Page 15 of Scoring Zone
“I don’t mind following you, even if it’s in the wrong direction.” It’s nearly dawn and my eyes are heavy, but this is too important to stop talking. “What do we do now?”
Gray opens his mouth but closes it and rolls his lips in. “I’ll answer that when I can think of something that isn’t about your dick.”
“You like my dick?” I ask the stupidest question ever. I blame my brain malfunction on exhaustion from the game, stress, and grogginess from waking up in the middle of the night.
He pumps his eyebrows but then gets serious. “Tinny, New Year’s Eve blew my mind, and although I’d hate to walk away from amazing sex, our friendship is more important to me. I will do whatever you want.”
“That doesn’t seem fair.” My eyelids are so heavy my blinks last too long, and I struggle to form a convincing argument.
“I get to decide what’s fair for me.” He stands. “You’re exhausted and not in the right frame of mind to make decisions. We’ll talk in the morning.” Gray scoops me up in his arms and carries me to my bed.
“It really is kinda hot to be manhandled.” I loop my arms around his neck, and he kisses my temple. Suddenly, I’m not so tired, but even more confused about what to do.
No, I have to stay strong and keep Gray safe from me.
Chapter 8
Grayson
Sometimes the universe conspires against me. The game arena usually feels like home, but not today because I’m detached from everything. The otherness is strong like an antiseptic stinging in my nose.
Until I find a sticky note on the training table, from Austin. My fingers run over the ink as if it holds the answers to what is going on between us. There aren’t any. The note reads “Sorry I missed you this morning. A.” Sweet yet not informative.
The group chat is rarely used anymore and I don’t know if I’m being paranoid or everything is happening in the player chat.
It would stand to reason that Austin and I would have plenty of time together during a stretch of home games, but we haven’t had a solid chunk of uninterrupted time to talk.
Driving together to practice and a rookie calls to talk to Austin.
After the morning skate, the medical staff wants a full report on everyone from me, and then Austin took an afternoon nap.
Morning off and an assistant coach needs advice on how to manage a player’s expectations.
And he’s required to stay in the team hotel. I don’t have a reason to go there that isn’t pathetic or lovesick.This isn’t love, I berate myself. This is me needing clarity about where Austin stands on us starting a physical relationship.
It’s a risk. A huge risk. One I have to be absolutely sure about.
I shouldn’t be ready to dive in because I could lose him. Life is hard enough with his fame. If we fail and fall apart, I’ll have to leave my job and start over.
Things aren’t as tense, but we’re in a weird sort of “more than friends but not” limbo. Since Vegas, I’ve lost my appetite, and all food has a cardboard like quality.
My phone buzzes, and Austin texts me a book meme about hockey. Apparently, hockey romances are big in the book world, and there are tons of videos set to music with funny captions. This one is of a team’s pregame skate from behind the glass, and the caption is about going to the man aquarium. A hilarious take on it, but it’s not wrong.
I search for one to return and find a guy warming up his hip flexors. It’s sexy as hell, and normally I wouldn’t send it to him because it wouldn’t hit the same, but I take a chance and send it with no caption or explanation.
He texts back a fire and big-eyes emojis.
One step in the right direction. He thinks it’s hot. And it is. And he sent me a direct text meant for my eyes only, not in the chat for everyone.
I wonder how he feels about our night together, and if he can imagine a life with me the way my brain took over and reinvented us as a fairytale couple. I’ve lost my mind.
The job takes over. Liska’s back is much better. Benz is hydrating properly. Griff has no residual soreness in his leg. Austin’s black eye is fine. Drake’s ribs are sore from a hit, buthe’s good to play. Kenney needs a finger taped, and suddenly it’s game time.
The energy in the arena is electric, and sometimes I wonder how these guys stay grounded. I’m proud when thousands of people chant their names, so I can only imagine how they feel.
I’m so focused on the players that I’m not paying attention to the time or the score.
My hands are cramped from a night of rubbing muscles and diligently taping up guys. If I pack up the supplies for the night, someone will need a treatment, so I head over to the locker room to check.
