Face Offs & Cheap Shots (CU Hockey Book 2)

It’s tempting to ask if I can hang in Jacobs’s room until the party dies down, but that might put us into friend territory, and it’s clear we’re not friends.

Even though we made each other come, that doesn’t change anything. He still hates me.

I have to laugh because I find it hilarious that his first instinct is “no one can find out I’m hooking up with you.” Not “no one can find out I hooked up with a guy.” But “no one can know it was me.”

Anyone else, I’d be offended. With Jacobs … it’s how we are. I guess.

Though, I still don’t know why he’s had it out for me ever since we met, other than I have money and he doesn’t.

I don’t treat him any differently than I do any of the other guys. Money isn’t a big deal for—oh, maybe that’s why. It’s not a big deal to me because I have it. I can’t help wondering what it would be like if I had to watch my grades, be careful of what I did, and had to be cautious of any wrong move fucking everything up because I couldn’t buy my way out of it.

Okay, now I hate me a little too.

Never thought I’d see the day I sided with Jacobs over anything, let alone his disdain for me.

I finish putting on my shoes and retying the laces and glance over at him on his bed. He’s put his boxers back on but nothing else.

And I’m here wanting to climb in next to him instead of going back upstairs to my victory party.

“About that repeat …” I bite my lip and rake my gaze over his long body again. I linger over the vein in his arm, remembering the way it stood out as he jerked us.

“Go back to your party, Captain. You probably should make sure none of them up there have drunk themselves stupid and need a hospital.”

Damn it. He’s right.

Especially seeing as when I left them, some of the high school kids were getting into it.

I nod. “Tomorrow night?”

Jacobs snorts. “Depends on how much you piss me off tomorrow.”

I pause. “Wait, I don’t know what that means. With normal people, I’d assume it means not to piss you off, but as we’ve established you like it when I make you mad. So …”

He throws one of his pillows at me, but I duck out of the way.

“See, I’m so confused. Is that flirting or telling me to go away?”

He glares at me.

“Okay, that’s more straightforward.” I make my way to the door, but his soft voice makes me pause.

“Beck?”

I turn.

“Are you not freaking out? Like, even a little bit?”

I think about that. Am I freaking out I hooked up with a guy? No.

Maybe I should be?

But when something feels that good, I don’t know why I would second-guess it.

I shrug. “I’m always up for experiencing new things. It felt good and I want more. It’s that simple to me.”

Only, when I’ve said I want to experience new things in the past, dick hasn’t exactly been on the menu.

Jacobs doesn’t appear to like that answer.

I look down at the ground. “Are you? I mean, apart from your cock being traitorous to your brain by being interested in me.”

“It … makes sense. I guess. Reaffirms some things from last year …”

I want to ask him about Grant, but—

As if reading my mind, he keeps going. “Before Grant started seeing Zach, I thought … I thought I had a thing for him.” He waves me off. “Came to the conclusion I was mistaken, but now …”

I want to gloat about being right about him and Grant, but I’m not completely inept when it comes to reading the room.

He’s got shit going on in his head because he’s Jacobs. He overthinks everything. Except when it comes to the ice. Then he’s fluid and reactive, and he’s instinctually a great player.

I wonder if hockey is his only escape from that brain of his.

We stare at each other, locked in some sort of standoff or understanding, I’m not sure.

“Party,” Jacobs says.

Right. “I should get up there.” I want to ask him if he’s coming up at some point, but I’m guessing with the way he’s dressed, that’d be a hell no.

“Remind them that practice is at eight tomorrow, and I don’t care if they’re throwing up, they’re not getting out of it.”

See, this is why he’d make a good captain, and I … I shouldn’t have gone for it in the first place.

When I go back upstairs, the guys are in such messy states, only one of them asks me why the swim team didn’t come back with me.

None of them look in need of paramedics though. So … winning?

“Their exact words were hockey players are all losers except for King Beck. Sorry.” I get myself a beer from the keg and take a huge gulp, washing away any last taste of Jacobs’s mouth on mine.

Cohen groans. “And we’re gonna vote this guy to get more ego?”

I shrug. “Vote how you want. Forget the stupid CUM games even happened.”

“But … that was the whole point of them.” Cohen cocks his head at me.

“Vote who you think will actually help the team win next season. Not for who did a bunch of challenges that had nothing to do with hockey.”

This is my party, but it doesn’t sit right with me because it should be for someone else.

I put my drink down on Cohen’s side table. “Now, unless someone is bleeding or dying, don’t come wake me. I’m going to bed.”

I get a whole lot of weird looks, but I can’t even muster the effort needed to be on right now.

Crossing the hall, I kick everyone out of my room and fall face-first onto my bed, wishing like hell it wasn’t so empty.

I’ve had a taste of Jacobs, and now I want more. I want him beneath me, on top of me … I want him surrounding me. It was the hottest sex I’ve ever had, and it wasn’t even sex-sex.

It gave me that thrill—that escape I’m always searching for—but now, a mere ten minutes after leaving his room, I realize it wasn’t enough.

I need that repeat to happen ASAP.

