Goal Line (The Dartmouth Cobras Book 7) (23 page)

He was hungry and tired and needed a damn shower. He wanted to go back to his room, hold Sahara in his arms, and stay with her until he had to get back on the ice for morning practice. He didn’t mind the responsibilities of being the team captain, but people were asking more and more of him and the return was nothing but sleepless nights and no time for himself.

Which wasn’t Ladd’s fault. The kid was just the final straw.

Once they reached the door to Hunt’s room, Dominik lifted his fist to knock, eager to finally have a few minutes to spend with Sahara before the next obstacle came up.

Ladd cleared his throat. “The reporters were bloody morons, so I ignored them.”

Damn it.
Dominik chuckled, unable to deny the satisfaction of having actually gained some ground with the kid. A few more minutes wouldn’t hurt. “Yeah, well, you know the scripted answers you always hear us giving?”

The rookie nodded.

“Much more effective in getting them to leave you alone. Nodding, shrugging, and shaking your head just make them want to keep digging. Give them a whole lot of nothing and it will be painless.”

Another nod. And a smile. “Right, mate. I’ll try that.”

The boy was learning to use his words. Not a huge improvement yet, but Dominik didn’t feel like he’d wasted his time.

He and Sahara had more than earned a few uninterrupted hours.

And they would have them, even if he had to steal her away to claim them.

What the fuck…
Shawn Pischlar stared at White’s muscular back, which was all stiff and tense, not sure how to even finish the thought. There were a few options that could work.

Like what the fuck had he been thinking? What the fuck was he gonna do now? What the fuck was going to happen to the friendship he’d done his damn best not to ruin?

Until the goddamn flight.

Coach always made sure Shawn sat with White, even when things had been tense between them. Yeah, it had hurt to find out White had fooled around with Richards after all the “I’m straight” talk, but Shawn knew how his best friend’s brain worked. Richards was safe because the kid didn’t ask for much. He’d probably invited White to come hang out in his room to watch a movie and gone along with whatever drunken suggestions White made.

And I wasn’t really jealous that night. More like
… Hell, he couldn’t finish that thought either. Anything to do with White messed with his head. People might assume Bruiser wasn’t all that bright, but Shawn was the stupid one of the two of them. He felt sorry for Richards—the kid didn’t need a confused straight dude messing with him.

Shawn shouldn’t have messed with
White
, but this past week they’d gone further than he’d ever expected. He wouldn’t fool himself into believing that he would have gotten his hands on White without Sahara’s help, but they were all having fun, so no harm, right?

If he’d left it at jerking White off and sucking his dick once in a while, maybe they could have continued just fucking enjoying each other.

He just never fucking learned.

The flight to New York was short, but they’d been sitting on the plane, waiting for clearance to take off, for what seemed like forever. Shawn slid the window cover up to look out at the runway, counting the planes ahead of them and trying to guess how much time they had left. The pilot had announced a twenty-minute delay.

Twice.

The engine growled and the plane shifted forward. White grabbed Shawn’s knee. “Please close the window, man.”

Not even bothering to ask why, Shawn slid the cover down. White always hated flying, but some flights were worse than others. And the bruising grip on Shawn’s knee made it clear that this would be a bad one. He had a few tricks to distract White—on a trip to LA, he’d actually read to the man until he passed out and slept the whole way. But that was before Tim’s death. After, the focus had changed to keeping White awake. Bruiser had nasty fucking nightmares about being crushed in a car, or a mine, or sometimes both.

Heights had always been an issue, but flying seemed to combine all his fears into a debilitating terror that had several team therapists struggling to find the right kind of therapy to get White past it. So far, they’d made little progress.

White was doing his yoga breathing thing though, so he wasn’t at panicking point yet.

They hit the runway. The plane sped up.

The grip on Shawn’s knee tightened even more.

“If I’m gonna be out with a lower-body injury, mind squeezing a bit higher, pal?” Shawn laughed, hoping White would see the humor and relax a little.

Instead, he dropped his head back and groaned. “Don’t fucking tempt me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. But I’ll tell you this. You’re gonna fuck me before you die.” If he let himself consider that statement, he’d get damn depressed. But it made a good joke. “Obviously, that means you’ll live a very, very long time.”

