by R J Scott
I didn’t understand what he meant. I hadn’t cheated on him; I would never do anything to him that would cause the kind of pain he had on his face.
“No, shit, this was before I even met you.”
He looked at me suspiciously, like he was weighing up the truth of what I was saying.
“I love you. I would never cheat on you, Trent. But I understand if this is too much, if I’ve fucked up.” God, I sounded manic, like I was totally out of control in this, and Trent said nothing back.
The first thing I noticed was that Trent relaxed, his arms now loose at his sides, and he also held himself taller, almost to my chin still in his skates.
“You in a threesome,” he began carefully. “We should so discuss that on camera. Viewers would love that.”
“Huh?” I knew I was standing there like an idiot.
“Or maybe not. I’m guessing this is a police matter?”
“If I make it official, everyone will know.”
Trent shrugged. “Everyone isn’t important. I’m important.” He said the last part with a smirk, and somehow I knew I had my Trent back.
“You can have my money,” I blurted, “for the rink, if anything happens because I fucked up. Hell, you can have it all anyway.”
He blinked at me, then he did that smile thing again, and I was lost. I wasn’t sure who started the kiss first, but the mutually satisfying hand jobs with him still in skates was something I wouldn’t forget in a hurry.
“I don’t need your money,” he said.
“But you’ll take it if the rink is hit hard by any of this?”
He could have said no to that. He could have laughed it off, or taken every cent I owned, but he didn’t.
“I’d do it for the kids,” he said.
My first game back, against the physical Flyers, should have made me nervous, but it didn’t. I was pumped from days before. As soon as they said I could start on the twenty-third, I was there, mentally and physically. I’d yet to hear anything official about the Marianna shit, but I’d given a statement, and Trent had been with me the entire time.
We had dinner in the early evening on the day before the game – a kind of meet-the-family thing, which was going okay. I refuse to say it was a perfect meet-up; Trent brought his Lola, and my parents had to deal with my flamboyant boyfriend and his equally colorful grandma dressed from head to toe in orange.
“So you a Railers fan?” Lola said, with as much contempt in her voice as she could muster.
“I’m a fan of whatever team my son plays for,” Mom said, like she was daring Lola to say something back.
“So am I,” Trent piped up, and squeezed my hand under the table.
But it didn’t stop there, because Lola rounded on my dad, who I think was in shock. He’d long ago become used to his son having both boyfriends and girlfriends, but he’d never really met one like Trent before. He’d been polite, but had taken to looking at Trent when he thought Trent wasn’t looking. I was beginning to feel a little uncomfortable.
“What about you?” Lola asked my dad, whose eyes widened at the direct question. I knew my dad’s heart lay with Vancouver, and failing that any other Canadian team, but he was masterful at handling the people in my career.
“Flyers all the way,” he lied.
Lola looked at him, then broke into a wide grin. “You good liar, Mr. Lehmann.”
I brought my hand up to the surface of the table, with Trent’s still grasped in mine, and joined in the laughter, feeling like nothing in my life could go wrong.
One day soon I would have to explain to Mom and Dad about Marianna, but by the time I did maybe it would be nothing more than a shitty memory. I had priorities in my life that weren’t about scheming exes who wanted my money.
Dinner finished at eight and we separated, me back to my place without Trent, but not before I’d kissed him goodbye.
“See you tomorrow,” he said, then waved at me from the cab. I wanted to ask him to come home with me, but I needed sleep, and when I was with Trent? I didn’t sleep.
When I got back to my place, as soon as the door shut on me and I was alone, what was happening the next day flooded me, overwhelmed me, and I had to sit down.
Tomorrow I would be dragging myself onto the ice, and I desperately wanted it to go well. I couldn’t consider the possibility that some hard-ass would check me into the boards, hurt me, take me out. I had to stay focused. I was fast, I was fit, I was on the third line. I could do this.
“You can do this,” Ten said to me when he came back over the boards. He’d already said it to me twice before, but this time he was bright with the excitement of his first shift done and a shot on goal. It hadn’t gone in, but that wasn’t important. I could feel it in my bones that it was just a matter of time.
