Crashing the Net (5 page)

Alexei fished his keycard from his pants pocket and Mike definitely didn’t watch how the fabric strained across his belly and thighs.

When the lock flashed, he pushed his way into the room and dropped his bag before coming to a halt and staring at the one king-sized bed.

“Oh,” he said, brilliantly articulate as always.

“Is that a problem?” Alexei asked from behind him.

Why would it be?
Mike thought somewhat hysterically. Guys crashed together all the time and the bed was practically big enough to fit a third person anyway.

“No problem. I just feel bad that I’m taking up half your bed.”

Alexei chuckled. “I promise not to molest you while you’re sleeping.”

Mike laughed, maybe a little too loudly, and bent to open his suitcase. Thank fucking Christ he’d packed pajamas for home.

“You want to go out with the guys?” asked Alexei.

Mike froze.
Shit
. He really didn’t want to see any more of Quebec City than the inside of this hotel room and whatever was out the bus’s windows on the way to the airport, but he couldn’t tell Alexei that.

“No, I’m good. Tired. I think I’ll just stay in tonight.” He looked over his shoulder at Alexei. “If that’s okay with you, I mean? I know it’s your room, so if you don’t want me here while you’re out—”

Alexei put his hand over Mike’s mouth. “What is the matter with you?”

“What? Nothing,” Mike said when he could speak again.

“You’re being weird.”

“I’m not. I just. I don’t want to go out, okay?”

Alexei had spent so much of the past couple hours studying Mike’s face, Mike was starting to feel like a specimen under glass. He considered a carefree smile, but then remembered he sucked at those.

At last, Alexei nodded. “Okay, we stay in. Think room service will bring us some beer?”

Mike smiled, his relief so powerful he managed a real smile. “Yeah. That would be great.”

Alexei had been sure that whatever was bothering Mike would be resolved once they’d sent his father back north on his own, but he’d been wrong. There was something still there, lurking in Mike’s eyes. He was trying hard to hide it, but when Alexei came out of the bathroom after his shower, he caught Mike standing at the window, looking down on the street below, with a tight, almost anguished look on his face.

Alexei put his hand on Mike’s back, his skin warm through the old soft t-shirt.

Mike looked over his shoulder at him. “You remember when I first got to Moncton. How I was kind of beat up?”

“Kind of?” Alexei asked calmly, even as his stomach roiled at the memory. “Mike, you were covered in bruises.”

“Right.” Mike turned to look out the window again. “I told you that I’d been attacked. The night before.”

“I remember.”
Perfectly.

“It happened here. In Quebec City.”

Mike jumped a little when Alexei slid his hand around Mike’s waist, pulling closer until his chest pressed to Mike’s back and his palm rested against his belly. ”I’m sorry.”

He figured Mike wouldn’t be comfortable with Alexei so close for long, but it was the best comfort Alexei knew how to offer. Mike surprised him when he just shuddered and leaned into Alexei’s hold. “Yeah. Me, too.”

Alexei didn’t know what else to say. He was practically choking on the questions he’d spent most of the last four months waiting to ask. He hadn’t forgotten, not for a moment, what Mike’s body had looked like covered in bruises. The boot mark on his thigh.

They stood there for a long time while Mike stared out at the city and Alexei silently wished he could do something,
anything
, to make it better for Mike. The room was lit only by the lights outside and the TV flickering behind them and slowly, the intimacy broke through Alexei’s rage, shifting all the adrenaline in another direction.

He carefully eased his hips away from Mike’s ass, and in the process, broke the spell that had let him get away with holding Mike for a while.

Mike turned and smiled sadly. “Thanks. And sorry. You probably should have gone out with the guys. I guess I’m a drag.”

Alexei just shook his head and moved to the bed. “Come. It’s late,” Alexei said, careful to keep his voice low as he shut off the TV. “We have an early flight.”

He wondered if Mike would object to Alexei telling him it was time to go to bed, but he just nodded and crawled under the covers.

Alexei could feel Mike’s heat from across the bed and ached to reach toward it. He didn’t, of course, and hoped like hell he wouldn’t do anything stupid in his sleep.

