“If they need you badly enough in Ottawa, maybe it wouldn’t be like that, though.”
Jamie covers his eyes with one of his hands. “Yeah. That occurred to me, too. I do not want to think about this right now.” His hand flops to the side again, and he looks up at me. “I bet you’ll think twice next time before you push me off your dick to have a bedtime conversation.” The corner of his mouth quirks up in a smile. “Won’t you?”
“Yeah, I suppose that’s true.” I lower myself onto his body again. “Would it be insensitive of me to ask where we were before I so rudely interrupted you?” I kiss him once. Twice.
Until he smiles against my mouth. “Not rude at all. But I believe we were…” He nudges me, and I let him roll me onto my back again. “Here,” he says, settling his hips against mine. “Now shut up for a few minutes so I can do what I do best.”
I zip my lips together, and I’m rewarded by a hot mouth kissing a path down my neck, and onto my chest. His tongue comes out to play as he works his way down my abs. I spread my legs and groan, ruffling his soft hair as his perfect mouth gets ever closer to my rapidly hardening cock.
As my pulse leaps, I sink into the moment, trying not to think about how much I already miss Jamie during the season.
Or how long a drive it is from here to Ottawa.
2
Jamie
“Jamie, hey,” my boss Bill says when I enter his office for our morning meeting. “Have a seat.” Smiling, he gestures to the only empty chair in the room. The second visitor’s chair is occupied by Bill’s boss, who I didn’t expect to find at this meeting.
My pulse speeds up at the sight of Ron Farham. Ron’s one of the top guys at the Canadian Hockey League, the organization that governs the three leagues that make up Major Junior hockey in Canada. He’s kind of a big deal, and my palms grow damp as I settle in the plush chair next to him.
Behind his mahogany desk, Bill Braddock offers me another smile. Reassuring. “Relax, Canning. This is just a yearly review, not an execution.”
Just a yearly review? Nuh-uh. This is the meeting where I find out if I got the promotion I applied for.
Assistant Coach. The big AC. Sure, it doesn’t sound like the most glamorous job title, but it’s a step up from my current position of Associate Coach, and it’s one step closer to my ultimate goal—Head Coach.
Don’t get me wrong, I love working one-on-one with my team’s goalie and defensemen. And I know my efforts definitely contributed to us winning the Memorial Cup tournament last year. The jury’s still out on this year, but the boys have been kicking ass this season, so a return to the championship isn’t out of reach.
But just because I was a goalie myself doesn’t mean I don’t have ideas about offensive strategies, or the ability to coach the hot young forwards that enter the league every year. I need a change. I need a broader set of responsibilities.
During our last road trip, Bill all but confirmed I was getting a promotion. It means moving to a different team whose home arena is about forty-five minutes north of Toronto, but I’m not worried about the commute from downtown. And yes, it also means no longer working with Bill, but as much as I like and respect the man, change is good.
Now, as I sit there in the presence of Bill and Ron, I wonder if maybe…maybe I’m getting an even better position? Why else would someone from the CHL be here?
“Let’s get right down to business,” Bill says without preamble. “Ron and I have been singing your praises all season. What you’ve done with Chambers is truly something.”
Ron nods enthusiastically. “The way you turned that kid around? Very impressive.”
“He turned himself around,” I argue, although I can’t deny that Dale Chambers was an absolute nightmare at the start of the season. Chip on his shoulder, not to mention a God complex. Kid earned his teammates’ dislike from day one, and it took many, many team-building attempts to create some camaraderie between him and everyone else. If a team doesn’t like or trust their goalie, it could tank an entire season.
But all it took was a few conversations with Chambers for me to realize he was crying out for help. His father abandoned the family when Dale was six, and the parade of male “role models” courtesy of his mother’s awful taste in boyfriends created a hostile home environment that had Dale acting out in school and hockey practice. His sheer talent as a goaltender caught the attention of his youth league coaches, who encouraged him to keep playing.
“I just listened to him,” I tell my bosses.
“You’re good with them,” Bill says seriously. “The boys. You have a real talent for nurturing these kids, Canning.”
My cheeks heat up, and damned if my chest doesn’t puff up with pride. I am good with kids. I know I am. And the praise being poured on to me feels great, not gonna deny that.
“You’re an excellent role model,” Ron agrees.
The balloon of pride grows bigger, filling up my entire chest.
“With that said…” Bill starts.
Here it is. I almost rub my palms in glee. Promotion time.
“I know you were hoping to land as the AC for the Barrie team, but that position was offered to Hannigan this morning.”