Open Net (Cayuga Cougars Book 2) Read online

  “Are you?” I dared to ask.

  “For close to seventeen years, since the day after my twenty-first birthday. I’d been out the night before and gotten ten rungs above shit-faced,” he replied softly. A flitter of sadness crossed his face then disappeared.

  We’d both leaned our forearms on the table. I was so uncomfortable, sitting still was hard. Embarrassment and desire made me look at Sal and then quickly away. I spied a small brown sparrow working on a nest in a corner of the pavilion.

  “I told my parents that I was gay during breakfast. Right over the eggs and orange juice. Blam!”

  My gaze flew from the sparrow to Sal. “Seriously?”

  He nodded while prodding with his green-and-white stirrer at the slice of lime that floated in his water. “That must have been some breakfast.”

  “Oh, it sure was.” He chuckled dryly. “In all honesty, I only meant to ease the old folks into it.” Sal ran the tip of his tongue over the lime slice he’d pulled out of his bottle with his pinkie finger. His nose wrinkled and sent his adorable rating through the roof. “You know what my mom and dad said?”

  I shook my head, totally absorbed in the story and the subtle Spanish accent a few of his words seemed to be flavored with.

  “My father looked me in the eye and said, ‘Hell, son, we’ve known that for three years. Pass the pepper.’”

  “Wow,” I murmured, my gaze lingering on his long fingers as he poked the lime wedge back down into the bottle. The sides of his bottle were slippery with condensation. I wondered, if he reached out to touch me, if his fingertips would be cool and damp on my skin. Sure they would. I wiggled around, trying to give my dick some breathing room.

  “Wow about covers it.” He glanced up from his spring water to me. I really liked looking at his face. It was a beautifully masculine face. One that had real character. That appealed to me greatly. “So, that’s my big coming-out-to-the-family-while-hungover-story. What about you? Do your parents know?”

  “No, nope.”

  He pursed his lips, then nipped at the corner of his mouth. I battled back the urge to lean all the way over the table and put my mouth on his. Would he like it if I did that? He seemed to like me. Then again, I had no clue how gay men acted aside from old episodes of Will & Grace or sneaking peeks at Kalinski and Arou when they thought no one was looking.

  “Sorry,” he said quietly.

  I gave him a shaky smile and rolled my beer between my hands.

  “You’ll tell them someday when the time is right. It’s not something you can rush.”

  “Yeah, thanks,” I replied, then started rolling my bottle a little faster.

  “What can you tell me about hockey?” Sal enquired.

  My eyes met his over the table before darting back to the bird. The sparrow flew off to look for more nesting material.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “I’d like to know whatever you want to tell me. How old were you when you started playing?” Sal asked, and I told him.

  Then I went on to tell him the entire history of August Jones Miles’ hockey career from Pee Wee up to and through the draft. I filled his ears with stories about my first season with the Cougars, how we were poised to grab a playoff spot for the first time in over ten years, and how amazing it was to be part of such a special group of men. When I ran out of hockey talk, Sal was smiling at me.

  “What?” I glanced behind me to see what he found so humorous. Maybe one of the party guests was skinny-dipping or something. Nope. There was nothing but water and a few birds flying low over the surface of the lake trying to catch bugs.

  “You do love talking about hockey,” he chortled.

  I blushed hotly and found the nesting sparrow for a moment. When my eyes met his again, he reached out to lay his cool hand on my forearm. The contact made me inhale sharply. Sal’s eyes narrowed slightly.

  “Do you not like me touching you?”

  “I like it,” I finally whispered.

  He gave my arm a light squeeze. “That’s good to know. If you feel uncomfortable, just say so.”

  If only he knew how badly I wanted him to run those cool fingertips of his over other parts of my body, he’d probably…well, maybe he’d run them over the places I asked him to. My dick was so hard now it was somewhat painful.

  “You’ve got the most soulful eyes, and a really cute way of cocking your head when you’re in thought,” he said. “And it’s obvious that you love hockey a great deal.”

  “Oh yeah, hockey’s my life, my savior. What about your job? Do you love it? I don’t know what a transport orderly is.”

