Breakaway (11 page)

For all his loud sex and general cluelessness, Ryan was a really nice guy like that. When he checked to make sure Lane had a road-game roommate, all he said was “Awesome. He’s kind of weird and quiet like you are.”

Riley thought he and Zoe were dating, which Lane expected half of the team thought. But he was the first one who asked Lane, point blank, “Is that girl with the cool tattoos your girlfriend?”

Lane immediately decided that, since Riley remarked on her tattoos and called them cool, he could date Zoe if he wanted. “No,” he’d said. “She’s my best friend, but that’s all.”

“Did you know her before you came here to play hockey?” Riley’d asked with an intent and even gaze.

“Nope. She was our waitress at Cruisers after that first game against the Renegades. Ryan was hitting on her, and then left me there so that I’d sleep with her.”

“Oh. Cool. What do her tattoos mean?”

That she sleeps with girls and doesn’t care what anyone thinks about it?
“Umm.” He had no idea how to answer that. “You should ask her. She’d tell you. I think, anyway. She’s really nice.”

Riley had just nodded, and that was the end of it.

LANE WAS
quiet as the team sat on the bench waiting for the puck to drop in the Savannah Civic Center. He was doing his best to ignore his teammates, who were making jokes about the prior evening’s
Disney on Ice: Princess Wishes
performance and making up elaborate stories about how it starred their opponents. They were the same kind of stupid comments Lane had heard his entire life on a hockey bench, and he was getting tired of them.

Zoe was a girl, and if she were a princess, she’d probably behead people just for fun—while wearing a really nice dress, because she had more clothes than anyone Lane had ever met. Considering his circle of acquaintances were hockey players, it might just be a normal amount. But it seemed like a lot to him. Part of him wanted to lift his head and snap, “I suck cock and I don’t wear dresses, you morons.” But he knew they weren’t even thinking about that. It was just dumb guy talk. Lane didn’t translate it into his sexual preferences, but he wondered if anyone else
did
.

Maybe he was just thinking about it because he could see the Renegades bench—and Jared—and it was the first time he’d seen him since that night in Jacksonville. His body, including his dick, remembered everything immediately, which was not comfortable, given all the protective gear he was wearing. Apparently his choice was to either be in pain, thinking about cocksucking, or to get mad at his teammates for making jokes about it.

Luckily the whistle sounded to start the game. Lane got ready for his first shift and tried to get his head focused on the game and not
head
. Fortunately, when his skates hit the ice, instinct took over, and it was all hockey.

The rivalry between the Storm and the Renegades was about as intense as you were going to find for two southern-market hockey teams. It was fun as hell, and Lane was a lot more comfortable with the game—with the speed and the heavier checks and even the trash talk—and he was having a great time. He was definitely not going to throw down with Jared, or anyone else. Instead, he was going to score goals and leave the fighting to the people who were better at it.

Unlike the last times the two teams played, which were low-scoring games with the winner decided by a single goal, this one was a back-and-forth, fast-and-furious effort. Both teams scored within seconds of each other. The momentum shifts were dizzying, and the building was electric. Lane scored a goal and got
booed
, really vehemently, because a home team goal had just been announced.

“Home wrecker,” Bridey said with a grin and an enthusiastic fist bump.

His fist bump from Reeder was a little less enthusiastic. Reeder had been the best player on the Storm for the last three years and was probably not expecting Lane to show up and challenge him for the top position. But that’s how it went. It was Lane’s job, and he was there to play.

The other person who was there to play, apparently was Jared Shore. And he wasn’t playing like Lane remembered, because he was…. Wow. He was
fast
. Or at least a lot faster than Lane remembered, and it was obvious he wasn’t going for the Sea Storm’s scorers to knock them over. He was going for their
goal
.

“Hey, Campbell.” Lane grabbed his teammate’s arm before he hopped over the boards and onto the ice. “Watch out for Shore, man.”

“Why? I’m not gonna fight him. Sorry, Courts.” Campbell flashed a grin at him. He was missing a tooth. “I lose my teeth just skating. I don’t need to pick on goons.”