The kids are all hungover for practice the following day, and so is half of the team. Jacobs and I are running a scrimmage, refereeing for the mixture of team members and camp kids.

The kids fall more than they skate, and every time someone takes a dive, I cringe.

Jacobs seems smug about it, but the coaches are pissed. When the coaches ask what happened, I’m sure Jacobs is going to throw me under the bus.

He doesn’t. He keeps his mouth shut and keeps skating by, but not before I see his I told you so expression.

I’m already failing as a role model even though I haven’t actually taken the official position yet.

Maybe Jacobs is keeping quiet because he’s been holding out for tonight as much as I have.

While I should be keeping an eye on the scrimmage, I keep stealing glances across the ice at Jacobs.

I’ve been on my best behavior all day because there’s a fine line between riling Jacobs up and him wanting to murder me.

My newfound enjoyment of manhandling does have some limits. Rough sex, good. Murder, bad.

Not that I think he’d ever take a swing at me. I just get the feeling he’s been close. A lot.

I may have relived what happened in his dorm room while I was showering this morning.

All that power in his body as he lifted me. Me. I’m bigger than him, but he pressed me against that wall and carried me across his room without breaking a sweat.

No, the sweating came later while he was on top of me. Grinding. And thrusting into his fist while dragging his hard cock along—

One of the camp kids slams into me, knocking me off my skates.

Yup, that’s what happens when you’re not concentrating.

I get up and shake it off, my ego taking more of a hit than my body, but speaking of dumb moves, not two minutes later, Tamm, who’s one of the kids hungover as fuck, gets a lazy penalty for tripping because I don’t think he actually realized his stick was in someone else’s way.

The other kid—I forget his name—is pissed, and his gloves come off before we can get to either of them.

I blow my whistle, but now they’re fighting.

Great.

Jacobs and I get in there and pull them apart, holding each of them back.

“You tripped me!”

I hold on to the kid tighter. He’s trying to fight his way out of my grip.

“It was an accident, asshole,” Tamm yells.

“Bullshit.”

I feel the coaches’ disapproving stares from here.

This camp isn’t only about scouting future potential players for the school but for team and skill building for those on the current roster. And today’s activity is no doubt testing Jacobs’s and my leadership skills.

It’s hands-on, and like the coaches said at the start, they’re watching everything.

I tug on my guy’s arm. “Look, hockey players are notoriously known for being hotheaded. It’s our one fatal flaw. If you can’t get a handle on it, you shouldn’t be playing. If you hadn’t retaliated, your team would’ve had a power play, but instead, you get your own penalty. You screwed your team. Go. Sin bin. Both of you.”

We release them, but I escort them off the ice in case they go at each other again.

By the time practice is over, we’re all exhausted, even the ones who didn’t get hammered last night.

As we pack up and head off the ice, Jacobs falls in line beside me. “You handled the fight well.”

I pull up short. “That sounded like a compliment, but that can’t be right.”

“Forget it.” He goes to walk off, but I grab the sleeve of his jersey to stop him.

I lower my voice. “Am I coming over tonight?”

His gaze darts down the chute, and he bites his lip. I want to offer to bite it for him.

Cohen’s voice travels up the hallway. “Last one in the locker room buys drinks at McIntyre’s.”

I groan. “I’m going to sound fifty, but didn’t they drink enough last night?”

Jacobs snorts. “You don’t sound fifty, but you do sound a hell of a lot like my thoughts.”

“We’re reading each other’s minds now? That’s so …”

“Gross.”

I laugh. “What are the chances of getting out of going to McIntyre’s?”

“About the same odds as we had getting out of those stupid challenges.”

I purse my lips. “So, we could do it, but it would be suspicious.”

“Yup.”

“Rain check or has your freak-out kicked in?”

“I’m not … freaking out.”

Mmhmm, and that sounds so believable too. “If you say so.”

We head down the corridor to the locker room, but just before crossing over the threshold, I stop and shove Jacobs forward.

“What the f—”

“Oops. I guess I have to pay now.”

The assessing look Jacobs throws my way makes me instantly uncomfortable.

So I ignore it and head straight for my cubby.

We strip down in the locker room, and I tell myself not to look in Jacobs’s direction even for a second.

How Grant went four years in a locker room surrounded by dicks without getting hard I’ll never know.

I’m only interested in one dick, and knowing it’s only twenty feet away, my cock is trying to reach out like a homing beacon.

Don’t look over there. Don’t look over there.

“What the fuck is that on your shoulder?” Rossi yells.

I spin and find everyone looking at the bite I left last night.

I have to suppress my proud smile. Turns out, he wasn’t the only one who was in a marking mood.

Jacobs’s fingers trail over the bite. “It’s nothing.”

“Is that where you disappeared to last night?” Cohen asks. “To hook up? I thought you were sulking.”

Jacobs gives him the finger.

“Who was she, then?” I say, still fighting like hell not to smile.

“No one special.” He cocks his head. “Wasn’t even that good, actually.”

I burst out laughing because I know for a fact that’s bullshit.

“Must’ve been good for her if she left that,” Cohen says.

He has no idea.