Unrivaled, page 11
Gru gazed at him in adoration and flopped over.
“If only humans were this easy to please, eh?” Max made a claw with his hand and ruffled Gru’s curly tummy fur.
Gru kicked his back leg reflexively, tongue lolling out toward the floor. Max snorted at him. “On second thought, I don’t think that’s as good of a look on us.”
They played a quick game of fetch in the backyard to work off Gru’s excitement, and then Max reacquainted himself with his kitchen.
He’d just finished dinner in front of the TV, Gru lying on his feet, when there was a knock, followed by the sound of the front door opening. “Max?”
Max had a dog walker for when he was out of town, but Gru stayed with El when he was away, so she had her own key. “Come in, El.” He paused the movie and turned the TV off.
She did, waving the little yellow person-shaped squeaky toy. Gru didn’t move from Max’s feet. He was always extra clingy after a road trip, especially the first one of the year. “I brought Gru’s baby—I forgot I had it when I dropped him off this morning.” She paused beside the console table. “New toy?”
“No idea,” Max said. “Toss it here?”
The box rattled when he caught it. It felt like a couple of items rather than only one.
“You don’t know what it is?” El frowned as she sat in the armchair. “Should we be concerned it’s a bomb?”
Max looked up from peeling up the tape long enough to raise an eyebrow. “A bomb? What is this, a bad spy movie?” Stupid Amazon tape. He gave up and yanked at the cardboard instead. “It’s only October. I haven’t had a chance to piss anyone off yet.”
Finally the box opened and Max stuck his hand inside. “Survey says it’s….” A bottle of something. He pulled it out and looked at the label. “Shampoo?”
El laughed. “What? Let me see that.”
Shrugging, Max handed it over and dove into the box to pull out the other item.
Conditioner. All-natural Nourishing Formula.
“What the fuck?”
“This is nice stuff.” El whistled. “Somebody must like you a lot. It’s, like, fifty bucks a bottle.”
Max’s mouth dropped open. “What? Come on. They don’t make shampoo that costs that much.”
El looked at him with a pitying expression. “Oh, honey.” She touched his hair, which was perfectly fine, thanks.
But then Max remembered the last time someone else touched his hair… and put the pieces together. “Oh my God. I know who this is from.”
“You do? Because you should commend them on their good taste. I’m jealous.” Then her tone turned suspicious. “Wait a minute. Is this from Bud?”
Bud was Max’s code name for Grady, since he didn’t want to tell El his real name and talking about him without one had gotten annoying. “Probably. He was here before the season started and he definitely made a comment about me using bodywash on my hair.”
“Max Lockhart! You do not!”
“What?” She sounded as scandalized as Grady had been. “It gets the job done!”
“Oh my God.” She put her hands over her face like she couldn’t bear to face the reality of Max’s hygiene decisions. “Tell me that after you’ve used this stuff for a week.”
Max started to scoff—she couldn’t think he’d actually bother using shampoo and conditioner when he was perfectly fine doing what he’d always done—but then he remembered they played in Philadelphia this week.
And then he started thinking about driving Grady crazy because his hair smelled like the products Grady bought him.
He wanted to know how Grady would react to that.
Damn it, he was definitely using the fancy shampoo.
“Anyway, I thought you said your thing with Bud is just sex.”
“It is,” Max assured her. “Very hot, very casual sex.”
El seemed skeptical. “Uh-huh. And this guy is either very loaded or very judgmental?”
He swallowed a laugh. “Oh, definitely both.”
“Well, remember to thank your sugar daddy properly next time you see him. And tell me about it.”
That reminded him. “Speaking of telling people things….” He gestured.
She tucked her legs up into the chair with her. “I know, I know. I’ll tell him soon. I just… Is it bad that I want him to notice? I mean….” She made a gesture Max interpreted as These boobs, am I right? “He brought home my favorite bottle of wine tonight and didn’t even blink when I said I didn’t want a glass.”
