Page 40 of Tempting the Teammate
“I’ll need to get some supplies,” Andrei said, putting the camera down on the desk. He listed out the items he needed, liquids, and chemical things, and their purpose. “I could grab them tomorrow morning.”
That reminded me. We had practice in two hours and just enough time to have some breakfast, shower, and look over the notes from various classes on which we were behind. What an odd thing college was. You always went into it thinking this was going to be your semester, you would study and be on time and finally be the person you imagined yourself being, and then it ran you over like a high-speed train.
We each went into the bathroom, brushed our teeth, washed our faces, and got dressed. When I stepped out, Andrei was fiddling with the camera. We both knew it. I’d never taken a photo of him before. Not with one of his cameras, at least. Sure, my phone gallery was full of selfies of us together, but he had never wanted to swap places and let me take photos of him. I knew the way he shrugged like it didn’t matter, even if he secretly wanted something but didn’t want to say it.
He looked at me as I stepped out. “Coffee at the Thinker or downstairs?” he asked.
I crossed the room silently and placed my hands on his hips. He didn’t pull away as I leaned in and kissed him, lips feeling lips, mouth pressed against mouth. I inhaled through my nose, hungry for this soft, wonderful scent of lavender that came from his skin or his hair. It was the softener he used for the bedsheets, and he wore it early in the morning.
We went out, dizzy with the heat that flooded our heads. I could see it in the way Andrei walked, stiff and careful. Downstairs, Phoenix was muttering about the cursed docuseries like it was a splinter under his nail, while Damon spread butter across a burnt piece of toast. “If you don’t shut up about your role, Phoenix, I swear I’ll cut you into pieces.”
“It’s a butter knife,” Phoenix said. “You’re struggling with the toast.”
So, everything was normal. The world wasn’t stuck in some kind of cosmic glitch that had snapped my soul to Andrei’s. It was all still very much real.
I poured myself a cup of black coffee and made one for Andrei, cream and sugar, then slid it across the counter of the large kitchen island, and we planted our elbows on the marble block, facing one another.
“What happened yesterday?” asked Phoenix.
“Nothing,” I blurted.
Andrei shot me a frustrated—albeit adorably forgiving—look while Phoenix glared at me. “You spent the whole day with two camera crews, Griff.”
“Oh.” I shrugged. “You’ll see it when it airs.”
“Sure. Fine. Whatever. I don’t need to know the meandering plotlines. It’s trash TV anyway.” He drank from his mug and frowned. “Cold coffee.”
I turned around and brought the pot of fresh coffee to the counter, letting Phoenix top up his mug. “Has Jaxon seen it?”
“He thinks it’s cute. Cute!” Phoenix shook his head hopelessly. “I’ll have a word with Jen to straighten some things out. Or gay them up, rather, because they’re making the team look too much like every hypermasculine sports team on the planet.”
I didn’t look at Andrei, although I almost did. We had agreed not to tell anyone anything. Not that Andrei was gay or that I was whatever I was, which I suspected was bi, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. When you’re into someone, what else is there that matters?
It was one of the rare days we had practice without the intrusion of the cameras and directions from Jen and CoachNeilsen. Andrei and I played in unison, and it wasn’t just me who noticed we were flowing even more in sync than before.
We ran the cycle along the boards until it stopped feeling like practice and more like choreography. Sharp passes, tight pivots, mirrored movements. When I dropped back to cover, he surged forward, and when he got caught deep, I was already filling in behind him. It felt effortless.
There was a moment near the blue line, he deked past two cones and glanced over his shoulder. Our eyes met for less than a second. I crashed the slot, and the puck hit my stick like it was meant to be there. One-timer. Net. Andrei grinned as he met my gaze, and I wanted to kiss him there and then.
The guys chirped. Coach didn’t say much, just scribbled something down and let us keep running the drill.
I didn’t know what it looked like from the outside, but inside the rush of cold air and skate-blade shavings, it felt like I was the same kid who’d played with Andrei some of our first games. I found the same kind of joy, the same importance in scoring this little point.
“Good work, guys,” Coach Neilsen said as we filed back to our locker room. “Sokolov, Shaw, extra credit for cooperation. Damon, pay attention to that. This is a team. You don’t have to come out on top every time.”
“I’m always on top, Coach,” Damon said.
“Fly high, bottom hard,” Mason tossed from the back of the line.
Damon threw his head back and laughed so the whole rink boomed.
We undressed the same way we always did, but the proximity of Andrei’s near-naked body in a crowded locker room hit different this time. I avoided looking at him because if I let myself glance at him, I would lose myself in him. I would stay there forever, looking at the sheen of sweat on his smooth skin.
Some of us went to the Thinker after showering and had lunch. Just yesterday, Andrei and I sat there, and he had barely eaten a bite. It had been a lifetime ago, yet barely a day had passed.
He was cheerful and way more relaxed than I was, but it figured because he had spent a long time playing this game. He’d been attracted to me back when it would have freaked me out a little. He knew how to hide it.
When the lunch was over, the banter between Mason, Damon, and the chief shit-talker, Phoenix, flying over my head, Andrei got up and said he’d see everyone later. He had a day full of lectures.
