On the Ice (Stick Side, #1)

by Amy Aislin

“What’s this? You taking notes? This is an optional lecture series. We’re not being tested on it.” Mitch dug into his backpack and found a pen at the bottom. “It’s just in case someone says something useful. Possible career paths, helpful resources, post-grad degree or certificate programs that might be beneficial. Things like that.” Yano squinted at him. “This from the guy who’s determined to get drafted into the NHL.”

“Dude,” Yano said through gasps of laughter. “You got no game.” “Please,” Mitch scoffed. He had game. His game just didn’t involve women. Not that he’d ever tell his teammates that.

Holy jumping hockey sticks! The tall, jacked guy who’d just come in was none other than Alex Dean, a Tampa Bay defenseman who’d recently been put on the injured reserve list due to a broken arm. He was huge and muscled, his almost-black hair in disarray, khakis and checkered shirt wrinkled, as if he’d gotten dressed in the dark or in a hurry.

In the looks department, Alex Dean was leaps and bounds beyond anyone Mitch had ever met, and that included the guys on Mitch’s hockey team, the GH Mountaineers, many of whom were certainly nothing to sneeze at.

“Good evening, everyone,” he said. “Thank you for coming and apologies for the late start.” “My fault,” Dean said into the microphone in front of him, his deep voice resonating through the lecture hall. The half-grin on his lips practically oozed charm and confidence. The crowd tittered. No lie, they fucking giggled, as if even the non-hockey fans knew they had a celebrity in their midst.

Dean was a legend among the Mountaineers. Hell, Dean was one of the reasons why Mitch had chosen GH. Not because Dean was his hockey hero—though he wasn’t ashamed to admit that Dean was his hockey crush—but because if GH’s hockey coaches could take a small-town kid like Dean and turn him into a first round draft pick by his senior year, what could they do with Mitch, who’d taken figure skating and gymnastics as well as hockey while growing up, in order to improve his skating and flexibility? Mitch could be first round draft material too, and GH could help get him there.

Step One: Get good grades to keep his partial scholarship. Step Two: Play good hockey. Step Three: Help the Mountaineers make it to the Frozen Four. (As a sophomore, he still had three years to make this happen.) Step Four: Lay the groundwork for a post-hockey career in sports science and rehabilitation. Step Five: Get drafted.

Attraction, however, meant nothing to Alex without emotions, so a person’s physical appearance didn’t usually elicit a response reminiscent of a teenage girl with a crush.

Was Alex giving off some kind of gay vibe or something? He’d promised himself a long time ago that if he ever made it to the NHL, he wouldn’t divulge his sexual preferences for anyone. He didn’t want to make a Thing out of it, wasn’t going to give the media something other than his skills to talk about. Not that he was worried—at twenty-four years old, he could count on one finger the number of times he’d been sexually attracted to someone. At this point, he was pretty sure the whole dating-romance-marriage-babies thing wasn’t in the cards for him. Not only did it take him forever to figure out if he was attracted to someone, but the way dating was going nowadays, nobody wanted to be friends first and wait for romantic feelings to develop, if they developed at all. There just wasn’t an app for that. Instead, people were too busy jumping into bed with random strangers and having casual friends-with-benefits hookups. No, thank you. Hell, he didn’t even like kissing. He’d kissed all of two people in his life and it hadn’t done anything for him either time. It was wet and gross and unpleasant. The way things were going in his nonexistent love life, he’d be a virgin for the rest of his life. Others might bemoan their virgin status at twenty-four years old, but frankly, Alex didn’t care. What was the big deal about sex anyway?

Cody was just about the most beautiful person Mitch had ever seen. It had nothing to do with his tall and lithe frame, flawless fair skin, wispy dark blond hair, pale blue eyes, or perfect Cupid’s bow lips, and everything to do with the fact that Cody had had his back since they met in first grade on their elementary school playground in the Hamptons.

If Mitch wasn’t completely in love with his school and his program and his hockey team, he’d throw his arms up in defeat and call it a day. But he did love his school and his program and his hockey team and he’d earned them all on his own. Fuck if he was going to quit and prove his mother right. So not happening.