“Are we sure he doesn’t think you’re a body snatcher?”
“I have no idea what he thinks.” She shook her head. “Or if he thinks. Maybe he’d notice me if I wore hockey gear around the house. Ugh, that’s the hormones talking.”
“Bad?” Max asked.
El snorted softly. “While you were gone, I teared up because Gru put a hole in his baby. You know, the toy you keep three extras of on hand at all times because of how fast he goes through them.”
“Gru,” Max chided as he scratched under the dog’s chin. “Did you make Auntie El cry?”
“It definitely wasn’t his fault. Poor guy was very concerned about me. I got a lot of kisses.”
“Good boy,” Max crooned.
Gru’s tail stump swished against the couch.
“Anyway, speaking of the hormones.” El waggled her eyebrows. “Any more salacious stories for me? Do you have another appointment with Mystery Man?”
“Not officially.” Max was pretty sure they were going to hook up again after the game this week, but he couldn’t give El too many details. She already knew Bud was a hockey player. There were enough teams in driving distance from Newark that she wouldn’t be able to narrow it down yet, but if Max’s stories all started lining up with Firebirds games…. “He called me while I was in Vancouver, though.”
“Called you. Not even sexted. I’m intrigued.” El propped her head on her arms. “How’s his phone sex game?”
“He’s very good at breathing loudly into the phone.” Grady’s dirty talk was better when Max was there to physically goad him into loosening up. The phone thing was a work in progress. Max thought they should do some remedial sexting first and see if that helped. “Fortunately I’m good enough at talking for both of us.”
“No doubt,” El said. “And you don’t mind doing all the work?”
“Not really. He makes up for it in person.” Besides, Grady’s ego wouldn’t let him slack off like that forever.
“No evidence left behind, though,” she teased, pointing at his neck.
Max sighed gustily. “Well, you can’t have everything.”
“How’s Larry doing? No lasting damage?” He’d gone into detail about Grady’s reaction to his tattoo.
“He didn’t even bruise.” Max wouldn’t have minded a little memento of their time together. He could take a little locker room ribbing for a reminder that he’d made Grady Armstrong lose his mind in bed. “But there’s always next time.”
Now El sat forward, her eyes going sharp. “Oh? Always, hmm?”
Max backpedaled. “It’s a figure of speech.” Thank God El didn’t know Bud’s true identity.
She tapped her finger against her lips. “Is it? Or is it a slip of the tongue revealing a truth you’re hiding from yourself? Always. That’s downright romantic for you, Max.”
Max knew, from the glint in her eyes and the tease in her voice, that she was fucking with him.
From the slight sinking sensation in his own stomach, however, Max wasn’t fucking with Grady.
“I told you, it’s not like that.”
Completely true.
And, so far, not a problem.
In honesty, Max had written off the idea of a serious relationship. He spent half the year on the road, and when he was home, his off hours didn’t leave a lot of time to spend with someone who kept a regular nine to five. He was in a weird platonic codependent relationship with his captain and his wife. He liked casual sex and he was very good at getting it.
Besides, Max was familiar with his own flaws. Part of his job description was to be as irritating as possible. Somehow that had become part of his personality. Most of the time he didn’t take his work home with him, but he couldn’t turn off who he was. That made it difficult to have a relationship.
The thing was, sleeping with Grady was hot. But it was also fun, in a slightly demented, competitive way. Max liked the challenge of finding all Grady’s buttons and pushing them one after the other, and it was even better when Grady stepped up and tried to match him move for move.
But he also just liked Grady—prickly, funny, technologically inept grump that he was. Max could see their hookups of convenience evolving into something else. A house somewhere between Newark and Philly, a rivalry they played up in public and laughed about in private, maybe another dog.
Grady would never go for it, though. Max should put the idea out of his head too, even if sometimes he wanted more—not necessarily from Grady but in general. His brother Logan had a family and was living his best life as a stay-at-home dad. Max had Gru, and hockey, and his teammates, and Hedgie and El….
