Unrivaled, page 27
Maybe he should’ve borrowed a swimsuit instead, since everyone was gathered around the pool, with the sliding doors open to let in a breeze.
Picking out Jess was easy, since he’d seen her at the NHL Awards, but given enough time Max would have recognized her anyway. She looked a lot like Grady, with the same serious face, dark hair, and blue-green eyes. She had a starfish-patterned towel wrapped around her hips over a red two-piece swimsuit, and her hair was wet.
The other two women were still in the pool, batting a beach ball back and forth. Max assumed the taller, blond one with the broad shoulders was Amanda—she had a hockey player’s musculature—which made the redhead standing in the shallow end Polly.
Grady was sitting in the shade near the door with his phone in his lap. He glanced up and smiled when Max walked out. “Hey. You’re up.”
“Looks like I’m late to the party. And overdressed.” He perched on the end of Grady’s lounge chair.
“You could always take your shirt off,” Grady said sweetly, like he didn’t know Max’s nipples were currently not safe for public consumption. He rearranged his feet on either side of the lounger to give Max room.
“Oh no. My delicate East Coast princess skin needs time to adjust to the climate.” He turned toward Grady’s visitors. Now or never. “I’m Max, by the way. Hi.”
“Oh my God,” Amanda said quietly. “Seriously, Jess?”
Across the pool, Jess threw up her hands. “It wasn’t my place to tell you.”
Amanda must have recognized Max as Grady’s archnemesis. “Surprise?”
Polly and Amanda waved and introduced themselves. Then Grady cleared his throat and Jess stood up from the other side of the pool and walked over.
She held out her hand. “Hi. I’m Jess.”
Max stood to shake it. She was a tall woman, not quite eye level with him, and she had a firm grip that said she’d dealt with a lot of men having handshake pissing contests in her life. “Nice to meet you in person. I don’t think that phone call counts.”
Polly and Amanda had climbed out of the pool, and now Polly glanced over. “Phone call?”
Jess cleared her throat as her demeanor went from aloof older sister to chagrined girlfriend who really didn’t want him to elaborate. “Ah, yeah. Thanks… for that, by the way.”
Max grinned. “Any time.”
When the breeze picked up, they went inside. Grady and Polly headed toward the open-concept kitchen to discuss a late lunch, and Jess and Amanda cornered Max in the living area.
“So.” Amanda propped her chin on her hand on the edge of the sofa. “How long has this been going on?”
“What’s ‘this’ exactly? The official relationship? When we started banging?” Maybe they wanted to know how long since Grady picked out Max’s dishwasher?
“That’s the wrong question anyway.” Jess tucked her legs up on the couch. “The real question is, are you ready to play against him again the day after tomorrow?”
Max snorted. “I don’t know if you know this, but I’ve played against your brother a few times this season. He got traded in the middle of the last game, though, so that sucked.” Not to mention the whole breakup thing.
“At least we’re past the trade deadline?”
True. “Anyway, believe it or not, I’m actually good at leaving the game on the ice.”
With a glance toward the kitchen, Jess said, “That’s not what I was worried about.” At first Max thought she meant Grady—which, fair enough; Grady wasn’t the most graceful loser Max had played against. But then she said, “I meant the media circus that’s going to happen because the internet isn’t sure if Grady’s in love with you or in love with the idea of punching you in the face.”
Grady carried over a tray of sandwiches. “I mean, it’s both.” Behind him, Polly had a stack of cups and a pitcher of iced tea.
Max blinked. He’d forgotten all about that. His phone had been a social-media-free zone since the trade.
Grady set down the tray and put his hand on Max’s shoulder.
“Right.” Jess cleared her throat like she was somehow trying to draw attention from Max’s vulnerable moment. “So anyway, yeah, have your agents not been in touch about how you want to handle that? Because Grades, no offense, but subtlety isn’t your strong suit and the media is definitely going to ask for Max’s take on your comments.”
Unfortunately, she was right. Max had mostly escaped having to talk to the media as the newest Piranha so far because he hadn’t been scoring much. The questions had focused on how he was adapting and then, last night, how it felt to finally get that first goal in his new uniform. But hockey reporters loved rivalries. Instead of the same bland answers and feigned respect—you could never say anything that would get you characterized as arrogant when the entire hockey fanbase expected players to act humble, even if the other team objectively sucked—rivalries brought out sound bites like they hate us as much as we hate them and if my sister dated a Monster? I’d probably disown her.
Grady had said he wanted to show Max off, and Max had slept soundly wrapped in the warm fuzzies from that declaration, but how was that going to play with their jobs? He tried to think what he’d say about Grady now, if a question caught him off guard. He’d probably make the same dumb besotted face Grady had and whatever words came out of his mouth would sound exactly like However the game ends, I’ll end the night with Grady’s cock in my throat. “Shit.”