  A light wind blew off the lake. It ruffled his thick hair. I squirmed around just a little more.

  “You know the people who push patients to the operating room on gurneys?”

  I nodded as my gaze lingered on his throat.

  “That’s what I do, among other things. It’s a good job. Pays well. I have a place a block from the hospital, so I can walk to work.”

  “I have my own place too. And a car. Being fed into the AHL meant a raise, which was great. The pay scale in the ECHL is bottom-feeder. There were weeks me and a couple of guys I roomed with lived on canned meat and crackers.”

  “Nothing worse than canned meat.” He made a disgusted face, I laughed, and then he rubbed the back of my arm for a second. He gave it a pat, then pulled his tattooed hand away. “Do you date, August? I’d really like to take you to dinner followed by a movie tonight.”

  I gaped at him for a full minute, my mind racing to spin up some hot little fantasy about Sal jerking me off in the balcony of a movie theater. Not that I knew of any theaters with a balcony, but once the erotic daydream had started, I couldn’t shake it.

  “Or not.”

  “No, I mean, yeah, dinner would be good. Cool. Yeah, dinner is fine. Food is too, you know. Good. Food is good.” Falling back into the lake was sounding good again. Maybe with a rock tied around my neck this time.

  Sal’s wary expression shifted into one of mild amusement. Did he find bumbling goalies entertaining? Then his dark eyes slid to the side. I glanced to my right and saw Mario and Lila entering the pavilion. They made a nice couple. Mario looked good in a white shirt and that funky kilt of his. And Lila, well, she always looked amazing. Her dress was white and sparkly. She wore gold sandals. Her hand rested on Mario’s arm. He really did treat her like a queen.

  “There you are,” Lila said as they neared. “This is such a lovely spot. First Victor and Dan get married here, and then we get to celebrate another joyous event. Who is this handsome man you’re chatting with, August?”

  Sal and I pushed ourselves to our feet. Mario had taught me that early. When his lady walked into a room, you either got up or he hit you in the back of your head hard enough to knock the game controller out of your hand.

  “This is Sal Castenada,” I said. Mario gave me a pointed look. I peeked up at the thick wooden beams over our heads until the heat of that look faded. “He works with Heather at the hospital. Sal’s a transport orderly.”

  “Well, Sal, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Lila.” She gave him her hand. Even her long fingernails were gold.

  Sal lifted it to his lips. Wow, he was smooth. Then he murmured something in Spanish that made both Lila and me giggle. Mario’s amused look curbed my stupid snorts.

  “This is my paramour, Seamus— Oops, I mean Mario McGarrity. He and August are teammates.”

  “Oh, so another Cougar,” Sal said as he and Mario shook hands. “August was just telling me all about the great game of ice hockey.”

  “Yeah, Augie loves his crease,” Mario said after the polite handshake ended. “So, are you and Augie good friends?”

  Heat crept up my neck. I knew what Mario was asking in a roundabout way.

  “We just met about an hour ago,” Sal explained pleasantly.

  The band was still blowing on its horns. Whoever had convinced Heather that a disco band at her graduation party would
be a good idea needed a kick in the trombone.

  “Congratulations on such a fine career,” Lila chimed in with a warm smile. “It must be fulfilling to be in the medical field.”

  “Yes, it’s wonderful place to work.” Sal waved a hand at the picnic table. “You want to join us?”

  “Thank you, but I couldn’t think of sitting on something so grimy.” Lila frowned at the bench.

  “I can take off my kilt and you can sit on that.”

  “McGarrity, if you so much as flash a thigh, I’ll be forced to blind all the guests as a courtesy.” Victor, holding his son, ambled into the pavilion with Dan.

  “As if your pale white Polish ass is a pretty sight,” Mario fired back.

  “I think it’s kind of pretty,” Dan interjected with a sassy wink.

  Everyone chuckled. Lila introduced Sal to Vic and Dan. I was too culturally inept to have thought to do it. Soon everyone was talking up a storm. It amazed me how easily some people could talk to strangers. It had taken me months to be able to look Kalinski in the eye. Sal seemed to fit right in. He chatted away, his eyes touching on me frequently. It made me feel funny yet pleased. Each time our eyes met, I felt antsy.