Jared wasn’t just a goon, which was exactly what Lane was trying to tell him. “I think he’s trying to score,” Lane pointed out literally, with his stick, indicating Shore as he skated up the lane and put the puck behind Hunter to tie the game.

Four minutes later Shore scored again and gave the Renegades a 3-2 lead with two minutes left in the period.

Lane had conflicting feelings as he watched Shore celebrate his goal with his teammates. He still really, really wanted to get laid, and he hated losing. But he was kind of proud of Jared. Not proud enough to want his team to win, though.

“Go score another one and shut this fucking crowd up,” Coach Spencer said, looking as if Shore netted that goal just to personally annoy him.

“We should probably never want crowds in this league to be quiet, even if they’re not ours,” one of Lane’s teammates said. The guy had a point.

Lane tried the same move he had last time, but the Renegades defense knocked him over and called him a stupid motherfucker.

“Your mom’s not hot enough. Sorry,” Lane snapped back, and the defenseman actually snorted before he went back to trash talking.

Lane wondered if that guy’s mom was there, and then he felt bad.

The third period was crazy, and as the clock ticked down to end the game, Lane found himself directly across from Jared at center ice, waiting for the puck to drop.

“No smirk this time, kid?” Shore drawled when they put their sticks down on the ice for the face-off.

“Not yet,” Lane said. He won the face-off and raced down the ice. He was going to score. He
knew it
, even before he saw the light flash behind the Renegades’ goalie—who was pissed as hell and clearly one of those goalies who threw things. Like his water bottle. At
Lane
.

As the clock ran out, the game was tied, and that meant sudden death overtime. For five minutes, each team would have a chance to score a goal and end the game immediately. But the five minutes passed without a single goal, and the game went into the most dreaded of all outcomes—a shootout.

“Not going home with this one,” Shore said, bumping him in the shoulder.

“Someone will probably fight you for that,” Lane snapped. He really liked Jared a lot, but this was war. Fraternization was for later. And why did this have to go to a shootout? He was trying to get laid.

Riley stood calmly in goal, shifting his skates around and muttering. When Lane skated by him, he didn’t look bothered in the least, even though Lane knew he hadn’t given up four goals in a single game all last season. The Renegades’ goalie looked so angry that Lane worried he might have to fight whoever scored on him during the shootout.

Reeder shot first for the Storm and missed. Lane started to zone out, because shootouts were dumb and he was thinking about his plans for the evening. The building erupted into cheers, which meant the Renegades had scored.

And then it was Lane’s turn, and luckily the crazy Renegades’ goalie didn’t try to kill him when he scored. He hoped the Renegades would miss their next attempt. If the game went to another round, Lane was going to personally murder someone with his hockey stick.

The next shooter for the Renegades was Jared Shore. Several of the guys on the bench next to Lane laughed, as if they hadn’t seen Shore score two goals earlier. And then Jared got a hat trick, because he put the puck behind Riley and the building went
crazy
. Shore skated back to his team, laughing his head off.

He has a nice smile.
Lane followed him with his eyes and completely missed what happened next. The building erupted into cheers again. The shootout was over. Campbell hadn’t scored, and the Renegades had won.

Which sucked, but he could see Jared being congratulated by his team. He was grinning and looked so much happier than the guy who’d thrown his gloves off that first game. Lane couldn’t even be mad about losing.

But the team got a really long lecture from coach on the way back to the hotel. And he had legitimate complaints—like the blown coverage around the net. But mostly he was just mad about the loss, and everyone knew it.

Coach Spencer stopped in midrant, sighed, and said, “Go to bed early. Tonight those fuckers got their fucking money’s worth, but we’re sending those fucking kids home crying tomorrow.”

“Does he mean the Renegades’ players, or actual children who attended the game?” Lane asked Riley as they got their gear together.

“Probably actual children.” Riley looked a million miles away, and Lane figured it had to be hard on a goalie when a team lost in a shootout. Lane had thought about playing goalie when he was younger, but he would just stand up and tell the other kids why they weren’t getting the puck past him, and apparently that was irritating.

