Common Goal (Game Changers, #4)

by Rachel Reid

Win this game, he told himself, and you can think about Kyle all you like when you’re back in your hotel room. He didn’t feel good about using something that pathetic as motivation, but it worked. Toronto didn’t score again, and New York won the game.

What do you do, Eric? You look familiar for some reason. Eric: I play hockey for the New York Admirals. Kyle: Holy shit! Do you know Scott Hunter? Eric: I’m afraid so. Kyle: He’s really hot. Eric: Yes. He’s wonderful. And engaged.

“This bread smells incredible.” “Bread is my weakness,” Eric said sheepishly. “I’ve tried to give it up, but...” “You’ve got to have some fun.” “Yeah. I can’t quit bread.” Kyle lifted his glass. “To bread.” Eric smiled and clinked his own glass against Kyle’s. “To bread.”

“We can do whatever you’re comfortable with. Even if that’s me thanking you for a lovely meal and saying goodnight.” “You came over here for more than that.” “Doesn’t matter.” Kyle grabbed his hand. “Lesson one, Eric: you are never under any obligation to do anything. If you invite someone over for sex and then change your mind, you can do that. Always.”

I know your mind is blown right now, but we barely scratched the surface tonight. I have much to teach you.” Eric huffed. “Okay, professor. Maybe we can schedule something next week.” “Sounds hot. I’ll send you an appointment reminder.” Eric pulled on some sweatpants. “Or you can be a brat about it.”

“I just remembered I’m busy for the next six years.” “That’s too bad. I’ll probably be dead after that.” Kyle kissed him. “You’ll be even sexier in six years, I’ll bet.”

“Do you ever get used to that?” Kyle asked over the roar of twenty thousand people cheering as Scott’s goal was announced. Kip grinned, his eyes fixed on Scott’s face on the enormous scoreboard screen. “Nope.” “Like, that’s your boyfriend. Your fiancé.” It was suddenly a lot easier to tease Kip about Scott. He no longer felt a stab of jealousy or longing when reminded that Kip was spoken for, and Kyle didn’t want to think too hard about why that was. “I know,” Kip said. “We argued about coffeemaker settings this morning.”

“I’m happy for him,” Kyle said, though what he was actually thinking was I want to fuck him.

“The post-game stuff takes forever. Especially after a win. You wanna go to Shake Shack?” Kyle blinked at him. “You ate for pretty much this entire game.” “There’s always room for Shake Shack. Come on. My treat.”

Kip studied him, frowning. “What’s going on with you two?” “Nothing.” “Because I did the secret dating thing with an NHL star and it wasn’t—” “I’m not dating him,” Kyle said truthfully, though he wished it were a lie. “We’re just friends. Like you wanted us to be.”

“You are absolutely stunning,” he said. “Look at all that muscle.” “I exercise.” “How much tension do you carry in those muscles?” Kyle asked, squeezing one of Eric’s biceps. “How much pressure is on these shoulders?”

He slipped a hand under the hem of Kyle’s T-shirt, sliding his palm up Kyle’s stomach to lift the shirt. Kyle covered the hand with his own, stopping it. “Nice try,” he said. “I think I’ll keep my clothes on for a bit.” “Seems unfair.” “I never promised to be fair. Lie down.”

“You do this for fun, huh?” “Just wait.” Kyle stretched over Eric’s body and kissed him slow and deep for a minute or two. He stopped when he realized that Eric was humping him. Kyle swatted his thigh. “Naughty. Do you want me to leave you like this?” “I could handle it.” “Then I haven’t worked you hard enough. Let’s try again.”

“Holy—what the hell is that?” “It’s a sex toy,” Kyle said, deliberately bratty. Eric narrowed his eyes at him. “I’ve heard of sex toys. I’m not that ignorant.”

“I’d better get cleaned up and go while I can still walk.” “You could—” Kyle pressed a finger to Eric’s lips, then moved it to kiss him sweetly. “I’m going to go home.” Please stay. “Okay.”

Kyle didn’t say anything, but he held Eric’s gaze while his lips curved into a slow, sexy smile. Eric quickly turned his attention to the painting, because it was safer territory. After that smile, however, the colors on the canvas seemed drab.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he replied, as evenly as possible. “The hell you don’t.” “I see that guy naked more days than not,” Eric reminded him. “He’s not gonna turn my head.”