Polly grabbed a sandwich and a plate and perched on the arm of the sofa, her knee against Jess’s shoulder. “Eat your lunch first,” she said. “Strategize after.”
AS EVERYONE who knew him could tell you, talking was not Grady’s strongest point. He sat on the end of his bed and ran his hands through his hair as he tried to order his thoughts.
Annoyingly, he had no one to blame but himself. He was the one who’d lost control of his face when he’d learned Max would soon be back within arm’s reach.
Even more annoyingly, he hadn’t given a second’s thought to what the almighty Narrative would be, this time around. In the fall, he’d used the inevitable public fallout as an excuse to keep his thing with Max in a vault labeled CASUAL.
Or, well, to try to keep it there, at least. Sometime when Grady wasn’t looking, Max snuck in and picked the lock and got feelings all over everything.
“Are you freaking out?” Max asked finally from where he’d sprawled out next to him.
Grady thought about it. “Weirdly, no.” They needed to figure out how to handle this, but it was a minor nuisance, not something he dreaded. Actually, it was kind of funny.
“Okay. Cool.” Max nudged his hip, and Grady flopped backward and turned his head to face him. “So what do you want to do?”
“I don’t know. This is going to sound so stupid, but I actually never thought about it.”
Max snorted. “Bull shit.” He made it two words to emphasize his disbelief. “You were so paranoid, Grady, don’t even front. We went to get milkshakes in the middle of the night and you were looking over your shoulder like the hockey rivalry police were going to come for you.”
Yeah, Grady would give him that one.
“And yet you were still dumb enough to park your car in my driveway and then you tried to give me shit—”
“I meant the second time,” Grady blurted. “Once I fucked up, all that mattered was fixing things with you.”
God. He would’ve been embarrassed, except Max made a sound like he’d been punched and smushed his face into the mattress. “You think my pillow talk is rough. Have you listened to yourself talk about your feelings?”
“I try not to,” Grady said honestly, and smiled when Max shook with laughter.
“Okay. So what’s our objective here?” he said when he’d recovered. “Full-on star-crossed lovers treatment? Are we leaving them guessing? What do you want?”
“Art Ross? Stanley Cup? Hall of Fame induction?” Grady was spitballing. He had what he wanted. He did kind of want to show Max off, but Max had fallen asleep before he could agree to that, and anyway that was gravy.
Besides, Grady didn’t know if he could say that out loud a second time.
Max snorted and slid his knee between Grady’s thighs. “Settle for a hot boyfriend and a blow job?”
It seemed like he wouldn’t have to. Grady threaded his fingers through Max’s hair. “For now.”
But he kept thinking about it afterward. It was easier to think about what he didn’t want, and harder to imagine saying it. He didn’t want to be expected to say cruel things about Max. He didn’t want people to think Grady hated him. He wasn’t going to pull his checks on the ice—he’d play as hard as he always had. But he wanted the rivalry to stay on the ice—and okay, maybe in the bedroom sometimes, but only if it was in fun.
He wanted to play hockey, good hockey, and learn how to bully Max out of his rare bad moods, and come home from road trips to a bed that Max had slept in, was still sleeping in, would sleep in again. He didn’t want to care what anybody thought about it.
That would be enough.
He hadn’t napped earlier, and Max was warm and heavy on his chest, the perfect living weighted blanket, and Grady was doped up on orgasms and content for the first time in years. He should finish his conversation with Max.
Maybe he would close his eyes for a moment. He and Max could talk afterward.
MAX HATED to leave Grady while he was sleeping, but he could only nap so much before it interfered with his ability to fight jet lag. After ten minutes he got up and crept out of the room, then closed the door quietly behind him.
Polly looked up from her seat on the couch, where she was curled up with a book. “Come to any conclusions?”
Max grinned. “Probably not in the way you’re thinking.”
Laughing, she closed her book and turned her full attention to him. “Are you heading out?”
“I probably should. We play against each other the day after tomorrow. I need to be able to lay a clean hit without thinking about my feelings.” Honestly, Max didn’t think he’d have a problem, but… well. They’d just gotten back together. He didn’t want to push too hard, too fast. Grady wasn’t the only one who’d cracked. Max needed a little space or he’d break himself open for Grady all over again. “I promise I’ll text him something naughty from my hotel, though, give him something nice to wake up to.”
“True love.” Polly feigned a swoon.
Max slipped his feet into his dress shoes. Grady’s stupid feet were too small. This was what he’d been reduced to—dress shoes in bare feet, borrowed shorts, and a T-shirt. If Grady could see him right now, he’d probably have a nightmare. “It was nice meeting you. I hope I’ll see you again before you leave.”
She smiled and pushed a lock of red hair behind her ear. “I think we’ll have lots of time to get to know each other.”
