Seduced by the Game (45 page)

“That was one incredible
glove save on Zerbloskovich,” I said. It really had been. The quick snap of the
puck out of the air was classic Evans. Cam stared at me for a full minute. I
felt like crawling into my duffel bag.

“You don’t need to stroke
my ego. I know why you’re here.”

My mouth dropped open. An
equipment manager hustled past, skates draped over his shoulders. I waited
until we were alone again.

“I’m your backup, that’s
all." This was all so bizarre I had to double-check my reality by biting
the inside of my bottom lip. Yeah, that hurt. So this was really happening. I
was standing here trying to bolster Cam Evans’s flagging self-confidence. “Look,
I know it’s been tough for you lately, but you’ll--”

Cam shot to his feet. The
man gave me a blow to the chest that staggered me. “You don’t have the fucking
right to tell me what’s been tough. You’re still a fucking sucking pup,
Jacobi!
”

“Fuck you then!” I stalked
away before I decided to coldcock his old ass. It was right then that I decided
I would get Dad settled in his hotel room, locate Brad, and go look at the
mansion on the other side of the Monongahela. I shoved the confrontation with
Cam to the back of my mind, texting Brad as I left the aging goalie alone in
the dressing area. Within an hour Dad was happily watching the eleven o’clock
news in his cozy hotel room.

I, on the other hand, was
sharing a good laugh with Brad Cooper, who was looking more fuckable by the
minute. Looking back on it, using Brad to squash the sting of Cam’s shitty
behavior was a less than stellar thing to do. I have apologized to him, and he
and I are awkwardly square now.

We arrived in Mount
Washington and I got the grand tour of the house Brad was sharing with Pete
Dunlop, a second-line winger for the Pumas. We chatted for a few then a
handshake sealed the deal. I was to move in tomorrow, stay until I found an
apartment or was shipped back down to the Dragons, and never touch the Coors in
the fridge. Brad showed me around the huge colonial. The second floor held four
bedrooms. One was Pete’s, one Brad’s. I had the pick of the remaining two.

I chose the one that
looked out on a pretty spacious backyard. The lawn was covered with snow. I
cleared a hole on the frosty window with my hand. Brad was saying something. I
found a dark spot in the snow, a shadow caused by a snowdrift no doubt, but
that darkness amid the white held me. I wondered what the hell was eating Cam.
What darkness had a grip upon him? My bottle of Bud dangled from my fingers.
Brad’s hand on my shoulder brought me back from the shifting moonglow below. I
turned to look at him. He leaned in to kiss me. We both tasted like hops and
barley. He was a nice kisser, firm but gentle, not one of those who slobber all
over your face. I set my beer on the windowsill. He did the same. We stumbled
to the twin bed. The bare mattress was a firm one. Things got kind of hot for a
while. Mostly frottage, with him gyrating against my erection as we groped each
other. He wanted more. I did as well but something held me back.

“I think we better take a
breather,” I whispered so as not to draw Pete upstairs. Brad nibbled on my neck
for a moment longer then rolled off me. We lay there on that naked bed for a
few minutes, working to bring our breathing down.

“I was kind of hoping that
would happen,” he confessed, his body solid and warm next to mine on the small
bed. We both had legs dangling off the sides. I felt him looking at me. Being a
pussy, I stared at the ceiling. “Look, I know this has been a crazy-ass day for
you . . .”

“That’s putting it
mildly,” I said, once more going back to Cam’s shortness with me. I would be
damned if I would continue to let that hurt me. I rolled to my side, stared
into those needy green eyes of Brad’s, and said shit that the following morning
would baffle me. Brad was in a vulnerable place. The man lapped up every word
like a dehydrated poodle. Brad was desperate to feel loved again. I was intent
on cramming Cam Evans to the deepest recesses of my mind.

Pity it didn’t work.

Three

Video.