The slight slant of White’s lips was close to a smile, so Shawn sat back until they’d reached the altitude where he could put a movie on his iPod. He’d ordered the new Avengers one special because he knew White hadn’t seen it yet.

“You’d seriously let me do that?”

Movie all ready to go, Shawn sat back, arching a brow as he tried to figure out what the fuck White was talking about. “Let you do what?”

“Fuck you.”

All right, did we both die?
Shawn rubbed a hand over his eyes and groaned. “Don’t say shit like that to me, Bruiser. People who aren’t fucking don’t need to have conversations about it.”

White nodded slowly. He pressed the call button for the flight attendant, then ordered two whiskeys on ice. Apparently he needed both to continue the chat he wouldn’t let go.

He cleared his throat when they were alone again. “But…you’ve sucked my dick, man. And other stuff. So it’s not like we’re just two people—besides, only Sahara’s ever gotten you off.”

Fuck me.
Shawn didn’t usually worry too much about being overheard, but Sahara had already flown to New York. To meet up with Mason. Shawn and she had talked, and he and Mason were cool, but the man didn’t need fucking details from White.

Thankfully, Mason was sitting at the other end of the plane with the new kid.

“I don’t really give a shit who gets me off.” Shawn let out a strained laugh that White didn’t catch. “You want to fuck me, then it’s pretty simple. Unbuckle your seat belt and go wait for me in the bathroom.”

What should have shut him up about fucking made White’s face go red. He sat there for a bit, staring at his hand, which was still on Shawn’s knee.

Then he got up and walked down the aisle between the seats, disappearing into the bathroom.

In the hotel room, Pischlar watched White, standing a few feet away, staring out the window. Sahara and Richards were both in the room, looking uncomfortable. Sahara’s eyes were on White, and she was chewing on her bottom lip in that way she did when she was thinking hard. She better not blame herself for how weird things were between him and White.

Neither of them had been thinking of her on that plane.

Strangely enough, White’s fear of flying made it so no one even blinked when Pischlar followed him to the bathroom, then went in and locked the door. He’d done it before when White had gotten sick. Hell, so had a couple of the other guys.

The second he was clear of the door—barely, because the bathroom was just a bit bigger on their charter flight than one on a regular plane—White pulled him close, tugging at his shirt and kissing his throat. Shawn bit the inside of his cheek to keep from moaning and undid White’s jeans. He freed White’s dick, stroking the already rock-hard length.

There wasn’t much time. Someone would eventually come knocking at the door to see if Shawn needed help. Which, depending on who it was, might have once gotten a yes.

If this weren’t White in his hands, with his lips on Shawn’s throat, moving against him like he’d gone wild with lust. Shawn didn’t expect this to last. Didn’t expect another chance.

He pulled a condom and a small pack of lube from his wallet.

“You sure, man?” White panted, speaking in a whisper. “This is fucking crazy, but I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Don’t fucking go there, Bruiser.
Shawn swallowed hard and laughed softly. “I’m sure. You wanna buy me dinner first?”

“Why you gotta be like that?”

“Fuck me, White. Before you change your mind.”

Hands braced on the sink, Shawn almost came the second he felt the head of White’s dick pressing into him. So fucking slow, so gentle, it was obvious White had only ever done this with girls. He kept his hands on Shawn’s hips, easing in with gradual thrusts until his pelvis was flush against Shawn’s ass.

“Fuck, Shawn.” White bit the side of Shawn’s neck, thrusting in a little harder. “Am I hurting you?”

“Don’t call me Shawn.” He felt White stiffen as he tensed and forced himself to relax. “I’m not fragile. You’re more likely to break me if you don’t start moving.”

White’s breath came out in a laugh, close to his ear. “But we’ve got to be quiet.”

“Yeah.” Shawn’s grip tightened on the edge of the sink as White pulled out, then thrust in hard. “Fuck yeah.”

The man might be straight, but White wasn’t a selfish lover. He figured out all the right places to hit and kept aiming for them. He rode Shawn hard, reaching around as he neared his own climax to wrap his hand around Shawn’s dick. He stroked in time with his thrusts, then brought his free hand up to cover Shawn’s mouth when he came.

