Guarding Garrett: A Hockey Allies Bachelor Bid MM Romance #1 (Hockey Allies Bachelor Bid Series)

by RJ Scott

  Then, when Bobby had announced last year that he wanted to mend it so one day his kids could use it, I’d jumped at the chance, and with my first step on the old floor I’d misjudged how much heavier twenty-seven-year-old me was than fifteen-year-old me. I’d fallen through, bouncing off branches and landing on my back, staring up at Kyle laughing his ass off. The fall wasn’t hard enough to hurt too badly, but a sprained wrist had thrown me for a spin. Luckily, this had happened at the beginning of last summer, and private treatment and PT fixed it. It just proved I wasn’t invincible.

  Kyle and I talked a little longer, but I avoided passing on too many small details of what had happened, and swore Kyle to secrecy.

  When I ended the call I flicked to the last photo I’d taken of my car, and felt like a freaking idiot. Who the hell got that attached to a hunk of steel?

  I couldn’t lose my career, it was everything to me, and no, I wasn’t invincible, and yes, for whatever reason, someone wanted to hurt me, and right now I needed Jason. I found him in the kitchen, with coffee on the counter, plus sandwiches and chips.

  “Everything okay?” he asked calmly, as if I hadn’t lost my cool, and pushed my mail to me across the table. He’d taken to checking the mail each morning, but he hadn’t found anything out of order yet. I don’t know what he was expecting, but I’d never checked my innocent-looking mail with the same kind of suspicion as I was doing now.

  “I told Kyle.”

  “It’s good.”

  I sat on the breakfast bar stool and opened a letter from my accountant, a statement from the bank, and lastly a beautifully hand-written invitation to the bachelor auction after the All-Star Skills competition. This was the one we were supposed to share with family, but my family was already on Kyle’s ticket. The idea had seemed so good at the outset, raise money at an auction for bachelor hockey players all of whom identified as GLBTQ. We weren’t aiming to raise thousands—enough to make a difference, sure—but for me it was all about people seeing me owning who I was, maybe making the path to the NHL easier for any queer hockey players who followed me.

  Jason held out his hand for the invite, and when I handed it to him, he glanced up at me.

  “You’re still adamant that despite everything, you’re doing this?”

  I nodded. “Always.”

  Chapter Eight

  The chicken incident was where everything started to go wrong. Or right, depending on how I looked at it.

  I was going stir crazy being stuck in the house, and I’d decided that I needed to learn to cook.

  What had started as Jason cooking chicken had included a lot of him demonstrating how to do the various simple tasks that any idiot could’ve handled. Except me, because it was soon clear that chicken evidently hated me as much as shellfish. I swear, after the exploding shrimp incident I wasn’t holding out much hope for the breast that sat on the counter.

  “Hold it still, and cut it carefully.”

  “It’s a slippery sucker,” I said as the chicken slid on the board.

  He reached for my hand, and guided it to a point where I had hold of it. All I could think was that his touch was so confident, and firm, and I wondered what it would be like to be the focus of his touch as much as this chicken was.

  “Left to right,” he instructed, and was it just me or had his voice dropped an octave?

  I cleared my throat, and then concentrated on the chicken, to the point where I finally had some cubes of an equal size. Equal if you squinted, at least. Unfortunately, I looked up at him, the chicken moved, the knife slipped, and before I knew it, I’d sliced into my thumb; a cut that refused to stop bleeding, and seriously that shit had hurt.

  “Shit. I knew I should have cut it.” He’d fussed over me, looking serious, as if he’d let his guard down and allowed me to get hurt, and that this was a huge insult to his abilities.

  “It wasn’t your fault.” I wanted him to stop looking so guilty.

  He huffed, then head slightly bent, he washed my wound, then poured disinfectant over it, before he examined it closely with a view to deciding whether I needed stitches.

  “I’ll show the team doc in the morning,” I’d said, and he’d glanced up at me and I caught worry in his expression, and knew I had to make it better. “I’m clumsy is all.”

