
"You’ve been in a mood all night. You were fine at lunch. Did something happen after that? Did someone on Toronto’s bench or one of the fans say something to you?" Holding his stick, Vince spun in a slow circle, ready to defend Noah from the entire arena.
He downed some water, then squirted the bottle onto the back of his neck. "I just want to get the win."
Vince’s cool blue gaze narrowed like he saw the truth hiding between Noah’s words. "We do that better with you on the ice, not in the box."
"I got two goals tonight."
"And two penalties."
"Point taken." He was more of a finesse player, not known for throwing his weight around. Not like Slater. "I’ll dial it back, okay?"
"Just play smart."
Nodding, he passed over the water bottle. Smart would be finding a way to deal with his feelings that didn’t involve racking up penalty minutes. Smart would be confiding in Vince so he’d have an outlet for blowing off steam and talking through his problems.
He glanced at the heart of his problems once more. Slater met his gaze and Noah’s heart squeezed in his chest.
Smart would’ve been not falling for Slater in the first place.
* * *
Cleaning, creating order out of clutter, had always soothed him, but today, no amount of scrubbing or vacuuming or organizing could alleviate the itch of nerves residing under Noah’s skin. He returned the vacuum to the hall closet and walked into the kitchen.
After scoring two goals against Toronto in his last game and his coach's praise during practice earlier in the day, he should’ve been riding high. But the scheduled appointment that had hung on the horizon of his mind for days was minutes away from happening and internally freaking out had taken over. He glanced around the kitchen and sighed at the coffee mug that Slater had left in the sink. "The dishwasher isright there."
Not that Slater could hear him. He'd gone to the comic book store as soon as they'd returned from practice, promising that he would be back before the team's media relations person arrived to film a tour of the apartment they shared.
The clip would air during an intermission in an upcoming game, as well as be featured on the team's website and social media. He understood giving the fans a peek into their everyday lives. All of the teams did so much to draw in fans and better connect them with players. But an apartment tour was a slice too personal for his comfort. Then again, with the amount of photos and videos Slater shared, the fans had already seen bits and pieces of the place.
As if thinking about the man conjured him up, the front door opened then closed. "I'm back," Slater's voice called from the hall.
Rinsing the coffee mug, Noah turned, but Slater didn't appear in the doorway. His footsteps grew quieter, which meant he'd headed for his bedroom.
Noah's heart wrenched. Things had been different between them for the past two days, and that was entirely his fault. He'd been in a mood since Toronto, since Slater had agreed to do the auction.
