Risking the Shot (Stick Side #4) - Amy Aislin Page 0,61

Tay, which Tay secretly thought was all kinds of awesome. He’d offer to buy Yager a drink—hell, all the drinks—and pick his brain if Yager didn’t intimidate the shit out of him. Oh sure, on TV the guy was all let me be your best friend. But on the ice? A fucking monster. As tall as Dean, but with wider shoulders, and that was saying something because Alex Dean was fucking jacked. During a game, Yager got this look on his face that was all narrowed eyes, clenched jaw, teeth bared in a grimace.

Dude was scary.

At the start of overtime, Tay had already battled it out with him for the puck more than once, and he had the battered shoulders to prove it. Yager was very, very good at ramming people into the boards. Asshole.

Grinning, stick clutched in both hands, Tay stood at center ice, ready for the face-off. They were tied 3–3 and they had five minutes to win this thing. Nobody liked a shootout less than hockey players.

Coach Dabrowski put him on the ice with Grey—one of their fastest forwards—and Dean and Lacroix—their best defense.

Sweat dripped down his temple. Tay blinked it out of his eye. The puck dropped, Tay winning the draw and passing it back to Grey, who spun around an approaching Tampa player and skated past him. By that time, Tay was already halfway to Tampa’s net, thigh muscles screaming. Grey’s pass to him bounced off the tip of an opposing player’s stick. Tay caught up to it near the boards. Bad angle. Instead of attempting to score, he passed it back to Grey, dead ahead, and Grey slid the puck home through the five-hole.

The goal horn blared across the arena. Pride flags waved. If Tay wished some of those were for him, that was something to think about later.

Later, it turned out, was an hour later at Dean and Grey’s. They’d invited Yager—a close friend of Dean’s from when Dean had played for Tampa years ago—and his boyfriend Dan—who was also Grey’s older brother—over for drinks.

Dean and Grey’s kitchen was decently sized. For the two of them. Add three extra guys and it was a maze, trying to get around everyone.

“We’ve got beer, beer, and beer,” Dean said, retrieving various local brews from the fridge and setting them on the island.

Yager groaned and deposited his large frame onto a barstool. “Please tell me you have food.”

Grey picked up a plastic bag from the floor. “Ordered Chinese and picked it up on the way back.”

“Thank God. Feed me.”

Yager and Dan had gone back to the hotel to change into more casual clothes after the game. They were both in jeans and long-sleeved T-shirts, but Dan’s seemed more . . . high-fashion? His jeans were dark and pressed, his sweater had a designer label sewed at the hem, and with his blond evening scruff shadowing his jaw and the curly blond hair, he looked like a superstar next to Yager’s loose jeans with the hole at the knees and plain gray sweater.

Tay grabbed plates from a cupboard and gestured at Grey. “Pass me one of those containers and I’ll take it upstairs.”

“What?” Grey scowled at him. “Why? You don’t like us?”

“I have to finish a reading for class.”

“Do that tomorrow.”

But he’d already committed to spending tomorrow afternoon with Dakota and Andy. And he was trying to get ahead on his reading assignments. Next week they had a series of home games, but then after that they were on the road for a week—Florida, North Carolina, DC, Winnipeg—and he was hoping not to bring too much schoolwork with him. Traveling always wiped him out, making it impossible to study.

“Yeah, stick around,” Yager said, reaching for the carton Grey held out to him.

“Don’t listen to these assholes.” Dan came around the island to fetch a glass, knowing exactly where to go. Clearly he’d been here before and felt right at home. “You do you. What are you studying?”

Tay dumped chicken and rice onto his plate. “Paramedicine.”

“Whoa.” Yager blinked at him. Dare Tay say he looked impressed? “That’s hardcore.”

“Must be challenging, though,” Dan said. “Making college balance with hockey.” As Yager’s partner, he was no doubt intimately familiar with the demands on a hockey player’s time.

“He’s always reading his textbook or working on some assignment or another,” Dean said. He grabbed a couple of the remaining cartons in one hand, his plate in the other, and headed for the dining room table.

“His textbook’s so interesting too,” Grey said, following