Felix gave it to him and grabbed his coat. Fisher followed him down the hall and to the door.
“I’ll text you,” he murmured. He was just inches away and Felix couldn’t stop himself from going up on tiptoes and brushing a quick kiss across his mouth.
“I look forward to it,” he said, and left.
2
Fisher took a shower, then pulled out sweatpants and a ratty T-shirt. He dressed, then padded back out to the living room. Sure enough, Leo was still sound asleep in a sprawl of arms and legs, a pillow under his head. French must have put it there, Fisher realized, warmth building in his chest.
“Hey,” he said, stooping and patting Leo’s cheek. “Come on, wake up.”
Leo moaned and turned his head away. “Go ‘way.”
“My house,” Fisher said. “Not going anywhere. Wake up or I’ll shove you in the shower and turn it on cold.”
“I hate you,” Leo said, opening his eyes to glare balefully up at him.
“I know,” Fisher said cheerfully. He held out a hand and Leo took it, letting Fisher haul him easily to his feet. Leo clutched at him, blinking, and affection caught in Fisher’s throat. “Come on,” he said, and led him down the hall to the bathroom.
He was sitting on the bed when Leo emerged, rumpled and pink, wet hair standing up in spikes. Fisher patted the mattress and Leo made an agreeable noise and slid in beside him.
“Was that what you needed?” Fisher asked.
Leo snuggled into the pillows, looking highly pleased with himself. “Perfect,” he declared. “Exactly what I was looking for.”
“So what do we think of our new friend?”
Leo yawned. “Liked him,” he said. “You gonna play with him again?”
“Might,” Fisher admitted. He studied Leo’s face, the eyes already drooping over his straight nose and soft mouth. “Okay if it happens without you?”
“Y’know I don’t care,” Leo slurred, snuggling into the pillows. “Think he liked you better anyway. But if he wants to… with me, let me know.”
Fisher kissed the tip of his nose. “I will. Sleep.”
Leo hummed and relaxed into unconsciousness.
Fisher lay awake awhile longer, arms behind his head. Even without the scorching hot sex, he’d been drawn to French, with his bright, dark eyes, that perfect mahogany skin and incredible cheekbones, not to mention his gorgeous tattoos. There was something familiar about his face, a faint feeling of having seen him somewhere before, but the attraction was far more than that. Fisher was fascinated by his duality, the way he focused so sharply, drew responses from his partners with an almost cruel precision, but also did little things like put a pillow under Leo’s head so he’d be more comfortable.
He wanted to see him again. There had been humor in French’s dark eyes, even though they hadn’t talked much. Fisher wanted to see his smile. He thought it would light up that beautiful face, and he wanted to find out.
He fell asleep smiling at the thought of making French laugh.
3
Felix woke up to a text on his phone. It’s Fisher, it read, with a smiley face. Felix rubbed his eyes, trying to wake up enough to focus on the screen. After a few minutes of trying and failing to come up with a response, he saved Fisher’s details and tapped out a quick hi before rolling out of bed.
Gameday meant practice. His routines weren’t as rigid as Saint’s, although few were, but they still helped him focus, drill down to that bright, shining purpose when he was in net where he existed only to stop the puck.
So he ate breakfast, leaning a hip against the counter and tapping the floor with his toe as he worked through drills in his head and Henry rubbed against his legs, purring. Then he went to the living room and stretched until his muscles felt warm and loose. He’d keep doing random stretches throughout the day to keep himself limber, and it was his favorite part of the day, at least right up until the game started. He loved the feeling of his muscles warming up, the ease of still, at twenty-six years old, being able to drop into the splits and fold flat to the floor. The repetition of the stretches helped him get his head on straight, helped him ignore the chatter and bustle of his teammates around him.
When he felt sufficiently warmed up, he popped back to his feet and headed for his car.
The practice rink wasn’t too far. He caught sight of Saint and Carmine walking through the gates and couldn’t resist honking at them. Saint flipped him off but Carmine just laughed.
