Face Offs & Cheap Shots (CU Hockey Book 2)

Week two of camp consists solely of hockey and taunting Jacobs about the CUM challenges being 2-1 in my favor. And all week, he still does that thing where he pretends I’m not getting to him. I have to admit, he’s actually pretty good at it, but there are moments where he slips.

A scowl.

A set jaw.

He can’t hide every reaction from me.

Pair that with actually enjoying mentoring the high school kids, I’m beginning to wonder why I never volunteered for training camp before.

Jacobs’s bitter voice fills my head. “Too busy on your family’s yacht.”

Oh. Right. That’s why.

I shake that thought free because I won’t let my stupid future—or lack thereof—stop me from having the best summer of my life.

I had no idea how rewarding it could be to teach and guide someone to hone their skills and make them better. A few of these kids have real talent, and seeing them grow into that settles something inside me I don’t quite understand.

I think it’s accomplishment. Maybe? I don’t know what the fuck that feels like seeing as I haven’t worked for a thing in my life.

Even hockey comes naturally to me. I’ve definitely worked hard at getting as good as I am, but I’ve always seen it as a hobby because I’ve never been allowed to think of it as more. So, while scoring one of the winning goals in the Frozen Four last season was an amazing feat, it didn’t hold the same significance to me that it did to Grant or Jacobs. It was awesome, yes, but life changing? Not so much.

This camp though … these kids …

When I can see them truly listening to me and understand what I’m telling them, it’s an indescribable feeling. Teaching them about the difference between knowing when to pressure an opponent and when to contain them, helping them with their slap shots, and even shooting the shit about hockey, the NHL, and who we think looks good this coming season is fun.

They’re all full of an optimism I don’t—and can’t—have.

It reminds me that this is temporary. It’s all temporary.

I have to keep telling myself so I don’t get attached.

The itchy coldness of time running out buzzes under my skin.

I need to go out. I need to get laid.

But it’s another Friday night. While I’ve been tormenting Jacobs all week with my last victory, Cohen has been tormenting both of us with whatever the fuck the next challenge is going to be.

I’m not even fully dressed from the showers when I tell them all to get on with it. “I have places to be and shit to do.” Burying myself in some stranger is a mild fix—a Band-Aid—and the high I get from it won’t last long. It never does.

But it’s something.

My first choice would be to get drunk enough I don’t care about anything anymore, but we have an early Saturday morning skate with the kids, so I can’t write myself off.

I finish throwing on my clothes and start on my shoes and socks.

Cohen claps his hands together. “Okay. So, we all know our old captain swung both ways.”

I already don’t like where this is going.

“We also know his favorite game was messing with the new guys on the team.” He glances at Simms. “So, we’re thinking a nice easy game of … gay chicken.”

I drop my shoe.

Jacobs stands from his spot on the other side of the locker room. “I’m out.”

“Has there been a challenge yet that you’ve actually agreed to?” I ask.

“What, you wanna do this?”

“Just pointing out that shooting down every idea isn’t a great quality in a captain.”

“Come on,” Cohen says. “You haven’t even heard the terms yet. We’re not asking you to fuck a guy. It’s only kissing. Everyone has kissed someone of the same sex. It’s, like, a thing. A rite of passage.”

Everyone in the room blinks at him.

“Put your hand up if you’ve never kissed another guy,” I say.

Every single person raises their hand except for Cohen.

I’m surprised to see Jacobs’s hand up. Meaning, either my suspicions about him and Grant were wrong or he’s lying right now.

Cohen slowly turns in a circle. “Wait … really? How did you learn how to kiss if not with your best friend?”

There are some snickers.

“Your best friend is gay, man,” Rossi says.

“No, he’s not.” But Cohen suddenly doesn’t sound so sure.

“Don’t worry, you won’t be the only one for long.” Rossi takes over. “Okay, the stipulations. You two have to kiss. First one to pull away loses.”

“Yeah, I’m so out,” Jacobs says again.

I cock my head at him. “Scared you’ll like it, Topher?”

He smiles, but his hands fist at his sides, still trying to hide his true reaction to me. “Scared you will. Plus, who knows what venereal diseases you’re carrying.”

“Does someone need sex ed lessons? Unless you’re planning to kiss my dick, you’re fine.”

“Ever heard of syphilis? That can be transferred through mouths.”

I pull back. “Holy shit. Really?”

“Now who needs sex ed lessons?” Jacobs mutters.

“I’m googling this,” Rossi says and takes out his phone.

Cohen’s still off to the side having an existential crisis. “I … I’ll be right back.”