  Within ten minutes, all the Cougars who’d been at the party were inside the pavilion. I found myself leaning against one of the rough beams cemented into the ground, nursing my beer, watching everyone interact.

  “So, dinner and a movie tonight, then?”

  I looked to the right. Sal offered me his plate. I picked a purple grape off the mound of fresh fruit and popped it into my mouth.

  “Dinner would be okay,” I said after I’d chewed and swallowed. His brown eyes glowed with pleasure. “But not tonight,” I slid in. “We have a game.”

  “Ah, well then maybe I’ll watch a hockey game and make plans for a date with a super cute and adorably shy goalie for Saturday night.” He was standing so close that our elbows rubbed. A hot flicker of desire for the man flared up again.

  Since I had nothing clever to say, I merely stared at him, then tapped his empty with my empty. Yep, August Miles is all about the impressive words.

  “So, Augie, my son, my son, care to fill me in on your new friend?”

  I’d known who it was before he even spoke by looking at his feet. Only Mario had the guts to wear the dumbest purple Crocs ever made. I pretended not to hear him and continued my mental walk through the zone. Mario dropped into a crouch in front of me.

  “Are you in the zone or just ignoring me?”

  “I’m zoning in. We have five minutes before we play Binghamton. We need to win this game if we want to eke past them to clinch the division.” My voice sounded snippy.

  Mario nodded his buzzed red head, then slapped my thigh. Up he went. I continued staring at his lilac Crocs.

  “I totally respect your zone,” he said as the din in the Cougars dressing room continued to escalate. “If this thing with your new friend is what it looked like it might be, I think we should talk before you fall into his bed. You need to know about STD’s and—”

  My gaze flew from his Crocs to his face. “I’m not ten years old,” I snarled. “I’m twenty-fucking-two. I know what I’m doing.”

  I shot to my skates and stormed out of the dressing room. I got as far as the water fountain and realized I’d left my mask in the locker room. Hoping someone would bring me my stuff, I stalked back and forth over the rubber padding leading from the dressing room to the ice. The runner had little cat paw prints on it. I counted them as I paced. My mind refused to stay focused. Who did Mario think he was talking to? Some stupid little shit from the boonies who’d never had a serious relationship with a man be— Oh. Shit.

  “Here.” I turned, and Mario shoved my mask, stick, and water bottle into the screaming cougar on my chest. “Sorry if I stepped on your toes.” He ran a gloved hand over his short red hair. “Lila is always telling me I have all the tact of a rhino with a fully-charged cattle prod up its ass.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Lila,” I replied as I shoved my mask onto my head.

  “She uses the word anus.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Point is, if I said something crass, I’m sorry. I just don’t want you to get hurt diving into something with a man you barely know.”

  “Can we not talk about this here?”

  “Okay, yeah, sorry.” Mario looked back at the dressing room door, then at me. “Just take a minute to talk to me before you give your heart to anyone, okay?”

  “Sure,” I grumbled.

  The rest of the team boiled out of the locker room and engulfed us. My head was rubbed, patted, kissed, and doused with some sort of oil that smelled like fish and flowers. It made my eyes water. Dan Arou said the smelly stuff was ancient Inuit healing oil that his mother’s mother had made, and it would work wonders.

  “Clear all the cobwebs out while making your flow soft and supple.” He tossed his dark head like a supermodel. The man had some incredible satiny hair.

  “It will also free up a blocked colon when ingested,” Victor interjected as he and the rest of the coaches waded through the Cougars, “and fills in nicely when the tube of Astroglide is empty.”

  “And now that we know why Dan smells like tuna and tulips all the time, maybe we can give the game our full attention,” Mike Buttonwood shouted over the guffaws and tawdry comments. We all quieted down to let our captain give us a speech. Mike gave great speech.

  “Tonight we’re going to do something that a Cougars team hasn’t done for over ten years,” he said, his gaze reaching out to every player in that packed corridor. “We’re going to clinch a playoff spot.”

  A rousing round of cheers went up. Mike clapped, then raised his hands for quiet.