Lane checked his phone on the bus back to the hotel. He had two messages. The first was from Zoe and said
Why didn’t you win I don’t get it what happened??

Oh, right. He’d forgotten to tell her about shootouts.
Shootout look it up on pro ice hockey dot com got 2 go get laid :)

She responded with
jerk haha have fun use protection don’t say weird stuff
.

She said that a lot. He wasn’t sure what she meant, but when he asked her to explain and maybe provide a list, she just said, “Stuff like that, Lane.”

The other text was from Jared. His stomach did a flip as he read it.

what hotel are you staying at?

Lane had no idea. They’d gone right to the rink to practice and get ready for the game. “Hey, Riley, what hotel are we staying at?”

“Why?”

Lane gave him a strange look. “Umm. Because I want to know?”

“Are you ordering a pizza?”

Maybe Riley was weird because he was stoned all the time. Could you get stoned on coconut water? “No, but… do you know which one it is?”

“It’s a Best Western. But we’re in the South.”

Lane wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he texted the name to Jared, who sent back
yeah there are a lot around here which one
, and Lane sighed.

Tell u when we get there
. He spent the remainder of the drive staring out the window, hoping the evening had a better ending than the game.

JARED PICKED
him up after Lane had showered and changed at the hotel. They both smiled awkwardly when Lane got in Jared’s red Toyota truck and threw his bag on the floor. Riley had been asleep when Lane left their room to meet Jared in the parking lot, and he felt bad about that, because his friend might need some cheering up after the game.

He’d cheer him up tomorrow by making sure they won. Tonight, Lane was getting laid.

“You got a hat trick,” Lane said, as if it were news to Jared. “I got one last weekend.”

“I know,” Jared said, and then cleared his throat. “We heard about it,” he said vaguely.

“But you don’t usually score goals. I do. So it’s more surprising when it’s you.”

Jared turned toward him. “So you’re still like this, then.”

“Yup.” Lane paused. “What do you mean? Still like what?”

“Saying things like ‘But you don’t usually score goals. I do,’ to a guy whose team just mopped the floor with yours.”

“You won in a shootout. That’s not mopping the floor. That’s like winning because you didn’t slip on the dirty mop water. And you
don’t
usually score goals. Why is that not okay to say?” Lane wondered if that counted as
weird stuff
and figured it probably did.

“It’s not that it isn’t okay. It’s just… never mind.” Jared flashed him a grin. “Didn’t slip on the dirty mop water?”

“Well, I mean, you can’t say you beat us that bad when it was a shootout.” Lane was staring out the window, pretending not to be aware of Jared’s bright eyes on him or how good he smelled. Lane was already hard.

“I bet you would have won if you hadn’t smirked at me. Punk.”

Lane’s eyes narrowed, and he drummed his fingers on the door handle. “Our defense wasn’t covering the goalie well enough. I told them to watch out for you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. No one believed me that you were trying to score goals instead of start fights.”

Jared leaned over and kissed him right there in the truck while it was stopped at a light. “Wow. I can’t wait to make you stop talking,” he said when he sat back in his seat.

“I can’t wait for you to make me stop talking either,” Lane said very seriously, and it was hard to breathe in the tiny cab. Especially when Jared very casually put a hand on him and rubbed him through his jeans. Lane made an embarrassing sound. “Please don’t stop, but make sure I don’t squeak like that. I don’t think that’s very hot.”

Jared kissed him again at the next stoplight. There was a car full of girls next to them, and they started cheering. Jared gave them the thumbs-up sign, and Lane sank down in his seat.

“You worried that you know them?” Jared asked, raising his eyebrows.

Lane shook his head. “I’ve never been here before.”

Jared laughed while he drove to his apartment, but he kept doing that thing with his hand, so Lane didn’t really mind.

When they got to Jared’s apartment, Lane expected they’d probably just do the same thing they did last time, which was get in bed and not leave until it was time for practice. But Jared didn’t pounce on him, and Lane just stood and looked around Jared’s apartment.