Common Goal (Game Changers #4)- Rachel Reid Page 0,51

who wasn’t a superstar was being left wide open. “Get on him!”

Matti heard him and went to cover him, but not before Barrett got the puck to Aucoin. Eric went to the corner of the net and waited. He was known for his patience, for being excellent at waiting the opponent out and forcing them to move first. He did this now, and was rewarded with a flick of Aucoin’s gaze that told Eric exactly where he planned to shoot it. If Aucoin had been a more intelligent player, like Ilya Rozanov or Shane Hollander or, hell, Dallas fucking Kent, Eric would have to decide if that shift in his gaze was a bluff. But Aucoin was more predictable, and he shot the puck exactly where Eric expected him to: high on the glove side. An easy save.

Kent bumped into him right after Eric caught the puck, knocking Eric back so his shoulders slammed against the crossbar of the net. It fucking hurt.

Eric shoved him back, hard. “Real fucking nice, shithead.”

Matti and Scott were both there too. “Get the fuck off of him!” Scott yelled, grabbing Kent.

Kent shook him off, then shoved him, “Don’t fucking touch me, Hunter.” He made a disgusted face, as if Scott were a pile of rotting meat, and tried to knock Scott’s hand away. Scott held tight and pulled him closer. Kent looked horrified, as if Scott was going to kiss him or something.

“Let go of me, you—” Kent cut himself off just in time.

“You what?” Scott yelled in his face. “You what? Finish your fucking sentence.”

“All right, that’s enough.” One of the refs arrived to separate them. “Go to your benches now or you both get penalties.”

“Finish your sentence!” Scott yelled again, over the ref’s shoulder at Kent’s retreating back.

“Hey.” Eric shook his glove off and put a hand on Scott’s arm. “Forget about him.”

Scott was a sweetheart most of the time, but he could turn violent on the ice if someone got to him enough. He was a big guy—over six feet tall and made of muscle—so he could do a lot of damage when wanted to.

“I hate that fucking guy,” Scott said. His voice was calmer now, so the ref released him.

“We all hate him,” Eric said.

“No comment,” the ref muttered, then skated away.

Eric noticed, then, that Troy Barrett was standing a couple of meters away, watching them. He didn’t look menacing at all. In fact he looked...embarrassed? Certainly uncomfortable.

Eric flipped his mask up and shot him a questioning glance. Troy opened his mouth, closed it, then skated away.

Toronto was a team of weirdos.

Eric drank some water and got ready for the face-off that would be happening right in front of him. “And that,” he told his goal posts, “is why we don’t let Kent score on us.”

It was too bad that Kent was such a shithead homophobe, because Toronto had a large and vibrant queer community. It would be nice if their star hockey player was a better role model.

Kyle had suggested that Eric go out while he was in Toronto. Check out one of the many gay bars and find, in Kyle’s words, some sexy Canadian sweetheart to keep him warm. Eric was definitely not going to do that, and he tried not to think about the possibility that Kyle was looking for his own bed warmer tonight back in New York. Eric would much rather replay their kiss in his head. And fantasize about Kyle’s offer to do more.

More. There was no way that was a good idea.

Also not a good idea: daydreaming about sex with Kyle while in the middle of a hockey game.

The play had been at the other end, but Toronto was charging back toward Eric with the puck now.

“Here we go, fellas,” Eric told his posts. “I’ll do my job, you do yours.”

The shot came from an unexpected angle. Eric had positioned himself to block a low shot from his right-hand side, but the puck was passed at the last second. Eric tried to slide over to stop it, but the shot was high and sailed over his blocker.

Ping!

That sound, that glorious sound, was Eric’s favorite in the whole universe. The crisp chime of a puck hitting the post and deflecting away from the net was a chorus of angels to a goaltender. If Eric made it to old age, he wanted that sound playing on a loop next to his deathbed as he passed.

The disappointed groan of the Toronto crowd that followed the ping