Felix parked and hopped out to join them, wrapping an arm around Saint’s neck in greeting. Saint squirmed free, laughing. His dark hair was longer these days, falling forward into his brown eyes, and a smile lit his face much more often lately. It made Felix’s heart light to see, and he turned to the cause, pretending to pummel Carmine’s ribs.
Carmine yelped, hands up as if he couldn’t flatten Felix with one hand, and Felix ducked around his defense to poke his belly.
“Getting slow, old man,” he said, dancing backward.
“Well, you had fun last night.” Saint grinned at him as Carmine grumbled and prodded surreptitiously at his stomach as if to reassure himself his washboard abs were still there.
“I can’t just be in a good mood?” Felix countered, holding the door to the rink open.
“When you’re in this good a mood, it’s because you had some mindblowing sex,” Carmine said. “I just hope it was safe, sane, and consensual. And no blowup giraffes were involved.”
Felix clutched his chest, pretending to be wounded. “Miette will be crushed. You know she’s the best part of having sex with me.”
They were laughing as they entered the locker room, blending seamlessly with the clamor that rolled out to envelop them.
Kasha caught sight of them first, face lighting up as he bounded to meet them. Felix caught him in a hug, staggering backward under his weight.
“Jesus, Kash, it’s been two days,” Carmine said, sounding amused.
“I missed you,” Kasha said, disentangling himself from Felix. “It was so boring, all alone. No one to talk to.” His English was improving rapidly, although his Russian accent still thickened his words and rounded his vowels. He made puppy eyes at Saint, who seemed unaffected.
“And yet you survived,” he said, and patted Kasha’s cheek.
Kasha pouted and turned to Carmine for support.
“Whoa, hey, don’t look at me,” Carmine said, holding up his hands. “I’m on his side, remember? Besides, we took you to the zoo and bought you a giant stuffed giraffe that time. Personally, I think we’re great parents.”
“Zoo was last year!” Kasha complained.
Felix took pity on him. “We’ll go out tomorrow, Kash, eh? You and me, who else do you want there?”
“Saint,” Kasha said immediately. “Even though he’s mean. And Carmine and Jason. Yes?”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Felix promised.
“Playdate scheduled!” Carmine said, and Kasha punched him.
* * *
Practice was the usual raucous affair, Felix in his crease with the goalie coach, Ned, for the first hour as the rest of the team worked on passing drills and shooting on him. Felix focused on what Ned was saying, stopping the pucks snapped his way by whoever was in position.
Then they broke into skating drills and Felix and Vanya, the backup goalie, went to work with Ned in earnest.
Felix was dripping sweat when Ned finally called a halt and sent them to the showers. Clean and damp, he sat down on his locker and checked his phone. Fisher had texted him again.
Busy tomorrow?
Felix looked up. He’d promised Kasha— “Jason,” he called. The big defenseman looked up, raising a crooked eyebrow in inquiry. “Go out with Kasha, me, Saint, and Carmine tomorrow?”
“Sure,” Jason said easily. “Where we going?”
“Haven’t decided yet,” Felix said. “I’ll let you know.” He turned back to his phone.
Promised elsewhere tomorrow, sorry.
; No worries, Fisher responded immediately. Day after?
Felix grimaced. Another game. Not trying to avoid you, I promise, but… busy then too.
Popular :), Fisher said.
Not deliberately. Felix stroked the case of his phone, thinking. He had nothing but practice on Sunday, before they left for their next road-trip on Monday. Sunday?
At the risk of sounding like I have no life, sure, Fisher said. My place still work?
Yeah. Felix ducked a flying towel without looking up. I’m free after noon.
See you then :)
“Who you talk to?” Kasha asked, flopping beside him.
“I’m scheduling a sex marathon,” Felix said, straight-faced, and Kasha choked. Felix patted him on the back. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.” Slipping his phone in his pocket, he stood. He had a nap waiting for him. “See you at the rink, kid.”