“It can only be transmitted through kissing if there are active sores or lesions in the mouth. Either of you got that?” Rossi asks.

I’m tempted to say yes to get out of this, but if I push, maybe he can give me the win, and then whatever is the last thing on this damn list doesn’t have to be done.

“All good on my end.” I turn to Jacobs. “But remember, you can back out at any moment. Give me this one and I win the whole thing. Then we can maybe focus our time on the important shit this summer. Like hockey.”

Jacobs really thinks about it. A concentration line forms on his forehead.

“Let’s get this over with.” He walks into the middle of the locker room.

My eyebrows want to shoot into my hairline, but I try to tame my reaction as best I can. When that doesn’t work, I bend and tie my shoelaces.

I thought for sure he wouldn’t go through with this. He probably still won’t.

Probably.

I force a smile and fake confidence.

It’s only kissing like Cohen said.

I stand and step in front of Jacobs, toe to toe, almost chest to chest.

He’s got that casual smile on his face that I’m quickly learning is the one he uses to cover up the scowl he loves throwing my way.

His gray eyes give him away though. There’s hesitance and a whole lot of fear behind them.

I figure one of the guys will step in and stop this. Or maybe they think we won’t go through with it.

The closer we get, the louder the guys’ snickers become. Then there’s a round of wolf whistles.

Definitely not going to stop this, then.

I lower my voice so the idiots can’t hear. “You really don’t have to do this.”

“I’m not going to let you win,” Jacobs says through gritted teeth.

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Doesn’t faze me. My best friend is bi.” He shrugs, but it’s jerky.

Hmm. It again raises the question of what happened between him and Grant, if anything.

“All right, then.” I step closer and press against him.

His eyes widen. “Wait … like … right now?” He turns his head. “Should we wait for Cohen?”

Rossi waves him off. “He knows what it’s like for two guys kissing, evidently.”

Jacobs nods. “Right, then.”

Our gazes lock, and I swallow hard.

It happens in a slow motion, movie-like build up where we slowly move our heads together. Closer. Inch by inch.

I feel his breath ghost my lips and suddenly become aware of all of him.

His height. His build.

The dark scruff on his usually cleanly shaven face.

I’m frozen. Even if I wanted to pull away right now I couldn’t. I’m gonna win this shit by default because for some reason, Jacobs being this close to me, his lips right there, has my interest piqued in a different and unpredictable way.

It has nothing to do with hockey or being captain.

I don’t think it even has to do with winning or losing this stupid game.

It’s more than that. It’s … different. It’s—

His mouth closes over mine, the kiss soft and unsure. I contemplate letting him take the lead, but as if I’m not in control of my own body, my tongue darts out for a taste of his lips.

I expect him to freak out—I’m freaking out and it’s my tongue that’s doing it. Instead, he pushes against me harder.

Then I feel it, the brush of his tongue against mine.

He’s kissing me back. And not a bet type of kiss. They never said we have to use tongues.

Jacobs’s mouth opens the tiniest bit, and I dive in, not even caring we’re in a room full of people or that this is a joke.

If he calls me on it, I have the excuse I was trying to get him to pull away.

I ignore the snarky comments and quiet laughter that surrounds us and focus.

The scruff around his mouth is rough against my skin, a sensation I’ve never experienced before. I can’t say I hate it. Fuck, I think I like it.

Oh shit. I might like it too much.

My dick twitches and hardens in my jeans.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Think of things to deflate my dick.

Dead puppies.

Professor Morley.

Jacobs legit groans, and it’s the most erotic sound I’ve ever heard.

Kissing has never been like this. Kissing is supposed to be anticipation.

It’s a teaser.

A taste.

It’s supposed to build and grow, becoming hotter and needier over time.

It doesn’t start with explosions. At least, not in my experience.

Now I’m fully hard, and what the actual fuck?

I pull away. “Nope, nope, nope. I’m out.”

“Whoa,” Cohen says. I didn’t even hear him come back in.

“What?” I snap at him.

“I think we’re all a little gay after that. That was hot.”

Rossi slaps Cohen’s shoulder. “Still only you, dude.”

The rest of the team laughs, but I’m too fixated on Jacobs to care.

His lips are puffy and red, but then he breaks into a grin. “Two apiece, then.”

“Yup.” I turn and grab my gear and throw it over my shoulder. “Whatever. See you losers tomorrow.”

I hightail it out of there and don’t slow down until I cross campus and reach my dorm.

Only when I’m inside the safety of my room do I let go and sink against the door.

I have no idea what just happened, but I can’t help running my fingers over my lips trying to figure it out.