And fuck, Shawn was pretty sure he’d never come that hard. If White’s hand hadn’t been there, he would have shouted loud enough to get the captain of the damn plane back here. So much blood had pumped through his cock that he was pretty sure his brain was fucking done for. He used the last of his strength to pull his pants up after White pulled out.

Which probably explained what had come out of his fool mouth.

If they were alone, Shawn might try to talk to White. Take back what he’d said. But he had a feeling the only reason White wasn’t telling him to get lost was because Sahara and Richards were here.

And Richards was only here because he fucking sucked with the press. The rookie tended to blurt out whatever came to his mind. Not in the blunt way some of the other players did either. More like he was being given a test and didn’t want to fail.

Hell, just last week, Rebecca Bower, who ran public relations, had bitched to Coach Shero about Richards’s latest mess that she had to clean up. He’d been asked what he’d thought about the ref who’d given him three penalties during the last game of the series. And he’d answered with brutal honesty.

The answer got him a fine from the league and a talking-to from just about everyone.

Which was nothing compared to him spilling how they watched the Islanders’ goalie and knew he was weak high stick side. Wouldn’t you know it, the goalie had miraculously learned to close up that particular hole.

Coach Shero had agreed to keep Richards away from the press until they could teach the kid to go with the damn script.

And Sahara? Well, she was probably here to make sure they all behaved themselves. Richards lived with Coach Shero because the man seemed to think White would corrupt him.

Maybe Shawn should leave the coach a memo, letting him know he had nothing to worry about anymore.

The quiet was getting awkward. Shawn decided to fix that the only way he knew how. “You guys wanna fuck?”

Richards’s jaw practically hit the floor. Sahara put her hand over her mouth, then glanced over at White.

Shawn ignored them. He was fucking tired of tiptoeing around everything. If this kept up, he’d be just as sad and boring as the rest of them. He relaxed back on the bed on his elbows. “Come on, kid. White says you’re lousy in the sack, but I think he lies.”

Slamming his fist into the window frame, White let out a growl. “Why do you always fucking do that?”

“Do what?”

“You know what.”

Actually, Shawn had no fucking clue. Did White have an issue with Shawn being an easy fuck? Hadn’t seemed that way on the plane.

He ground his teeth as he remembered when he’d slipped from his status quo in the cramped bathroom.

“You okay?” White ran the cold water, washing his hands then wetting his face. “I, uh…fuck. We shouldn’t have done this here.”

“Not sure it matters where we did it. Are you cool?”

“Yeah.” White ran his fingers through his hair. “Hey, is this going to change anything with us? I mean, Sahara’s gonna be with Dominik. If she wasn’t, then maybe…”

“Because you’re straight. And having pussy in the bed keeps you that way, right?”

White drew in a sharp breath. “Why you gotta put it that way? We’re having fun. I thought you only flipped out when people expected more from you. I don’t.”

“Fucking good thing. Don’t fall in love with me or anything, Bruiser. I’ll break your heart.” Shawn was doing his best to steel his own before it bled out in his chest. He’d known White was only experimenting with him because Sahara had offered herself as a consolation prize.

“Don’t worry, I won’t.”

The plane shook and the seat belt light came on. White’s face lost all color as he reached for the door. Shawn grabbed White’s arm to steady him.

White jerked away.

A brisk knock sounded on the door. Sahara bolted from her chair and ran to the door, probably hoping to see Dominik.

Dean Richter, the team’s general manager, stepped into the room. “Sahara, you’re looking well.”

“Thank you, Sir.” Sahara moved to let him in. “Is everything all right?”

“Everything’s fine. I wanted to discuss something with Pischlar. If you don’t mind—”

Shawn stood and strolled up behind Sahara, slouching against the wall as he inclined his head at Richter. “I’ve got nothing to hide. What’s up, Mr. Richter?”

Richter’s lips thinned. “Very well. I appreciate you wanting to defend your teammates, but social media isn’t the place to do it. We’re in the playoffs, and you’re not a young man without experience dealing with this kind of thing.”

Fucking PR, always checking our posts.
On the bus, heading to the hotel from the airport, Shawn had checked out Facebook so he wouldn’t worry about the fact that White was ignoring him.

There was a new picture of Richards up. The kid had done a magazine shoot and he looked fucking hot. It was a badly kept secret that the rookie hung out in random gay bars, and he had quite the following. A few twinks had left admiring comments.