I looked up at where I knew Trent was sitting, right next to my parents. I’d got the tickets for them myself when they’d demanded to sit in with everyone else and not miles away in a box. I could see Lola, a bright orange dot in a sea of dusky blue.
I felt the tap on my shoulder, heard line change call.
And in a smooth movement, I was over the boards and into my first game in months.
Fifteen
Trent
“Hurry. We already miss anthem!”
Lola tugged on my arm, steering me through throngs of Railers fans. They all parted for us, but the sour looks were noted. Whether they were glaring at me in my spiffy duds or my grandmother in her Flyers paraphernalia, it was hard to say.
“Hey, why don’t you go back to Philly?” some man carrying two beers shouted.
Guess that answered that.
“Why don’t you go suck dirty eggs?!” my petite little grandmother fired back. “We beat your ass tonight! You see!”
“Lola, oh my gods, will you stop picking fights with the Railers fans?” I weaved around in front of her and purposely directed her away from the beer man and toward our seats.
“He started it,” she snapped, and threw her chin up proudly. “I fight them all. Come get me, little man with big beer belly and puny dick!”
“Lola!” I could feel the heat rushing up my neck. “I swear, if you get into a fight like you did last year at home, I am going to be so cross with you.”
‘Hey, last time that guy started it. He from Jersey.” I showed a nice man in a vest our tickets as Lola rambled on about people from Trenton or some such thing. “Why he come over river anyway?”
“Maybe he was there to see his boyfriend play in his first game back after a horrible summer?”
“No, I don’t think he has boyfriend or girlfriend. I think he has hand.”
The fellow in the vest snickered.
“Don’t laugh, it only encourages her,” I muttered, and we descended into the sea of dusky blue jerseys. Wonderful. My grandmother was the only person in orange. We’d have beer on our heads before the first period was over.
My belly was a whirling mess. Dieter’s parents were there, and even though they’d been nice last night, Dieter’s dad certainly didn’t give anything away. They hated me, I just knew it, and so I’d dampened my usual vibrant me down a few gigawatts. I’d just worn the jersey that Dieter had given me, with his name and number on the back, a pair of dark jeans, and some nice little moccasins with fleece inside. My eyeliner and gloss were minimal at best, and my hair was uncolored and gelled back from my face. I was boring. But boring is best when dealing with parents.
“See, I tell you we miss anthem.”
“Sorry.” I wiggled around a large man with a plate of nachos, then stopped at our row. “I know you love to sing the anthem, but I have no control over the accident by the capitol that made us late. There they are.” My stomach spun. Dieter’s parents glanced up. I wanted to run back to Philly. Instead I gave them a finger-wave.
“Stop worrying. They love you just like I do, babes.” Lola shoved me, and I tripped over the feet of a woman sitting beside a thin black man. “Look, there my man!” Lola waved at her
favorite player as he skated past.
“Excuse me.” I stepped over their feet, gently pulled my grandmother along, and made my way to our seats. “Hello.” I held out my hand to the lovely woman with Dieter’s eyes. The man at her side gave me a long, odd look, but he finished it with a smile and shook my hand.
“Hey! You think you could sit down, sunshine?” a man behind us shouted.
“Trent, we’re thrilled to watch this game with you,” Mrs. Lehmann said after I dropped my ass into my seat.
Lola was still standing, arms over her head, chanting at the Flyers as they congregated at center ice.
“LET’S GO PHILLY! RAILERS ARE SILLY!” Lola roared at the top of her lungs.
Mrs. Lehmann giggled.
“I make up that cheer just for this game,” Lola said, then sat down, her eyes sparkling.
“I’m sorry we’re late. There was an accident that held us up for thirty minutes. I thought Lola would combust.” I took off my dark blue coat and laid it over my lap.
Mr. Lehmann kept sneaking peeks at me around his wife. Probably he was trying to get his head wrapped around the idea that his son was in love with a man who wore more makeup than his wife. He’d had since last night to get used to it, but I knew it could take longer.