  He’d shaken his head then, still holding my hand. “How is it that someone so beautifully graceful on ice, so fast, and precise, can’t even handle a knife?”

  I hadn’t been able to think much after that, even though we’d discussed my lack of motherly kitchen training without going too deep into my childhood, because all I could think was that he’d called me beautifully graceful. There was both beauty and grace in skating, but they weren’t adjectives I’d ever seen plastered onto a rough and tough hockey player. I’d melted at those words, and abruptly he’d been less my bodyguard and more an attractive man who’d taken a step outside of our business relationship. Finally, he’d let go of my hand, we’d eaten dinner, and for the first time he’d stayed on the sofa next to me, watching an old X-Men movie, with a bowl of popcorn between us.

  And not bagged popcorn, but made from kernels in a pan in my pristine kitchen, and salted, with a generous amount of butter as well. I’d decided there and then that I could get used to feeling so safe, and so comfortable, but when I went to bed it wasn’t safety I’d thought of when I considered Jason.

  It was about bedroom eyes filled with tenderness, and about his hands, firm and holding me securely, and the way he would be in my space, so close I could smell that unique scent that was just him.

  Ten days in and somehow I’d been dragged kicking and screaming into accepting that Jason wasn’t going anywhere. He went to great lengths to keep what we did and where we went unpredictable, which I guess made it not a routine at all, but at least it was doing something positive. All I knew for sure was that well over a week with him living in my space was messing with my libido, and that slowly I’d become more reliant on him telling me what to do and when. Somewhere between that first afternoon and today I’d stopped questioning what he did and said, and I realized I could focus more on hockey and less on the way the team viewed me as a vulnerable element now I was being stalked.

  But, this weird non-routine, routine, wasn’t without its bad times. After all, I’d thought this stalker situation would be fixed in a few days, but now, ten days in, Jason was still my shadow and somehow he’d also become part of the Dragons team as an accepted extra. Everyone expected us to be together, and in the plane to the Detroit game they’d left the seat next to me empty for him. My usual seat partner, Loki, announced that he was at the back playing cards, but at least he did ask me to go with him.

  Dinksy, Reidsy, and Stokesy, my three rookies, all stopped by as well, checking in with me, so that I didn’t have to check in on them.

  “Loki will keep an eye on them.” I didn’t realize I’d said that out loud until I felt the weight of Jason’s gaze on me. “I feel bad that the first season I’m given the job of mentoring the rookies this stalker shit blows up in my face.”

  “I still don’t understand how you can mentor two defensemen and a goalie given you’re a forward.”

  “It’s not about their play, it’s about looking out for them, so they know where to come if they’re faced with something they’re not sure about. Day one, I was showing them the results board, the one by the door where we have all the rankings for the teams. It’s their job to keep an eye on that and make sure it’s up to date. So that was day one, and now, we’re at the stage where Reidsy has been approached for an endorsement and while his agent is all gung ho, take the money, they’ll come to me and I’ll give them the benefit of my years of NHL experience.” I yawned widely behind my hand, and waited for the next question, but Jason didn’t ask anything and I decided a nap might be good.

  All I wanted to do was sleep and the reason why I was so tired had taken that empty chair, the big man who was as quiet now as he had been when he’d first
landed in my life.

  At my place I watched Netflix shows, he buried himself in computer work, although I’d noticed him glancing at the television every so often. He’d ordered groceries and I’d tried to cook once, but he’d taken over after about five minutes flat. It wasn’t as if he was a gourmet chef but the food he made was simple and hit the spot, whereas me trying to cook an Italian dish with garlic and tomato had ended up with a shrimp exploding and splattering the wall. How I’d managed that I don’t know, and I was happy to move to one side.

  Also, he’d spent a long time talking to Johnny, the Dragons resident chef, and had a whole list of healthy meals that elite sportsmen should eat—his words not mine. Then each night, after dinner and watching shows, it was bed, and when I was in my room I relaxed, and that was only because Jason was out there doing his thing. Making me feel safe. Of course, there was also the touching, which was getting easier to accept and harder to ignore. The way he put his hand in the small of my back, in reassurance, or just to guide me the right way, left me feeling hot and bothered.

