Page 40 of Knocked Sideways

“Yes, Cap.” Jed thought Hal was delusional, but even if he wasn’t, Jed knew he couldn’t start anything. He was a veteran, an authority figure on the team, someone Remy had apparently admired when he was younger. Not to mention, Remy was still hurting from how things went down with Mike, whether he wanted to admit it or not. There were, in short, many excellent reasons for Jed to have no intention of ever showing Remy that he was feeling whatever he was feeling.

“Glad we’re on the same page about this. I’ll get the tab. Don’t stay up too late waiting for them.” Hal motioned to the server.

“Nah, I’ll come up with you.” Jed didn’t want to give Hal any more ideas, and waiting for Remy and the others to come back would only add fuel to the fire.

He also didn’t want to sit there ruminating over what Hal had said. He couldn’t be that obvious, could he? On the other hand, how the hell would he know? He’d never been this—aware—of a teammate before. If that’s what he was still calling it.

Whatever Hal thought might happen, Jed was in complete control of himself, like always. Nothing had changed. He’d go up to bed and go to sleep and not give Remy another thought until morning.

He kept telling himself that as he undressed and brushed his teeth and got into bed. He wasn’t going to think about Remy at the bar next door, letting someone buy him a drink and coax out a smile. And he definitely wasn’t going to think about Remy sitting next to him on the plane and letting his head fall on Jed’s shoulder.

Or about whether Remy’s hair was as soft as it looked. Whether Remy’s lips would feel soft, too, under Jed’s. Whether they’d look perfect wrapped around someone’s cock, with Remy down on his knees looking up from under those long lashes with his eyes blown wide.

Jesus. Now Jed was a million miles away from falling asleep. He knew he was the last thing Remy needed, coming right on the heels of whatever-the-hell kind of relationship he’d had with Mike.

Fuck. He was fully aroused, and he knew he wasn’t going to fall asleep until he came. He pushed his boxers down and stroked himself, starting slow and getting faster as the precome leaked out, imagining a dark-haired guy taking someone in his mouth like that. Imagining that dark-haired guy gaining confidence, sucking harder, giving himself up to whatever rhythm was set—and Jed was coming hard just from imagining the sounds that dark-haired guy might make, how much he’d want to take what the other guy had to give.

His orgasm felt better than any he’d had in a while, and he lay there for a few minutes, pretending to wonder why it hadn’t been like that in such a long time.

He knew the answer, though.

It was because, God help him, he liked Remy. And now that Hal had said Remy had heart eyes, he couldn’t get the idea that Remy might want him out of his head. But wanting the way guys usually wanted him and wanting a relationship were two different things, and he needed to remember that.

Jed couldn’t say he was happy the next morning that Remy sat down with Moreau and McBride for the team meeting and didn’t even glance Jed’s way, but it helped him focus on the upcoming game. It also helped that he needed to prepare more than usual, because Brooklyn had recently acquired Tory Chang as their first-line right winger, and Jed still hadn’t cracked how to shut him down consistently. Or at all. Chang was the only guy who’d scored on Jed each time their teams had met—more than once, in a few of those games—and Jed was determined that it wouldn’t happen again.

So Jed met with the goaltending coach and took his time warming up at the arena, visualizing all the saves he was going to make. And it started off well enough. Brooklyn hadn’t adjusted to having a player of Chang’s caliber, and the rest of his line was all over the place trying to keep up with him, which gave the Blizzards’ defense a fighting chance. The Blizzards’ offense also rose to the challenge. Hal wasn’t as flashy as Chang, but he had experience on his side—not to mention linemates who could keep up with him—and sure enough, Hal got the first goal. The score stood at 1-0 when the teams filed off the ice for intermission.

The momentum shifted almost immediately in Brooklyn’s favor, though. The second period started with a sloppy turnover that ended with Chang rocketing one over Jed’s right shoulder to tie it up. Jed exchanged a few words with Remy then—a quick “That was a tough one, our fault for letting him get by” from Remy and a “Next time” from Jed—and tried not to notice how much he liked hearing Remy’s voice.

Maybe he was distracted, or maybe he didn’t shake off the goal quickly enough, but he wasn’t his most focused a moment later when Brooklyn won the face-off and the first line came barreling toward him down the ice. It startled him when Bakesy yelled his name, and he was too slow to move as Brooklyn’s center shoved Bakesy into him and sent him flying to the ice, left shoulder banging the goalpost on his way down.

His left shoulder was his tricky shoulder, and Coach wasn’t in the mood to take risks. He pulled Jed from the game, and the trainer hustled him off to check him out before he could do more than catch Remy’s worried look back in his direction. Jed spent the second intermission getting checked out and wrapped up, trying to remind himself he was glad that Coach didn’t want him taking chances, and that the backup goalie, Justin Martin, was perfectly capable of holding the line during the game.

As it turned out, Martin wasn’t up to it that night. When the team trudged into the locker room at the end of the game, where Jed was dressed and waiting, it was clear they’d taken a beating.

Moreau wasn’t about to let them stay down for long, though. “What the hell, boys. We played well; Brooklyn played better. Three out of four on the road is pretty damn good, and we’re still going out tonight,” he announced.

He got a few enthusiastic responses back. It was New York, after all. Denver didn’t quite measure up in terms of nightlife.

“You goin’ with them?” Jed asked Remy, who was standing in front of his stall in his boxer briefs, towel around his shoulders, peering into his backpack as if the contents were going to bite him. The briefs were navy blue and looked soft as silk. Not that Jed was noticing such things.

“Petey made me bring clubbing clothes,” Remy said, as if that was an answer. Maybe it was. “How are you feeling, though? I was worried when Coach pulled you.”

Jed’s heart skipped a beat, but he knew Remy didn’t mean anything special. “He’s being extra cautious about my shoulder. It acts up sometimes. I’ll be fine for our next game.”

“You sure?” Remy asked, holding his gaze. Which was good, because it meant Jed had to look at Remy’s face, and not his bare chest or the narrow, dark line of hair leading down to the noticeable bulge under his briefs, or the definition of the muscles in his thighs.

“Yeah, it’s no big deal, really. So. Does bringing clubbing clothes mean you’re going out?”

“Hell yeah, he’s going out!” Moreau answered, popping up behind Remy and throwing an arm around his shoulder. “And we’re getting him laid. Guaranteed.”

“Please stop.” Remy shoved Moreau away.

“No way. We promised we’d hook you up, and where better to do that than New York City? Right, Jakey?”

“Right.” McBride offered them both fist bumps. “Seriously, Lads. We found an insane club last time we were here. Endless hot people. Of all genders.”

“So put on those clothes I gave you, and let’s go. There’s a reason I told everyone to ditch the tracksuits tonight.” Moreau slapped Remy on the ass and then turned away to finish getting dressed himself.