  “We got here through team effort. We’ll win through team effort. And we’ll go on to bring the Calder Cup to our community for the first time ever with team effort!”

  We all shouted and hooted, then surged out to hit the ice, filled with team spirit and confidence. The Rader arena was packed—sold out, if the reports coming into the dressing room earlier had been right. Blue and gold rally towels whipped over foam cougar heads. My adrenaline spiked. It was amazing how attendance had soared over the past season. From what Victor said, this team had been in the crapper last year. Then he’d come along and given it the jolt it needed, according to him. Other players who’d been there went along with that, to a point. Mike had once told me that Victor Kalinski was like chewing gum: a sticky pain in the ass. Which I took to mean that our special teams coach had the power to hold things together, but you didn’t want him on your shoe or in your hair, figuratively speaking.

  My net awaited me like a faithful dog. I put my water bottle in the holder, and stood with my back against the top pipe, eyes trained on the ceiling. It was time to get rid of all the outside life jazz. Eyes drifting shut, I inhaled the smell of hockey and exhaled a distraction. I pulled in another lungful of hockey, then blew out another minor agitation. After several inhalations and exhalations, I let my lashes rise. Steel girders and a couple of blue balloons. That was all I saw. No confusion, no disruptions, no life worries or anxiety.

  “It’s time to play hockey.” I flipped my helmet down and plowed up ice with my skates.

  No one came near me as the Cougars took one last lap before the anthem. They knew not to talk to me because their words would put one commotion or another into my head. My space was now worry-free. Nothing but hockey resided there.

  The lights dimmed. I removed my mask, patted the painting of Augie Doggie and Daddy Doggie, and stared at my skates as a young woman sang the American National Anthem. When she was done, the rink announcer shouted for some noise. The fans supplied plenty. The air was alive with positive energy. It seeped into my skin. Today had been a good day. The best I’d experienced in forever. A flash of deep brown eyes, dark lashes, and sexy sandalwood cologne wiggled into hockey world. I let it linger for just a second, relished the warmth and good vibes the image gave me, and then tucked it into a loc
ked box.

  “It’s time to play hockey,” I reminded myself, and took my position in the crease. Knees bent, stick in hand, catcher raised, eyes locked on the opening faceoff.

  The action was furious after that first puck drop. Steady play in both ends, both teams managing to find a few quality scoring chances. The first period ended with neither team scoring. Amazingly, it also ended without Mario getting in the face of Bryce Danielson, the Broncos center. Those two had some huge animosity, but Mario kept his cool. I was sitting in front of my cubicle, head down, eyes on my skates. A tap on my shoulder brought my sweaty head up.

  “How are you feeling?” asked Dexter Young, our new goaltending coach.

  Dexter had come to the team at the same time I had. This was a move up for both of us from the ECHL. We got along well. Dexter was a slow-to-boil type of man. He was happy to spend as much time as needed with me and another new tender, Mitch Adams. The Cougars had gone hog wild with goaltending changes. The changes seemed to be working, because look at where we were now. Tied with Binghamton for our division. Maybe that sounded egotistical, but Dexter, Mitch and me had helped bring the team to this position.

  “Good, Coach,” I replied, and gave him a searching look. “Is there something wrong?”

  “No, just checking on where your head is at.”

  That made me smile. “It’s still on my shoulders.” Mitch, who was sitting next to me, chuckled then returned to nursing his bottle of green sports drink.

  “Glad to hear it,” Dexter said, then pushed his ugly old horn-rimmed glasses back up his thin nose.

  Coach Young reminded me of some guy from the sixties, with his flattop and ugly glasses. Even his clothes were kind of dated, but his goaltending knowledge was anything but old-fashioned. He had been one of the best when he played twenty years ago. A pioneer in helping to make butterfly goaltending the norm.

  “You two are one hell of a duo. Keep your mind on the game. They’re going to come out looking to rattle you and the others.” He always pointed his finger when he talked. Now it was waving at me. I bobbed my head as he spoke, trying to let his words seep into my brain. “Danielson is an instigator. He hasn’t been able to get under McGarrity’s kilt, so I suspect he’ll try to get to you. Do not let him push you.”