  I tried to sleep, attempting not to think of anything, but all I could think about, apart from the poor rookies who were being let down, and the fact someone out there was messing with me, was what had happened last night.

  I couldn’t sleep, not while I was inhaling the scent of him next to me on the plane. He was staring at something on his phone, his breathing steady, his strong hands making the iPhone seem tiny. I wanted to talk to him about last night. About holding hands, and popcorn, and about the fact he’d assisted me with such compassion that it made me want more. Only that wasn’t where I needed to start, and it took me a while to come up with the right question, one that appealed to his protection gene.

  I gave up on sleep. What was the point?

  “What happens if the plane crashes?” I asked him.

  “Huh?” He tore his gaze from the screen. “In what way?”

  “Well, I was thinking, you’re here to keep me alive, but how will you protect me if the plane is heading nose first for the ground. It would be each man for himself, right?”

  He glanced at me and I got another up close and personal look at the gorgeous, velvety chocolate eyes.

  “Well, if it was nose first then the g-force would be incredible and we’d all be at the back of the plane floating like fish in water.”

  “So you wouldn’t try to save me?”

  “Of course I would, I’m paid to save you,” he said dryly.

  “How would you be able to save me? How heroic would you have to be? I mean, can you fly a plane?”

  “No to the plane, but remember I’d be at the back with you, like a fish, right?”

  “Well, yeah, but in my scenario you can get to the cockpit and fly the plane, while I sit next to you and clutch your hand.”

  “I’d need both my hands.” He laughed.

  “Then you’d land the plane.”

  “I’d try.”

  “And if you couldn’t?”

  He paused for a moment, and bit his lower lip thoughtfully.

  What I wouldn’t give to be that lip. What? What the fucking fuck? I’d kiss him gently, and then I’d nibble on his plump lip and I would cup his face and deepen the kiss.

  “That’s easy.” He interrupted my kiss fantasy. “As we were about to hit the ground I would make sure that I was under you and you had somewhere soft to land.” He raised that damn eyebrow again.

  I wanted to cradle his face and kiss him. Holy shit. Instead, I gripped the armrest and willed my erection to get the hell down. “Did you just make a joke?” I asked, and he smiled quickly. Such a gorgeous smile.

  “You think I’m joking about sacrificing myself to give you a soft landing?”

  I couldn’t help reacting to his teasing expression because I’d seen glimpses of this quiet humor in our down time, but I’d never pushed him for more. I was on the plane, I was bored, my Kindle had died and the charger was in my overhead locker, so it was natural that I wanted to talk. Right? Nothing to do with last night, and that gentle lean in when he’d checked the cut and when for a moment I’d considered stealing a kiss.

  Do not fall for your bodyguard. Do not fall for your bodyguard.

  You are not Whitney Houston.

  “I never think you’re joking about keeping me safe,” I finally offered, and he looked back at his phone as if we were done, and I wasn’t done. I wanted more with him. “So, what if there was parachutes for everyone except you?” I asked and waited for him to return the question with more humor.

  He shut down his phone and turned a little in his seat, his hand briefly brushing mine on the armrest. “Okay, so this is how I’d work that. I’d take your parachute, strap you to my chest, and make sure I landed on the ground first so again, you have something soft to land on.”

  “So either way, parachute or crash, I’d land on you.”

  “Pretty much.”

  I couldn’t resist poking his firm, flat, belly. “There’s nothing soft about you,” I said, and then when his eyes widened I realized what I’d just done and worse, what I’d said. I’d poked his belly, touched him, and then there had been definite flirting from me. I sat back in my chair, staring out at the fluffy clouds and trying to stop myself from saying anything else that could be misunderstood as sexual.

  I’d never thought of Jason in a sexual sense before last night.

  Liar.