Come on, I haven’t danced with you in forever.” Kyle smiled at his friend. It had been too long. “Sure. Okay.” Kip grabbed his hand and pulled him into the throng of dancers. The music was loud and sexy, and he quickly lost himself in it. He loved dancing, and he loved Kip. And maybe his love for Kip wasn’t quite what he’d thought it was. They were close together, arms and chests and hands brushing each other, but it was firmly platonic. They didn’t put their hands on each other, they didn’t grind into each other. They didn’t kiss. It was just...fun. And nice. Two young, gay men being silly and having a good time.

He’d loved holding Kyle against him all night. Loved listening to him breathe as he slept. Most oddly, he’d loved the soft press of the sole of Kyle’s foot against Eric’s shin.

When he returned to the bedroom, towel wrapped snugly around his waist, he found Kyle propped up on one elbow, blinking at the windows that were still covered by the blinds. “Good morning,” Eric said. “Morning.” Kyle’s gaze raked over Eric’s mostly naked body. “Damn. I like that outfit.” “You’d love the Admiral’s locker room then.”

Kyle could have texted him. He knew this, and had been tempted to do it several times. On Christmas morning he’d had a message all typed out—just a simple Merry Christmas—but he’d deleted it. For whatever reason, he’d made a deal with himself that he would let Eric make contact next. And if Eric never did, well. That was that, then. It wasn’t like Kyle had never been ghosted before. It wasn’t like Eric had ever promised him anything.

“Please,” he begged. Begged. And he wasn’t even embarrassed about it. Kyle grinned wickedly at him. Eric was completely naked and sprawled on his back. Kyle was looming over him, still fully dressed. “Do you want to try something new?” Kyle asked. “Is it you letting me come?”

“Patience,” he chided. “Just breathe and relax for me.” “Just like yoga.” “Exactly. Yoga where you get to come like a fountain at the end.”

“Maybe you’ve done that before,” Kyle mused. “Gotten yourself off right there in your yoga studio.” Eric grunted in response. He certainly hadn’t. “I’ll bet you’re flexible enough to suck your own dick. You ever tried that?” “No.” “There’s something to work on during your retirement.” “Stop making me laugh,” Eric said, his whole body shaking.

Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander were sitting across from each other, and kept catching each other’s eye and smiling. There was a mutual fondness there that Eric still couldn’t quite believe. They were such famous rivals but, he supposed, they were also human beings who were more than their hockey skills. Obviously they had found things to like about each other and had become good friends.

Wyatt Hayes—the goalie for Ottawa, and a very funny guy. They were approached by Ilya Rozanov. “Move, Hazy,” Rozanov ordered. “I need to talk to Bennett.” Wyatt shook his head but stood up. “No fucking respect for the guy who saves your ass forty times a game.” Rozanov handed him a ten-dollar bill. “Go buy yourself a beer.”

“You don’t want a big deal?” “No, I don’t.” Rozanov grinned. “This is why we are different. I want a farewell season. A parade. Everyone crying at every game.” “I’m sure you’ll get it.” He didn’t miss the way Rozanov’s gaze darted briefly to where Shane Hollander was standing. “Maybe.”

I like that you’ve made an effort to be inclusive at your camps. I assume that’s why you asked Scott.” “Yes. He is also not bad at hockey.” “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said about him.” “Don’t tell him.”

“Not that it matters, really, but I’m bisexual. I mean, it seems like you already guessed that, but if you want that kind of rep at your camps...” Rozanov’s face lit up. “Bisexual! This is great.

Shane Hollander approached their table. “Hi, Eric.” Shane was basically the opposite of Rozanov: serious, polite, and quiet. “Shane. Nice work in the obstacle course.” Shane smirked at Rozanov, who had not done nearly as well in the same event. “Thanks. It was pretty easy, honestly.” Rozanov glared back at him with eyes that burned with annoyance and something else.

Look at you! You’re in better shape than anyone else on this team.” “Have you been checking me out, Scott?” “Sometimes! Can you blame me? Do you remember the height you got on your squat jumps at training camp this year?” Scott fanned himself theatrically.

