Like You’ve Nothing Left to Prove (Breakaway #2)

by E.L. Massey

Eli glances at their surroundings. “Is the plan not sex?” Alex chokes a little. “It doesn’t have to be. I just wanted to give you your high school”—he waves a hand around—”whatever.” “My high school whatever,” Eli repeats. “Yes,” Alex says with dignity, pulling his shirt straight again.

“Okay. Peverly says bad things, beginning of period against the boards when I’m fight him for puck. He says Alex bad captain—blah blah. And I’m say yes, Alex very bad captain. I ask, every day, for threesome with Alex and Eli, and Alex say no. Because he’s jealous. If we threesome, Eli knows I’m best at sex, and then Eli like me most, and then Alex is sad and alone and only cat loves him—” “Oh my god,” Alex says. “Seriously?” Kuzy looks pleased with himself, shrugging. “It worked! He’s shut up, now.”

Matts opens the door to peek inside. “You guys,” he yells to the assembled group outside, “they’re not even fucking. They’re just crying all over each other.” “Fuck you,” Alex says, smearing his sweaty, tear-streaked face against Eli’s. “We just won the Stanley Cup. I’m allowed to have feelings about it.”