But Hedgie and El also had each other and a baby on the way, even if Hedgie didn’t know it yet.
Max had grown up in a loving, loudmouthed family. Now he was part of a loving, loudmouthed hockey team. But one day his career would be over. What would he be part of then?
He dismissed a sudden vision of himself and Grady bickering over whose turn it was to walk the dog.
“I know, I know. You’re not the type. I remember.” She shook her head. “Sorry. I’m gonna blame hormones for this. And for the fact that I’m going to go home now and flash my husband my tits.”
Max laughed in an effort to cover how shaky his unbidden fantasy had left him. “Get it, girl.”
“But first I’m going to pee again.” El grinned. “I’ll see myself out. Night, Max.” She stood and leaned over to ruffle Gru’s ears. “Night, sweet Gru.”
The door clicked closed behind her, and Max picked up the remote. With El gone, it was safe to continue watching his romcom.
But before he hit Play, he picked up his phone. R u tryin 2 say something w this? he asked, and sent along a picture of the shampoo.
You are a 28 year old professional athlete. Your dog’s food says LOCALLY SOURCED ORGANIC on the label. Why the fuck are you washing your hair with bodywash? What’s wrong with you?
What was wrong with him was that he’d spent his formative years playing hockey, and he’d never had enough energy to do more than train, eat, shower, and sleep. Washing his hair with a different product would’ve taken too much effort.
But the truth made him sound soft and kind of pathetic, so he said, Ur right. Should wash body w fancy shampoo instead. Thx bud!
Just put it in your shower so my hair doesn’t smell like a teenage boy next time I’m over, Grady replied.
Next time, Max thought.
The fantasy replayed. In this version, he and Grady kept up their argument pro forma while walking the dog together, hand in hand.
It was probably the romcom talking, but he could deal with next time.
THE MONSTERS played in Philly the third week of October. Uncharacteristically, Grady looked forward to it. Sure, he could almost guarantee Max would do something to piss him off on the ice. But it was hard to be mad about it knowing Max would make it up to him with an orgasm later.
Not staying in philly :( down side of being so close, Max texted the day before the game. Your arena has a designated dtf zone right?
Grady had googled DTF two days into his internet dating adventure. I’ll come up with something. A players’ lounge or a trainer’s room would do.
Maybe he really had lost his mind, but when he and Jess were both in Pittsburgh last week for work, she commented on how much more relaxed he seemed. “Did you make a decision about the trade?” Then she narrowed her eyes. “Did you meet someone?”
“No.” If Grady hemmed and hawed, she’d smell blood in the water. In under a minute, she’d suss out that dating was terrible but he was getting laid semiregularly, and then she’d ask pointed follow-up questions that would quickly reveal the truth. “I’m trying a new tactic. It’s called not giving a fuck.”
Jess’s laughter startled the people at the next table. “That’s new?”
Grady mock glowered at her.
“Hey, I thought you were trying not giving a fuck.”
He dropped the act and replaced it with a smile. “Old habits.”
“Uh-huh,” Jess said, but she didn’t pursue the topic. “Speaking of not giving a fuck, how’s the team?”
That was a different kettle of fish. “Hit-and-miss. Some of them are convinced I think I’m too good for them, and nothing I say or do will change that.” If the coaching staff played them fewer minutes or in positions that played to their strengths, or if front office traded them or they retired, the Firebirds might have a fighting chance and Grady wouldn’t feel like he’d anchored himself to a sinking ship.
Grady didn’t blame them for not retiring, so he didn’t think it was fair they blamed him for wanting to leave.
“Sucks, bro.” Jess stabbed a roasted potato. “You wanna split dessert?”
In any case, Grady liked sex, and sex with Max was fun and easy. Therefore, he was looking forward to the game.
“You’re in a good mood,” Zipper commented when Grady joined the group for two-touch warm-ups. Zipper was fast, but he’d earned his nickname from the string of stitches he got for a high stick a few years ago, which had left a zipper-like scar along the corner of his jaw, bisecting a shaggy blond beard. “It’s weird.”