Nobody, nobody, had ever figured out the game Mitch played to keep the world at bay, the one that kept his true self hidden behind twenty-foot high walls so that the world couldn’t hurt him anymore. How had Alex figured it out in three short, less-than-stellar encounters?

Cody found him a few minutes later, leaning against the wall, staring at nothing. He ran his eyes over Mitch’s face, which Mitch was sure was tomato-red with something akin to bewildered hurt. “What happened?” The sympathy in Cody’s voice tugged something loose in Mitch. He shook his head and blinked the burn out of his eyes. “Mitch?” I have no substance. I’m worthless.

“Don’t laugh at him, you hypocrite.” “I’m not laughing at him,” Cody finally calmed enough to say. “I’m laughing at you.” Mitch threw a pillow at his so-called best friend. “Why?” “Alex is demi.” Cody grinned and placed the pillow behind his head. “That’s fucking perfect. Means you can’t be anything but real with him, otherwise he won’t give you the time of day. It’s so completely opposite to your usual screw ‘em and leave ‘em routine. Man, he’s going to be so good for you. He’s going to turn you inside out and upside down. I can’t wait to see it.”

Before he could think better of it, Mitch reached out and palmed Alex’s wrist, running his thumb over the tattoo. Alex froze. “Sorry.” Mitch snatched his hand back. Shit. If Alex was anything like Cody, he didn’t like to be touched except by people he considered his. For Cody, that amounted to his mom, Mitch, and Mitch’s dad. For Alex, the list, however long it was, most certainly did not include Mitch.

Alex was Canadian, born and bred. He wanted snowy winter landscapes, spring rains, summer kayaking, and fall colors. Instead, he was stuck in Satan’s armpit. He loved playing hockey for Tampa, but Florida could kiss his ass.

He told me to keep him in mind in two and a half years if things don’t go his way with the draft.” “That sounds like him. I’m pretty sure he’ll be drafted, though.” “I’m with you on that.” Chris turned his laptop toward Alex, where a video was paused. “I was watching YouTube videos when you arrived. I think he might be better than you were at his age.” “There’s no ‘might’ about it.” Mitch was in a league of his own.

“How’d it go with the kids?” Alex raised his broken arm. “They were focused too much on my purple penis, and not enough on hockey and teamwork.” Mitch grinned and stole Alex’s beer again. “Purple penis,” he said after a sip. “Sounds like a cocktail at a gay bar.”

“You were making googly eyes at each other. Like this.” Jay pursed his lips, widened his eyes, and batted his eyelashes. “You look like a demented cartoon horse,” Leah told her boyfriend.

Mitch made him feel special in ways he hadn’t anticipated. The way Mitch focused all of his attention on Alex when they were together made Alex feel like he was the center of Mitch’s universe. Mitch had a way of making the world seem brighter, less intense. But he didn’t like like Mitch. Did he? God, when had he reverted to teenager status? “You liiiiiiike him,” Jay kept singing.

Mitch pointed at the jersey number on the back, 25. “It has your number.” “Yup. You haven’t been shy about telling me you want to sleep with me, so I figure now—” Alex stole the bear out of Mitch’s hands and bopped Mitch on the nose with it. “—you can.” Swiping his bear back, Mitch laughed and fell backward onto the rear windshield. “I see. This is your way of getting out of sex with me.”

Mitch swallowed hard and rested a hand on Alex’s knee. Alex rested his hand on top of Mitch’s and wove their fingers together. Everything inside Mitch quieted.

“What’s your favorite kind of hot chocolate?” Alex asked. “The kind with chocolate in it?” Alex laughed. “Mine’s peppermint hot chocolate.”

Mitch eyed his milkshake dubiously when it arrived, stirring the thick drink with his straw. “Butterscotch, you said?” “Uh-huh.” He took a tentative sip and his eyes popped wide. A couple of heftier sips later, he raised his hands in the air and bent as far as he could over the table. “I bow to you, O Wise One Who Has All Earthly Knowledge of the Good Foods.”

Mitch paid no attention to them and sucked down his milkshake like a champ. When he noticed Alex watching him, he let the straw pop out of his mouth, licked his lips, and said, “I’m gonna move in with your mom so I can have these every day, m’kay?” Alex’s heart somersaulted and fell at Mitch’s feet, right there in a crowded burger joint that smelled like deep fried onion rings.