“Dammit, Saint!” Kasha complained.
“You’re a kid until someone younger comes along,” Saint called from across the room, focused on the skate in his lap. “Accept your fate.”
Kasha grumbled. “Vanya is twenty-two. Why he’s not kid?”
“Maybe because Vanya knows how to tie his own skates,” Carmine said, tousling his hair.
Felix left them bickering and headed for his car.
Home and in bed, sheets cool and soft against his skin, he texted Fisher. How’s Leo?
He’s good :) thanks for asking.
Just us on Sunday? Felix sent.
That okay?
Yeah, Felix replied. His blood heated at the thought of having Fisher’s attention focused solely on him. See you then, he sent, and put his phone away before he ended up too turned on to sleep.
4
They played the Ravens that night. The Ravens were a dirty team, prone to illegal hits and diving, and Felix had been run into and knocked over more times than he could count. That had improved since Carmine joined the team, but Felix still got dressed in his gameday suit with a set jaw, working through his mental exercises with grim determination. They weren’t helping. His stomach was uneasy, butterflies in his chest as he drove to the rink and went inside, an automatic smile on his face for the cameras.
The locker room was as loud as usual, but Felix could read the underlying tension in the voices as they chirped each other. He scanned the room and made a quick executive decision. The room needed to lighten up, and that meant he needed to act. Pranking Saint was out of the question—he had enough to deal with, and upsetting his routines in any way was the best way to spark a meltdown. But Carmine—Carmine was definitely fair game.
He kept several things in his locker for quick and dirty pranks. Tape to put on blades, baby powder to dump in helmets, shaving cream for filling skate boots—Felix debated for a minute. He wanted to keep this to the room, not out in public, so the tape was out. Baby powder would take a while to clean up, as would shaving cream.
Cup of water, then. He waited until Carmine left the room for the game of two-touch, then grabbed a small styrofoam cup and ducked into the hallway to fill it at the drinking fountain. Elias and Jesper, their fourth-line center and his left wing, watched him as he came back in, but neither said anything—they were all used to his hijinks by now, and they were probably relieved they weren’t the target.
Felix set the cup on top of Carmine’s pads, just out of sight. Carmine was prone to reaching up and grabbing the pads without looking, which made him a prime target. Then he went back to his locker and began his stretches again, focusing on quieting his mind.
He wasn’t afraid of being hurt. Pain was part of the game, and something every player accepted. He was still young and he bounced back quickly. But the Ravens weren’t just a rough team with a penchant for body checks—they seemed to actively target whoever was the biggest threat. That was usually Saint, but when Felix was having an especially hot streak, he’d found more than one Raven “accidentally” slamming into him while driving to the net.
Well, their intimidation game wasn’t going to work. All it did was make him more determined to shut them out and send them home with their tails between their legs.
There was a clatter and a startled roar from across the room, and Felix jerked his head up. He hadn’t even realized Carmine was back. He was glaring at Felix, dripping wet and sputtering, shirt plastered to his chest as the other players clapped and hooted.
Felix grinned at him and Carmine’s glower redoubled. Saint, deep in his pre-game ritual, hadn’t even looked up. Jason held out a fist and Felix bumped it with his own. The rookies were trying—unsuccessfully—to hide their laughter. The atmosphere was already lighter, some of the tension lifting. Perfect.
* * *
It lasted until they hit the ice for warmups. Felix was in his crease, shaving it down with his skates and then running through his drills with mathematical precision, but he kept a watchful eye on the Ravens at the far end of the rink, milling in a white, blue, and black crowd.
A particular set of broad shoulders caught his attention and he clenched his jaw. Everyone on the Seabirds hated Simon Fall. He’d made Saint a target every time they faced off, and the last time they’d played, he’d run Carmine into the goalpost, fracturing several ribs and taking him out for a solid six weeks.