Coop hooted with laughter. “Grades, your face right now.”
“Aw, leave him alone.” Mack caught the ball on the top of one of his size-fourteen feet and then headed it across the circle to Grady. “You’ll embarrass him and he’ll turn into a dick and start avoiding us again.”
Grady let the ball hit his chest and roll down to his knee, bounced it up, and then kicked it to Coop. “Thanks for the support, assholes.”
He wasn’t really upset, though. Chirping felt warmer and more natural than the stilted avoidance that had become the norm.
They finished the warmup, and Grady took his phone to his usual quiet spot.
This habit probably didn’t endear him to his teammates either. You could only get away with sitting alone in a dark room before a game if you were a goalie. It made Grady look like an antisocial snob, but he played better when he had a few minutes to decompress before joining the chaos in the locker room.
Normally he spent five minutes scrolling through a curated section of Instagram—mostly cute animals—or meal prep TikToks. But tonight when he opened Instagram, he got a suggested post from the Monsters’ account.
@NJMonsters: Mad Max lettuce on point
Instead of including one shot of Max in his pregame outfit, they’d done a whole faux fashion spread—Max laughing as he got off the bus, Max doing very dumb finger guns at the photographer, Max winking as he signed an autograph for a fan on the way into the arena. His hair did look good, damn it, wavy blond dishwater locks shining in the autumn sun. It looked soft. Grady wanted to touch it.
No, he wanted to pull it.
Then he made the mistake of glancing at the comment section.
His hair looks so good asdf;lkajd;sflkja;dsf, read the first.
My mans discovered shampoo! Happy for him! said the second.
How dare other people notice how good Max’s hair looked. And if they did notice, they should be giving Grady the credit, not Max. And it was more likely the conditioner that was making the real difference here—
Grady realized this was not helping his pregame chill session and turned off his phone.
When the puck dropped, Grady was as in the zone as he ever got against the Monsters. He played center while Max played wing, so they usually didn’t cover each other during five-on-five.
But when teams had the kind of heated history theirs did, penalties happened, which resulted in—
“Hey, bud, miss me?” Max shouldered into Grady as Grady cleared the puck into the offensive zone. “I missed you. That’s why I coaxed Coop into that little slash—”
Because of course Max had drawn the penalty, standing in the paint in front of the Firebirds’ net and hacking at the puck until Coop had enough.
Grady didn’t reply. He was busy covering Max’s center, who was trying to carry the puck into the Firebirds’ defensive zone.
Grady stick-checked him, stepped over Max’s attempted trip, and followed the puck toward the Monsters’ net. The goalie blocked his shot, but Zipper got a piece of the rebound before the goalie froze the puck and the ref blew the whistle.
Max made an exaggerated sad face at Grady. “I thought we had something special, bud.”
With great effort, Grady managed not to bite through his mouth guard.
Zipper nudged Max farther away from Grady, as though Grady needed a string-bean winger to fight his battles. But Zipper was full of piss and vinegar—not unlike Max had been when his rivalry with Grady started.
Maybe they shouldn’t both start shit with the same guy. Especially not when Coop was already in the box and would still be there for another minute and a half.
“Hey.” Grady used his stick to separate them before Zipper could earn an additional penalty. “He’s not worth it. Chill out.”
Max turned up the act. “Baby, how could you?”
Not worth it. He took a deep breath through his nose and skated to the faceoff circle.
“Don’t walk away from me when I’m talking to you!” Max yelled at his back.
Grady won the faceoff, but Max intercepted Zipper’s pass back to him, and they had to haul ass to defend in their own end.
By the time they killed the penalty, Grady was fuming and exhausted. It didn’t help that Max shoved the puck under Barny’s pads and into the net fifteen seconds after the penalty expired.
Coop pushed him. Max pushed back. The game deteriorated from there.