“Hey, where’s the glass floor I’ve heard about?” Mitch asked from behind him. Alex turned and pointed at his feet. “Look down.” Mitch did…then jerked backward, tripped over nothing, fell onto his ass, and crab-crawled off the glass until his back hit the wall. Alex laughed so hard, his stomach hurt.

“Come on.” Alex held out a hand to help Mitch up. Mitch ignored it and pressed further into the wall. “I’m not going anywhere with you, you traitor.”

Mitch played with his cutlery. “I don’t know what to do. I’ve never been on a date before.” “Me neither.” “Oh.” Mitch sat up straighter. “I guess we wing it, then?” “I guess.” Mitch didn’t look too thrilled at the idea. “I’m not much of a winger.” “You’re a left winger.” “Oh my God.” Mitch buried his face in his hands. “That was so bad.”

Everything about Mitch made Alex want to bundle him up in bubble wrap and keep him safe.

Alex wanted him. The victory dance going on in Mitch’s head looked like a combination of the Carlton and the moonwalk.

“My mom has the house professionally decorated every year. For Thanksgiving and Halloween too. It’s always beautifully done, but Dan and I were never allowed to touch anything. We even had a huge sleigh in the front yard one year, a real one with a bag of fake gifts in the back, and when I asked my mom if I could sit in it, she slapped me.” He said it all so benignly, as if he was talking about the weather. We’re expecting an uncommon cold front with a side of frigid bitch.

And you might also see periods of scattered showers made up of Greta Westlake’s victims’ tears during the cold front.

Mitch looked at him morosely. “You’re never going to try and kiss me again, are you?” “Oh, honey,” Alex said, staring pointedly at Mitch’s pink mouth. “You don’t need to worry about that. But first, crafts. Then kissing.”

“Do you ever do puzzles?” Alex asked. “Sure,” Mitch said, carefully cutting into red felt. “I’m doing a twenty-four piece one right now called Why Are We Doing Crafts When We Could Be Making Out Instead?”

Alex sat and let him talk out his nerves. For his part, Alex’s nerves had solidified into certainty. He’d been nervous before because of his lack of experience, but if the past few days had told him anything, it was that he wanted Mitch to be his. Badly.

To Alex’s surprise and pleasure, Mitch wasn’t all tongue. In fact, his tongue was a secondary character in this book called Kiss Alex’s Brains Away.

Mitch grabbed Alex’s wrist. “You didn’t tell me you’re friends with pro players.” Alex peered at Mitch in confusion. “Honey, I am a pro player.”

“What…are you doing?” Mitch asked, standing on the other side of the island, his glass of water halfway to his mouth, forgotten. His eyes roamed Alex’s chest, catching on his nipples, his belly button. Alex undid his belt, nerves kicking a path from his stomach all the way into his throat. “Getting naked.” Mitch set his glass down, slowly, as if he thought Alex would run away—or put his clothes back on—if he moved too fast. “Not that I’m opposed, but…why?” “Because I want to have sex now.” Alex stepped out of his shorts. “But I don’t know how to initiate it, so I figured if I got naked, you’d get the picture.” Mitch swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing. “That’s…not a bad strategy.

Alex wrenched his mouth away and walked Mitch backward toward the bedroom. “But it’s not just your dick and ass,” Alex said as they walked. “It’s this.” He kissed Mitch’s temple. “Your smarts, your intuitiveness, your brain that never stops working. It’s this.” He traced a heart with a fingertip over the left side of Mitch’s chest. “Your heart, your soul, who you are at the core.

“I trust you too. You know.” Mitch’s shoulders twitched. “In case you were wondering.” “Yeah?” “Yeah.” Mitch ran his thumb over Alex’s nose, his cheekbone, through his beard. “I was so lost before I met you.”

us.” JP’s mouth continued to move, but the frantic hum of the lights was back, and Alex couldn’t hear past it. The world continued on, but for Alex, it had stopped hours ago when the person who’d been his rock for most of his life had died.

They disconnected and Mitch left the arena, a bounce in his step. He was going home. To his husband.