“It’s fine. You’re just in time for the first line change.” Mrs. Lehmann pointed down at the ice.
Dieter had found us among the fans. His gaze touched mine. I shot to my feet and waved my arms over my head. A small smile tickled his mouth. My stars, that mouth. I had plans for that mouth – and other parts of his hot body – later. Booking hotel rooms for myself and Lola had been a brilliant move, if I did say so myself. She could snore away in her room and Dieter and I could fuck away in ours.
“Hey, buddy, sit down!” Irate Railers Man barked at me. I hurried to take my seat.
I sat on the edge of it for several minutes, trying to keep up with the action. It wasn’t easy, and I’ll confess to having little working knowledge of the game. I’d kept my distance from hockey players in the past. How ironic that I now was head-over-tasteful-heels in love with one.
“You watch your man in corners. He good in there. Fierce, hungry.”
“Right, watch in the corners.”
I did as Lola had said, and I could begin to see a sort of pattern to the way things ran. Mostly. Somewhat. I still didn’t get why they kept stopping play for icing. Or how a person could be offside. That rule made no sense. But I enjoyed myself nonetheless. Dieter and the Railers looked good.
“Meh,” Lola said when I mentioned that to her. “First game always bad. New lines, new players. They not gel until maybe ten games into season.”
Showed what I knew. During the intermission, I climbed over my grandmother, visited the little boys’ room, and brought us each a beer and a plate of nachos. By the time I got back to my seat, the second period was already underway.
“Dieter just pulled a penalty,” Mrs. Lehmann informed me when I was in my seat.
“Oh no! What did he do?” I looked at the penalty box but he wasn’t in it.
“Oh, he sneaky that man of yours!” Lola grumbled, then shoved a cheesy nacho into her mouth.
I sipped at my beer and watched the replay. Oh, so pulling a penalty means…
“I’m confused,” I confessed to Mrs. Lehmann.
“He got the Philadelphia player to hook him.”
“Oh, well yay!” I bounced up and down, but carefully so as not to spill my beer on my clothes. “And getting someone to hook you is good?”
“Yep, see now they’re on the power play,” Mrs. Lehmann explained. “That means they have a man up, since the other team is one man down. It gives them an advantage.”
“THAT NO HOOK! YOU REF BLIND AS BAT!”
I winced at Lola’s angry shouting. The Railers players were talking among themselves before the face off. Tennant Rowe was out there, as was Dieter, which was exciting. I loved watching him play his game. I wondered if he liked to see me skate. I’d have to ask.
Things got pretty frantic then on the ice. The Railers swarmed around the Philadelphia net, shooting the puck at the harried Flyers goalie time and again. The Philadelphia defense seemed to be having a difficult time with the unit out there now. I could see why. All that talk about Tennant Rowe was accurate. He seemed to have a sixth sense about where the puck was going to be, and somehow he was always there.
“GAH! SOMEONE GET ROWE OUT OF CREASE!!” Lola was beside herself. The other people in the arena were thrilled.
Tennant passed the puck to Dieter, who was way back from the net. The men in bright orange turned to give my man their attention, and Dieter then took a shot that blistered past two Flyers, bounced off another, and somehow found the end of Tennant Rowe’s stick. The puck did this funky wobbly thing as it sailed over the Flyers goalie and fell behind him and rolled to the back of the net. The East River Arena vibrated with cheers and an incredibly loud goal horn. Mrs. Lehmann, Mr. Lehmann, and I shot to our feet, clapping and yelling.
“Pah, lucky shot.” Lola waved a fist at the replay of the Railers goal on the Jumbotron. “Dieter do good with assist,” she conceded, then shouted something at the ref in Pilipino.
I was thrilled to see Dieter in a small knot on the ice, him and the other men in his unit slapping Tennant on his helmet. He looked so damn happy. And healthy. It made me feel ticklish inside seeing him doing what he loved so much.