Honest to Christ, if I
never watch another hockey video, I’ll die a happy man. I looked up,
glassy-eyed I’m sure, from the Dell laptop when someone cleared his throat. Cam
stood in the doorway, working the casual star look for all it was worth. White
silk shirt, tailored blue jacket, jeans, Italian loafers, hair windblown, jaw
covered perfectly with a two-day growth. Cameron was tall, lean, powerful, and
motherfucking sexy. I reached up to pause the video on the laptop. I could feel
my pulse in my groin. Not a good sign.

“Ivan said I’d find you in
here,” he said, filling the doorway. I glanced around the goalie coach’s sparse
office. “Listen, about last night…”

I lifted a hand. He
clamped his lips tight. “It’s okay,” I said. “I just want you to know I’m not
here to take your job."

Cam stepped into the room,
nodded at a knot of players heading to the weight room, then closed the door
after they passed. I kicked a rolling chair out for him. He smiled
uncomfortably before sitting down.

“Yes, you are, and that’s
okay.” I started to argue. It was he who silenced me this time with a raised
palm. “You say you’re not, and maybe in your heart you think you’re not, but on
some deep, competitive level, you are. When you hit that ice last night, and
the crowd was on its feet, tell me you didn’t fantasize about skating over to
the net.”

I averted my eyes. Cam
chuckled sadly.

“Been there and done
that." I found myself drawn to look at him. There was something about him.
The way his eyes turned up at the corners, or the laugh lines, or maybe even
the strands of silver that were threaded through the cocoa brown. Hell, maybe
it was his full bottom lip or the sandalwood cologne he wore. Who knows? “I
didn’t mean to get on you like that, though. I watched your tapes last night.
You’re good, Jacobi, damned good. Maybe Cooper good.”

I sat in that cheap office
chair with my mouth open. Cam reached out to playfully close it. His fingers
were warm. I so wanted them to stray over my cheek but they didn’t. He simply
shut my mouth then smiled while placing his hands to his thighs.

“Thanks."

“Ivan was right. You’re
ready for the pros.”

“Thanks,” I repeated.

“You’re welcome,” the
legend said while slowly rising. “You up for an hour in the weight room?”

“Ivan said I need to do
the video,” I replied as he ambled to the door. “I didn’t really mean the ‘fuck
you’ last night."

“It’s okay, kid, sometimes
I need a brash young gun to tell me to go fuck off.” He turned to level those
piercing brown eyes at me. “Don’t think I’m going to just lay down for you,
Jacobi.”

The videos were largely
unseen after that because I could not get the lurid picture of Cam Evans lying
down for me - naked, with his ass in the air, his balls hanging hot and heavy.
My cock was engorged. Thirty minutes passed until I could leave Coach Mars’s
office. I kept a wide berth from Cam for the rest of the morning. I couldn’t
avoid him on ice, but I had gotten a pretty good grip on the lust by then. My
time in the net started out sloppy. My mind was working too hard on burying the
gay porn reel starring Cam and me. When I allowed three consecutive shots
through my five-hole, Ivan skated over to ask if I was sick. When I said no, he
then asked if I had any intention of staying in Pittsburgh longer than a day.
Message received.

I blocked out everything,
including the man at the other end of the ice working his crease tight as a
widow’s pantry. After the scrimmage, I took an extra thirty with Ivan working
on my tendency to glide. According to the coach, I slide slowly backward as the
play enters the defensive zone. That moves my weight to my heels. When the shot
comes, I sometimes have trouble with extension to the corners of the net. I
could see what he was saying, so we spent some time practicing blocking shots
while keeping my weight off my heels. Cam worked on glove shots. When we came
off the ice, Cam was behind me, asking me about something he had heard from the
other guys. Ivan was already in his office, anxious to get off his feet for a
few hours.

I stopped dead right in
front of the home team bench, my plain gold helmet under my arm.

“What did you just ask
me?” I inquired. Cam never looked away. His eyes bored into mine.

“I asked if the talk about
you being gay is true.” My gaze darted down to the amber eyes of a puma painted
on the top of Cam’s helmet. I found him still riveted to me when I looked up.

“Yeah, I’m gay.” You could
hear the ice creaking underneath our skates.

