Puck Drills & Quick Thrills (CU Hockey 5)

Beck rolls his eyes. “She just wants more free labor for her farm.”

“Duh.” Jacobs nudges his boyfriend. “I swear if it were up to her, she’d volunteer up some land so we could have our hockey camp onsite, and as part of the training, we make the kids do farm work.”

“She’s a smart woman,” Beck says. “I guess we better do as she says.”

Jacobs frowns. “About marriage and kids or putting the hockey camp on the farm.”

Beck smiles. “The first one. The hockey camp needs to be closer to Burlington than Dorset.”

Jacobs’s mouth drops.

Rossi looks confused. “Did … you just propose to Jacobs?”

Beck’s eyes widen. “What? No. I mean in the future.” He turns to Jacobs. “Oh shit, you didn’t think I meant now, did you? I love you, but—”

Jacobs lets out a loud gush of air. “Oh, thank God. I thought we were about to have a really awkward conversation. I want all that stuff too, but not anytime soon. Maybe when we’re—”

They both say, “Thirty,” at the same time and then look at each other like the other hung the goddamn moon.

It hits me that thirty to them is old-man-get-married age, and I just …

Okay, I need more alcohol than I thought. “My turn for drinks. Anyone want anything that’s not shots?”

“More shots!” Beck declares. “I don’t have classes until the afternoon tomorrow. I can get shitfaced.” Sometimes I forget Beck is technically still a student at CU too, but he’s in his fifth year and taking extra classes for a minor certificate in coaching, which means he’s ineligible to play for the team. Hence the assistant coach position.

Jacobs groans. “I do have work tomorrow.”

“I have classes, but I can do them hungover,” Rossi says.

And yep, I’m definitely too old for these guys. If someone had asked me what my favorite way to wind down was, drinking and partying would have once been my answer. Now, as I look over at the table with Jasper, I realize it would be doing exactly what they are. Casually hanging out, relaxing, and not talking about getting shitfaced and going clubbing.

When I reach the bar, Dave’s there getting himself one of the craft beers on tap.

“Hey, you made it,” he says.

“Oh, I came out with some of the guys from the hockey team.”

Dave follows my gaze. “Oh my God, they’re babies.”

I chuckle. “I’m closer to them in age than I am to you or Jasper.”

“Aww, you think I’m Jasper’s age? You’re my new favorite person. Just don’t tell my husband.”

I like Dave. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“When you’re done pretending you’re twelve years old again, come join us.”

I subtly glance over my shoulder at Jasper, whose eyes are locked on my ass. I smile, and that’s when his blue eyes meet mine.

He quickly turns to the guy I assume is Dave’s husband, apparently listening intently to whatever he’s saying.

“What’s up with Jas?” I ask.

“Ah. Notice the not-so-subtle leave-me-alone vibe, did ya?” Dave runs his hand over his short, dark hair. “Don’t tell him I said anything, but apparently our Jasper likes you, and you dropped the f-bomb on him.”

“Fuck?”

He huffs. “No, friends. He thinks you only want to be friends.”

“Oh.” Now that, I can work with. “In that case, when these youngins take off, I’ll come say hi.”

Dave slaps my shoulder. “Good man. I knew I’d like you.”

If more than friends is what Jasper wants, I’m only too happy to show him I can do that. I’m not sure if I could ever be enough for him though. He’s the perfect escape from my guilt-ridden, overwhelming life, but it might be selfish of me to pursue him. My family comes first, and they’ll need to for the foreseeable future. My personal life needs to take a back seat to all the other shit going on.

But if Jasper thinks he can handle that kind of arrangement, I want to go for it.

I just hope I don’t pull a typical fuckboy move and mess it up. I can’t seem to get anything right these days, and I don’t see how dating someone would be any different.

But as I grab the drinks and walk back to my table, our eyes lock again, and I know without a doubt: I want to try.

20

Jasper

I can’t believe West is here.

Fuck a duck, he looks good too.

And he keeps looking at me, so he keeps catching me looking at him.

I muffle a groan by draining my beer and can’t stop my stare from flicking toward his table again. Fat lot of good these last few West-less days have done, because all it takes is minimal exposure and I’m wanting him more than ever.

The thing that really gets me, though, is West is here with three students, all of whom I’ve taught, and if that doesn’t make me feel old, nothing would. TJ Beckett is standing next to the table, gesturing wildly and being the usual loudmouth I’ve come to know from him. As I watch, he throws himself into Christopher Jacobs’s lap and starts to kiss him in a way that should be illegal in public.