By the end of the second, the Flyers had tied it up, but ended up losing after Tennant set up one of the other forwards, whose name escapes me, and the Railers got a goal. It was well after eleven when Dieter was freed from the dressing room and after-game press talks. His parents and I lingered around outside the arena, making small talk, while Lola sat in my new sassy yellow Prius eating a soft pretzel while listening to the radio.
I thought he would greet his parents first, but he walked right up to me. He looked incredible. There’s just something about a man in a suit. His hair was damp from his post-game shower, and his eyes smoldered like fiery emeralds. His hand went to the back of my neck and he pressed his lips to mine. The kiss was kind of stiff, since his parents were right there. He released my neck, then took my hand before turning to talk to his folks. His mom, who was adorable – and a figure skater, so of course she was precious – seemed fine with all the man love. His dad…well, he wasn’t curt or anything, but you could tell he was working through his stuff. And that was cool. I knew I was a shock to the system for some people.
“I was thinking we could get together in the morning for breakfast,” Dieter quickly tossed out when his mother asked about going for drinks. “I’m sure Trent’s grandmother is exhausted. She’s really old.”
Lola could be heard singing along with Bon Jovi about bad medicine.
“Yeah, she’s done in,” I said, and averted my gaze.
The lie was feeble, but Mrs. Lehmann bought it. Or maybe she just knew we wanted time alone. It had been a couple of weeks for us; my rink time was beginning to gobble up my personal time. But money was money, and since I wasn’t sure if I’d get paid for the TV show or not since I’d acted up outside the prison, I needed every damn dime I could get.
“Breakfast would be fab!” I added.
“Okay, breakfast it is.” Mrs. Lehmann kissed her son.
Dieter and his father shook hands. Talk was made about assists and good checking as we tried to wiggle free.
Ten minutes later, we’d broken away and were on our way to the hotel. It was a nice one that overlooked the river. I got Lola into her room, then ran down the hall to mine, my overnight bag thumping on my back. Dieter lingered just outside my door, his hands in his pockets. The sexual tension was so thick in the corridor you could feel it on your skin like fog on a cool night.
I swiped my key card and stepped inside. Dieter followed, shut the door, and flicked on a light. A small lamp on a long dresser flared to life. I dropped my bag to the floor, turned to look at Dieter, and began taking off
my clothes. He did the same. His personal bag was flung onto a plump chair in the corner and then he began undressing. Tie first, then jacket, dress shirt and undershirt, shoes, socks, belt, trousers and then his sexy little briefs. By the time his cock was in view, I already had my dick in hand, stroking it root to tip.
“Come here,” I said, and he did, without a moment’s hesitation. His fingers went around mine, tightening the grip on my cock. Tremors of pleasure ran through me. My gaze settled on that mouth. Time to put it to use. “I want you to drop to your knees and suck on me for a while. Then you need to get on that bed and offer that sweet ass to me.”
He grunted, stole a deep kiss, then went to his knees.
“You okay down there?” I asked as the lust cloud lifted for just a second. Maybe a man who’d just rehabbed from knee surgery shouldn’t be kneeling. I was a terrible boyfriend.
“Stop worrying and enjoy.”
He licked a hot line up and down my cock, then rolled his tongue over the head, eagerly lapping up the precum coating it. My eyes drifted shut. Dieter sucked me down, taking me as deeply as he could. I rolled my hips, shoved my fingers into his damp hair, and pumped in and out of his mouth. His eyes stayed locked with mine. It was beautiful and dirty and so fucking erotic I had to pull out several times to stall the impending orgasm.
“You want me on the bed now?” he asked during one of those stops.
I nodded as I battled to calm my breathing. He got up with ease, licked at my mouth, then crawled over the bed, his ass high and proud. The sight of that tight hole and his dangling balls had me falling over myself to find the lube and condoms in my overnight bag.
“Trent, hurry up. I need you to fuck me.”
“No rush,” I replied as I rolled the condom down over me.
One knee to the bed, then the other. The weight of the hockey player offering himself so delectably to me made the mattress dip deeply in the middle. He gyrated his hips when my cock brushed his ass, and a long, low moan of desire rumbled out of him.