With that knowledge under
his belt, he lumbered off the ice, carrying his stick on his right shoulder
like an angler does his fishing pole. I was too stunned to move. Generally I
don’t give two shits what people think. They accept my homosexuality or they
don’t. But this man… this man was something fucking else!

My skates chewed up the
distance. I located Mr. Evans in the locker room, talking with DeLoux about
some charity event on the weekend. I couldn’t confront him here. As I angrily
peeled my padding and undergarments off, I began to wonder if I wanted to get
into it with him. By the time I was getting my balls Zestfully clean, I had
decided to say fuck Cam and his freaking odd behavior. He was a different
generation. Maybe his cold reply was how he planned to handle the queer in the
net. What. Ever. He could be Frosty the Snowman all he wanted. I had better
things to do then worry about one man’s weird-ass rejoinder.

* * * *

My dad was home, safe and
sound, after a lovely flight where he ate too many nuts. He feared
constipation. Why he tells me this shit I don’t know, but he does. Mom was
taking down the Christmas decorations. Sis was off on a date before she had to
return to work in two days. Me, I was sitting in my new house with Brad and
Pete, watching a basketball game while we feasted on Chinese. Man, do we
professional athletes live the high life or what? Dad and I chatted for about
ten more minutes before we said our goodbyes. I leaned forward to grab an egg
roll from the coffee table covered with takeout containers.

“So what’s the story with
Cam Evans?” I asked nonchalantly while dipping my egg roll in some hot mustard.
Pete muted the game.

“What do you mean?” he
asked, rubbing his stomach as he eyed my moo goo with lust. I shoved it toward
him. A grin split his face. He gave me some of his beef and broccoli in return.

“He’s just… I don’t know,
weird. I mean, I grew up idolizing the dude, but he’s just out there.”

“Man has just got some
shit going down is all,” Pete said between spoonfuls of moo goo. The game had
lapsed into commercials so Pete, the commercial hater, turned the set off. Just
as well, the Pittsburgh Wings were losing anyway. I shook my head then
swallowed.

“No, it’s more than his
sketchy performance on the ice,” I said, using my jeans as a napkin. Brad was
spread out over a green recliner, listening intently to the talk. “He jumped
all over me yesterday, accused me of coming up to take his spot . . .”

“Well, you are,” Pete
pointed out unnecessarily. “Look at the facts. He knows he’s got one year left
on his contract. After that it’s time to hoist the sweater to the rafters. I
figure he’s got nothing but the game since he and his wife split years ago.”

“Whatever, fine, I might
someday
take his position, but I did not come here to oust the fucker right today,” I
argued, my second egg roll hovering over the spicy mustard as I spoke. “So
after he gets all conspiracy theory on me, he apologizes this morning. No,
wait.” I shook my egg roll at Brad who had opened his mouth. “So it’s all gummy
bears after we say we’re sorry. After practice he gets me alone, asks me if I’m
a faggot, then skates off without saying a fucking word when I confirm that I
am.”

“He asked you straight up
if you were a fag?” Brad inquired, his eyebrows having climbed into his hairline.

“Well, no, I mean the 'F'
word was never used.” I shoved the egg roll into the mustard with gusto. “It
was clearly intended though. Did he ever display any homophobic tendencies
before?”

“No, no way. I would have
known. I’ve been out for three years. Every guy on the team knows I’m gay.
Never been any problem with anyone, especially Cam,” Brad said, his eyes
roaming over to Pete who was nodding in agreement. “Shit, Cam used to have me
and Troy over to his place for dinner all the time.”

“Great. Must be me he
hates on a personal level.” I sighed then stuffed the remainder of my egg roll
into my mouth. We hashed over the Cam situation for another half hour. There
was no conclusion to be arrived at, it seemed. Obviously the animosity Cam was
displaying was because I was a threat to his manhood or something. I found that
to be pretty stupid, as I would undoubtedly spend this whole season on the
bench unless Cam was injured. That was, if I even made the team. After the Cam
thing was talked out, we finished the food, drank the one beer each we allowed
ourselves, then moseyed to our bedrooms.