It had been a while since he’d been with anyone, and he hadn’t missed it much or felt lonely.

Until right now.

Mike woke in the middle of the night, startled awake by his increasingly terrifying dream. For a long moment, all he could do was listen to his heart pounding and incredibly grateful he hadn’t had a full-blown nightmare.

The tickle of hot breath against the back of his neck snapped him fully alert. Alexei was pressed the length of his spine, his hips snugged up against Mike’s ass, a knee jammed between Mike’s thighs. A wall of heat at his back.

Mike took a deep breath and Alexei’s fingers twitched against his belly where his shirt had rucked up.

The rational part of Mike’s brain knew this was awkward. And not just because of his growing erection. Alexei clearly had no idea who he was using as a human body pillow. Like none. And any movement would wake him. Mike could imagine Alexei flinging himself to the other side of the bed with horror.

Which was the opposite of what the very irrational part of Mike’s brain wanted.

So Mike didn’t move. Not a muscle. Not to rearrange his aching dick or scratch the niggling itch along his hairline from the gusts of warm, damp breath against his skin. He just smiled and, for as long as it took for him to slip into a much better dream, enjoyed the hell out of it.

When their alarm went off at some god-awful hour in the morning, Mike smashed his face into his pillow and groaned an objection. For one glorious moment, the arm around him tightened, the weight at his back rolling on top of him as he twisted his chest against the bed.

And then it was gone.

Alexei didn’t actually leap from the bed, but he didn’t linger either. “I’ll take the first shower,” he muttered as he moved briskly to the bathroom, closing the door firmly behind him.

As a courtesy, Mike didn’t point out that Alexei had just showered right before bed.

Mike popped open one eye and looked at the dawn light through the windows. It was Christmas Eve and he didn’t have to go home.

Or, really, he
was
going home. To Moncton. With Alexei.

And that felt really good. Though not as good as waking up in Alexei’s arms.

He gave himself permission to wallow in it for the few minutes Alexei was out of the room, turning his head and inhaling Alexei’s scent from the pillow and the pocket of air beneath the rapidly cooling sheets.

The moment the shower shut off, Mike jumped from the bed and gathered his clothes for the day, crisp air and sheer will forcing his erection to subside. Alexei came out and grumbled a belated good morning, and Mike popped into the bathroom, determined to get back to business as usual.

He wasn’t going to kid himself and think he could forget. What he had to remember, though, was that it just didn’t matter.

It took a lot of time and effort, but by early summer, the spacious one-bedroom apartment next to Alexei’s was ready for occupancy. Provided, of course, that Alexei could find a tenant who didn’t mind paying him under the table. Or tromping through the still-filthy warehouse. Or riding up in the freight elevator. Or the one thousand code violations in the hallway to their door.

Right.

Fortunately, there was a solution. Mike was moving in.

He already spent far more time at the warehouse than at his own apartment anyway. Before games, after practice, and the rare free day had all been spent working with Alexei on the apartment. Mike hadn’t realized how lonely he’d been until he’d shared countless meals sitting on the floor or at Alexei’s table. Spent hours talking while they worked, or collapsed with a beer on Alexei’s big couch afterwards to review all they’d accomplished.

This place already felt like home. Moving in, at this point, was more of a formality.

“Hey, you going to stare off into space all afternoon, or are you going to lift the other half of this goddamn rug?”

Alexei’s voice cut through Mike’s wandering thoughts and brought him back to the dimly lit hallway. They’d just started unloading his stuff, but it wouldn’t take long to finish the job. Everything he owned had easily fit in the gigantic lift.

“I still think it would have been easier to drive my car into the elevator and unload it up here.”

Alexei shot him a look. “It would be easier if you picked up the other end of this rug and got to work.”

Mike suppressed a smile. “Yeah, sure. Sorry about that.”

He lifted his end, laughing when Alexei yanked and almost took him off his feet.

Jerk
.

Muscling the thick roll through the door, Mike felt the same buzz of satisfaction he got every time he saw the results of their hard work. The polyurethane was barely dry on the hardwoods and the walls still smelled vaguely of paint, but he and Alexei had agreed the move had to be today. The post-season started tomorrow night, and for the next few weeks they would be completely focused on getting the Ice Cats to the championship.