Simon met Felix’s eyes and winked. Felix stared back, unblinking, and Simon’s smile widened as he turned to take shots on goal with the rest of his team.
“Don’t let him get to you,” Carmine said, appearing as if out of nowhere. “You know he’s just trying to yank your chain.”
“I’ll yank his chain,” Felix muttered.
Carmine slapped him on the back. “We won’t let him anywhere near you, don’t worry.”
Felix shoved him away with his stick. “I’m not afraid of him, dick. I just don’t like him.”
“Pretty sure his mama doesn’t like him,” Carmine said cheerfully. “We’ll still keep him off you.”
* * *
It didn’t work out quite that way, though. The Ravens were playing as dirty as ever, drawing penalties and diving every time a stick even got close to them. After the fourth penalty, Felix was clenching his teeth so hard he was distantly worried about cracking a crown. The referees were either blind or they’d been paid off, as they ignored a Raven blatantly tripping Jason and then blew the whistle when Kasha jumped the offending player.
When the dust settled, the faceoff was to his right. Saint lost the puck drop to the opposing center. Felix stayed ready as teal jerseys went into the scrum to try and get it back. A white jersey broke off and drove for the net, too fast for the forwards. Jason, in front of Felix, lunged, but the Raven spun, hopping neatly over Jason’s reaching stick. In almost the same movement, he lifted the puck up over Felix’s elbow.
Felix, occupied with trying to track where the puck was, didn’t realize until too late that the Raven wasn’t stopping, that he was following the puck into the net.
He collided with Felix as he was twisting for the puck, sending him over backward. His head bounced off the post, making his ears ring, as two hundred pounds of fast-moving hockey player landed on top of him.
They went down in a sprawling pile of arms and limbs, the breath driven forcefully from Felix’s lungs.
There was a split-second pause as he tried to make his limbs work, and then hands were there, dragging the other player backward. Simon was laughing as he got hauled out of the net, but he wasn’t laughing when Carmine’s fist connected with his jaw. Felix made it to his knees and scrambled sideways as more players collided and gloves flew.
It took awhile for the referees to sort everything out and separate the combatants. It took even longer for the penalties to be assessed, as Saint and the Ravens’ captain talked to the referees. Felix waited, skating in small circles to keep his muscles warmed up, seething silently until the players were back in position for the puck drop.
* * *
“Look on the bright side,” Carmine said in the lo
cker room, slinging an arm around Felix’s shoulders. “We won and I got to punch him. I don’t see a downside.”
“The downside is he’s a dirty player who ran me over because he doesn’t give a shit,” Felix snapped.
Saint caught his eye. “Are you hurt?”
“Not the point.”
“No, but are you hurt?” Saint insisted.
Felix sighed. “No. My hip is sore and I have a bruise on the back of my head, but mostly I’m just angry.”
Carmine slapped him on the back. “I know what will help with that.”
* * *
Three beers later, shoved into the back of the deep booth of their favorite bar, Felix had to admit Carmine sometimes had good ideas. Saint looked alarmed when Felix tried to communicate that.
“Don’t tell him,” he said. “He’ll start trying to make all our decisions for us. It’ll end in tears and probably something burning down.”
“Kasha’s more likely to set stuff on fire,” Felix pointed out. A thought occurred to him and he snorted a laugh.
Saint raised an inquiring eyebrow and Felix waved his mug, only spilling a little.
“Nothing, cherry,” he said. “Only… I met someone who reminds me of Kasha a bit. I was imagining what mischief they would get up to if they met.”
Saint looked both horrified and vaguely fascinated. “Is this the guy you went home with last night?”
“One of them,” Felix said, and smiled into his beer.
Saint sighed. “You really are going all out, aren’t you?”
“Meaning what?”
“You know what,” Saint said, fixing him with a gimlet stare. Felix averted his eyes and drained his glass, but Saint was not to be stopped. “It hasn’t been that long since that asshole broke your heart. I’m all for you having fun, but I don’t want you to get hurt more.”
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