Keeping Casey (Keeping Him #1) - Amy Aislin Page 0,31
chafed against his skin underneath his glove. Forcing himself to ignore it, he followed the puck as UMass’s left-winger passed it to his teammate, who shot . . .
And missed.
The crowd collectively groaned, making Ethan smile. The way so many people could come together under one roof, with one shared interest, was one of his favorite parts of hockey.
Britton jumped off the ice and over the boards at the end of his shift, one of their teammates taking his place, and sat in the empty spot to Ethan’s right. Stiffening, Ethan leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and watched the action on the ice.
Thankfully, Britton kept his mouth shut for once. However, his mere presence so close to Ethan started a refrain of Coach Fallon’s voice playing on a loop in his mind—the gays don’t belong in hockey.
Just what he needed as he hopped over the boards and onto the ice, taking Sommerby’s place.
Ethan had months to prove Britton wrong. Didn’t mean he couldn’t start now.
Stealing the puck from UMass, he skated fast for the attacking zone, doing a spin-o-rama around a UMass defenseman. With Harkrader perfectly placed to his left, Ethan sent the puck his way with a backhand shot.
Harkrader didn’t hesitate, shooting the puck at the net, where it flew in over the goalie’s left shoulder.
There was a small contingent of GH students in one section of the arena, their celebratory shouts eclipsing groans from UMass fans. Heart racing, Ethan skated up to Harkrader and collided against him.
“Now we’re talking.”
Harkrader punched him in the arm. “Damn right.”
Yeah. Ethan would take his second assist of the night and hope it was the beginning of the end of Britton’s annoying pattern of parading available women in front of Ethan.
Such was not the case.
In the locker room after the game, their victory song played loudly over the speakers, its bass reverberating in Ethan’s chest like a gong. Showered and changed, he sat on the bench in front of his locker to check his phone, absentmindedly doing the hand and wrist exercises he’d been taught to ease arthritis pain, wincing when a sharp jab shot up his arm. Finding a text from Casey with a gif of a television character popping a champagne bottle made him grin. Glen Hill College had a special television channel that aired its teams’ games lives; without a TV, no doubt Casey had watched it live on the GH Athletics website.
Warmth spread through Ethan, the tips of his fingers tingling. Ever since the construction site accident, watching Ethan play had been hard for Casey, and it meant a lot that he continued to support him despite his fears.
Ethan meant to reply with a smiley face emoji, but his thumb hit the one blowing a heart-shaped kiss instead, and he tapped Send before realizing his mistake.
Shit! Why hadn’t someone invented text recall yet?
He was fumbling with a reply when a hand landed on his shoulder. “Good game, guys.” Britton addressed all three of them—Ethan, Theo, and Harkrader—grin wide and genuine.
Theo and Harkrader stared back at him, unblinking, lips pressed in tight lines.
A couple of juniors nearby eyeballed them, confusion spreading across their features at Theo and Harkrader’s hostility. Aware that his situation with Britton could escalate beyond their little group of four if he didn’t do something, Ethan stood to toss his team captain a smile, shrugging Britton’s hand off in the process. “Thanks. You too.”
Unfazed or uncaring of Theo and Harkrader’s lack of response, Britton said, “A bunch of us are heading to the campus bar with some of the UMass players. Join us. You might find a puck bunny to take home.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Or two.”
Okay, first of all, they were all two to a hotel room.
And second . . .
“I’m gay, dude.”
Britton’s eyes pinched.
Crossing his arms over his chest, Theo huffed. “I’m also—”
“Uninterested,” Harkrader cut in before Ethan could.
“Your loss.” With a mock salute, Britton went back to his own locker on the other side of the room.
Theo turned on Harkrader, hands on his hips, water droplets trailing down his toned chest. “What’d you do that for?”
“I was doing you a favor.” Harkrader pulled on a hoodie. Once his head poked through the opening, damp dark blond hair plastered to his head, he added, “Do you want to be in the same boat as Rain here?”
“I was trying to back him up.”
“I appreciate that,” Ethan said, beyond grateful for his two fellow freshmen. “Really. But Harkrader’s right. Save yourself the hassle.”