“You make it sound like I’m rushing into this instead of finishing an eighteen-year career.” “It’s too soon.” Eric patted Scott’s thigh. “I’m retiring, not dying.” He stood up, and Scott did the same, immediately wrapping him in a tight hug. “You’d better be at every game,” Scott said. “I will.” What else would Eric have to do? It’s not like he’d be busy.

“Look. They’re showing your ugly fiancé.” Scott’s absurdly handsome face, with its square jaw and vivid blue eyes, filled the screen.

Like, we went to a gay bar together, just to get a drink.” “I thought Eric doesn’t drink,” Kip interrupted. “He drinks liquids.

We kissed. And then I offered to help him with any other...firsts.” “What did he say?” Kip asked eagerly. “Nothing at first. We went our separate ways. Then a few days later, he invited me to his place for dinner. And...we had educational sex after.” “Educational sex?” “Extremely hot educational sex. And then we did it a few more times.”

“You are so into him.” “Irrelevant.” “Extremely relevant!” “What’s extremely relevant?” Maria asked as she returned from the kitchen with three bottles of beer. “Nothing,” both men said at the same time. Maria narrowed her eyes. “Well, that doesn’t sound suspicious.” Kyle laughed nervously. “Just work stuff.” “And it has nothing to do with the fact that Kyle is clearly crushing hard on someone?” Maria accused. “I’m—no, I’m not!” Kyle sputtered. “Uh huh. I’m just saying, there might be more than one person in this room who’s fucking a New York Admiral.”

“Are you sure he doesn’t feel the same way about you?” “I don’t know. We get along well, and he told me he’s attracted to older men, but being attracted to older men and having sex with them isn’t the same as being in a relationship with a busted old goalie with an unreliable libido.” “Um.”

“I want to hike on the Pelion Peninsula.” “And follow in the footsteps of Achilles?” Kyle grinned. “Exactly. Maybe find a handsome centaur who wants to teach me a few things.” “Is that what you’re into? Horses?” “Nope. Just intelligent older men with thick cocks.”

Eric watched as Kyle poured an ungodly amount of maple syrup on his pancakes. “Vermont,” Kyle reminded him again when he caught him staring. He slid the bottle over to Eric, who poured a modest drizzle on his own plate.

You shouldn’t deprive yourself of pancakes.” “I don’t know if you’re a good influence or a bad one.” “Clearly good. Before you met me it was a dark existence of no pancakes and weak orgasms.” Eric nearly spit out his next bite of pancake.

“You said it would be casual,” Eric said, a tremor of anger in his voice. “You said sex didn’t have to be a big deal. No strings attached, right?” Kyle sniffed and looked away. “Right. Guess I fucked up.” He put his hand on the door handle. “Again.” “Kyle...” “Nope. I get it. This isn’t what you signed up for. I’m just a kid with a weakness for men who only see me as a fun time.” He opened the door, then turned back and said, bitterly, “You graduated, by the way. Top marks. Thank you for attending Kyle’s gay sex school.”

The last game ended up being an away game in Washington at the end of the first round of the playoffs. The score wasn’t even close, so Eric stood alone with his goal posts—his constant companions—and quietly counted down the last ten seconds. When it was over, he gave the crossbar behind him a pat. “Thanks for everything, fellas. Treat the next generation well, okay?”

Between the crushing blow of elimination and that touching display of affection from the fans, Eric was a blubbering mess when he finally made it to the locker room. “I’m sorry,” he said to Scott, whose eyes were as red and wet as Eric’s. “I wanted to take us further.” “We lost together,” Scott said firmly, even through his tears. “I’m just sorry your last game wasn’t at home.”

Eric kissed him again. “We should talk. After.” “After,” Kyle agreed. “I’ll be done in an hour.” “Come to my place?” “It’s way past your bedtime. Are you sure?” Eric leaned in and kissed him again. “Fuck bedtime. I’m retired.”

“Maybe wait for a slow song?” Kyle gestured toward the DJ, who was, at the moment, playing a Pitbull party anthem. “Right. Okay. Good. Time for another glass of wine then.” Kyle laughed as she marched toward a server with a tray of full wineglasses. A moment later, strong, familiar arms wrapped around him from behind. “Having fun?” Eric asked. “So much fun.” Kyle turned to face him. “Where were you?” “Talking to some of the guys. You know.” “Miss them already?” Eric scrunched his nose. “Almost.” “You want to dance to Pitbull?” “No.”