It had been a great season, but for Mike, the best part was this. He glanced around his new living room as they unrolled the rug and squabbled over where to put it.

Not surprisingly, Alexei had a strong opinion. So did Mike.

It had taken less than a day working together for Mike to figure out that even after months of friendship, he hadn’t
really
known Alexei. For starters, the easy-going prankster the team all loved was actually a bossy son of a bitch. He
loved
to argue. And when he felt passionately about something, his cheeks flushed, his eyes danced, and he threw himself into the debate.

It was sexy as hell.

Alexei listened. Argued. Laughed.

And occasionally, conceded. “Fine! You’re right. The rug is better there,” Alexei said, throwing up his hands.

Mike smiled.

The real Alexei was a passionate and private man. Mike would bet everyone on the team assumed the same thing Mike once had—that someone as loud and gregarious as Alexei wasn’t hiding a thing—but they’d be wrong.

Alexei was quiet. Thoughtful. And brilliant. He spoke three languages fluently, a secret he had managed to keep until Mike caught him reading
Les Miserables
. In
French
. He loved to play chess, and cook, and work on his properties. He could completely eliminate his accent in the blink of an eye, negotiating with the local lumber yard like he’d been born within a ten-mile radius, then dial what Mike called his “Boris” accent up so thick, Mike could barely keep a straight face as the people around him struggled to understand a single word.

The truth was a gentle lilt that Mike would gladly listen to all day. And had.

He dropped a box against the wall next to the bookcases and stepped aside so Alexei could also set down his load.

“What have you got in here? Bricks?”

“It’s all books on how to play chess.”

Alexei winked on his way back into the hallway. “Too bad they don’t help.”

In truth, Mike was starting to hold his own against Alexei at chess, just as he did in their debates on everything from politics to hockey, and Alexei made no secret of enjoying the challenge. Hell, sometimes he brought shit up just to get the two of them going.

No, the only secret between Mike and his best friend was the one that ate at Mike every day. The one truth he knew he should have revealed before he moved in.

Mike was preparing to heft one end of his couch when his phone rang, echoing loudly in the elevator. He yanked it from his pocket and grimaced.

Home.

Why was his parent’s house still labeled that?

He flashed a smile at Alexei. “Just give me a sec.”

Alexei nodded, leaned one hip against the back of the couch, and crossed his arms over his broad chest.

Mike turned his back. “Hey, Mom.”

“Hey, son, where are you?”

Mike sighed. It was his father. “Hi, Dad. I’m at my new apartment. I’m sure I mentioned I was moving today?”

“Shouldn’t you be at the gym or on the ice? The playoffs start tomorrow.”

As if Mike weren’t perfectly aware of that fact. “We’re not done here yet. In fact, I’m right in the middle—”

“
We?”
his father asked, drawing out the word. Mike cringed.
“Is it that someone special?”

Mike looked back at Alexei and something perverse in him made him answer honestly. “Yes. It is.” Then he back peddled for all he was worth. “I mean, I’m here with a friend. Look, I have to go. We—”

“Hey now. You can’t just drop a hint like that and not say anything else!”

Can’t I?

When Mike remained silent for too long, his father hooted, his tone absolutely gleeful. “
Tell me about her, Mike. What’s her name? Where did you meet—”

Mike did something he’d never done in his life. He hung up on his father.

Taking a deep breath, he pressed the phone to his forehead, trying to shake off the clutch of panic brought on by his father’s prying. And it was his own fucking fault anyway.

Shit, he shouldn’t have done that. More and more, it felt like the truth he’d kept bottled up was ready to explode out of him, and he fought it for all he was worth. And now, like a fool, he’d let one gasp escape.

Somehow that hadn’t helped relieve the pressure at all. If anything, he’d made it worse.

Alexei wanted to tear the phone from Mike’s white-knuckle grip and throw it down the elevator shaft. He had no idea what the hell Mike’s father had said, but it had turned Mike milk-white, his dark eyes darting around the elevator as if searching for something.