  Okay, so I had, and from a few hints I knew he was bi. When we’d been at the Lair, me nursing a beer, him on water, he’d talked to Loki easily about an ex-boyfriend, and his last girlfriend, in an offhand way, as if it wasn’t vital information I needed to know. I was hard, so turned on that if he’d suggested it I would have climbed onto his lap and kissed him until he couldn’t breathe.

  He won’t be attracted to someone like me.

  He stared at me. A lot. I would often feel the weight of his gaze on me, but that was what he was being paid for, so it was nothing. Right? When he’d told me that his team couldn’t find my car, or that the hacking into the arena’s computer system had been sophisticated, he’d gone very quiet for at least an hour of staring into middle distance out of the apartment window, his brow furrowed in thought. I got the feeling there was stuff he wasn’t telling me, but hockey had to be my priority and he was allowing me to play and not worry.

  “Did you know this about Detroit?” he asked, and I turned in my seat to face him, as he held out his re-opened phone to me. I couldn’t read it at first and then my stomach sank. Rumors circulating that Detroit cap space could lead to trade. Trades were part and parcel of a hockey player’s career, but I knew that Kyle was happy in Detroit and hoped to hell it wasn’t him they were considering trading.

  “No, but there’s been rumors.”

  Jason huffed. “Typical, they’re looking to trade, and I bet it’s one of the good guys they get rid of. Why don’t they work better with what they’ve got?” He turned to me and was all seriousness. “If they moved a couple of the guys up from the feeder team, then they could save money trading in the big guns.”

  I blinked at him, and I swear my mouth had fallen open again. “Huh?” was all I could manage.

  “You agree right?”

  Actually I agreed with everything he’d said, but I was biased because it could be Kyle who was on the trading block. Growing up, he’d always wanted to play for Detroit, and when he’d been drafted he’d been so damn happy.

  “I don’t know the workings of the management.” I sighed. “But yeah, from a player’s perspective it’s shit to do that.”

  “Fucking A,” Jason groused, and that was the first time I’d heard him curse.

  “You told me you weren’t a hockey fan.”

  He frowned at me. “When?”

  “Right at the beginning when I asked you.”

  His frown cleared and he sent me a wry smile. “You asked me if I was a fan of Dragons’ hockey, and I’m not, I’m a Detroit fan and have been since I first strapped on
skates.”

  “Wait, you play hockey?”

  “I’m Canadian.” He sounded affronted that this wasn’t obvious.

  “Not every Canadian can play hockey,” I reminded him, still processing the entire change in the way I saw Jason. I could imagine us out on the ice together, just skating around, no hockey involved, and maybe we could kiss and—

  “Well, this Canadian can.” He buffed his nails on his shirt. “Not at your level, but I can hold my own at Christmas.”

  “Christmas?”

  “Yeah, every year, Christmas afternoon, the entire family goes to my parents’ place and we square off in teams, and I’ll always get a couple of goals, unless I have a niece or nephew clinging to my back, or my leg.” His eyes filled with warmth at the memories. All I could think was that it must be nice to have a family that was big enough to make up two teams. “My sisters both skate, and my brothers as well, plus their significant others, the kids, even my mom gets out there. Funnily enough, one of my sisters is a big Dragons fan.”

  I wasn’t processing all this new information fast enough, so I fell back on what I did best when confronted with a fan.

  “I could send her a jersey, sign it if she wants me to?”

  He smiled, “That’s her next birthday fixed up then.”

  The engine note changed, followed by an announcement was that we were landing, and that was the end of our conversation until we were in the bus heading to the Detroit Arsenal Arena.

  “When are we meeting up with Kyle? I assume we’re doing that?” he asked, and for the first time ever he sounded less like a bodyguard and more like a man who loved hockey.

  I faked horror, pressing a hand to my chest. “Are you using me to meet your real heroes?”

  He huffed a laugh, the last one before we left the bus and he was back in protector mode. “Of course.”

  “Well, we’re having dinner at his place, meeting some new guy apparently, but I was hoping you’d stand by the door, all stoic and sexy, and not talk to anyone.”