That sounded nice. He gave her a quick wave of acknowledgment, then turned around and opened the door.
RIVALS’ REMATCH
By Sonia Goldstein
With a few weeks left in the regular season and the Condors and Piranhas neck and neck for the top seed in the Pacific Division, the stage is set for an epic rivalry showdown.
But this West Coast matchup has a little East Coast flavor in the form of former Philadelphia Firebird Grady Armstrong and onetime New Jersey Monster Max Lockhart. The question is, is that flavor as bitter as expected?
You might recall a time several seasons ago when Armstrong came out of an on-ice encounter with Lockhart with a fractured ulna, or a fight the year after that when Lockhart got the business end of Armstrong’s fist to his nose.
But if you’ve spent any time on hockey Twitter in the past two weeks, you’ve also seen Armstrong’s now-infamous reaction to learning Lockhart would be joining him in California. Anyone could be forgiven for interpreting his expression as sweet rather than salty.
So did Lockhart truly miss Armstrong’s pretty face? Tomorrow night’s game should shed some light—or blood—on the subject.
Comments:
I’m here for the blood! Let’s go Condors!
Get you a man who smiles like that when he thinks about you.
I have watched this video 27 times and I cannot come up with another explanation. They are in love. I will be retiring to my bedroom to scream into my pillow. Thank you for your understanding in this trying time.
Who cares if they’re sleeping together as long as they give us a good show. And I mean on the ice.
MAX AND Grady still hadn’t made a decision about how to handle the situation by the Condors’ practice the next day, so Grady was unprepared when Jeremy tapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, I need you in Natalie’s office for a couple minutes after practice.”
Natalie was the Condors’ GM. “Okay.”
But when he arrived, the atmosphere was very California. Natalie sat in a velour beanbag chair, drinking a green smoothie. Jeremy perched on one of those sit/stand chairs next to a wall-mounted desk space, fidgeting with something on a tablet.
“Hey, Grades,” Jeremy said cheerfully. “Come on in and make yourself at home. You want a kombucha or something?”
Grady wanted a real chair and a drink that had only been fermented if it was alcoholic, so he said, “No, thanks,” and sat awkwardly on the chaise longue.
“Cool.” Jeremy moved to the beanbag opposite Natalie. “So, you’re probably wondering why you’re here.”
Not really.
Before he could go on, Natalie gave an amused smile. “Jeremy’s not giving you enough credit. Obviously you’re here so we can ask if you’re involved with Max Lockhart. Which you’re well within your rights to be and we are not upset about, and if you’d like to call your agent for this conversation, we’ve made sure she’s available.”
Gee, they’d really thought of everything. Grady should absolutely call Erika and she’d be pissed if he didn’t, so he nodded while they got her on the phone.
“Right,” Jeremy said once Erika had picked up and introductions had been made. “So, tomorrow we’ve got our last regular season game against the Piranhas. Very big rivalry game. It’s on their home turf, but the crowd should be split about fifty-fifty.”
As if Grady hadn’t watched an hour of video on the Piranhas in the past week. “Yeah, I know.”
“What you might not know,” Jeremy said, “is that we track engagement on our games on social media by geographic region. Generally speaking, nobody east of Colorado cares what happens in California hockey until the Cup Final. But whether it’s because it’s you and Lockhart and you’re drawing from the Philly-New Jersey market, or if people are invested in you personally because of your interview, or both, we don’t know, but we’re seeing a 30 percent increase in engagement in the Eastern Conference states.”
Either way, Grady guessed, they wanted to capitalize on that.
“It sounds like you’re looking at this as an opportunity,” Erika said neutrally through the speaker.
“Absolutely.” Natalie set aside her smoothie cup. “I want to make clear up front that we don’t expect Grady’s on-ice behavior to change. However, if you’re comfortable playing up the angles—speaking about the personal relationship between yourself and Lockhart, positive or negative….”
Grady blinked. Positive or negative? That sort of sounded like they didn’t care what was going on with the two of them either way.
Erika cleared her throat. “I need a moment with my client, please. Grady, pick up the phone and take it off speaker.”
He did.
“Okay,” Erika said. “On the one hand, this is good. This lays the groundwork for you being able to do and say what you want about Max and having management’s tacit approval. On the other hand, we want to make sure they’re not going to feed you lines to say to generate clicks when those may work against your personal interests. Do you understand?”
Thank God he had an agent to navigate this shit for him. “Yeah, that makes sense.”
“So I don’t want you to agree to anything yet. I’m going to have them put what they want in writing and send it to me, and we’ll have our lawyers look at it, and then you and I will talk. It’s possible they’re going to talk merchandise, and if they do, you and Max should each get a cut of it. The deal may not be done by the game tomorrow. Don’t agree verbally or sign anything until you and I have talked.”
“I won’t.”
“Great. And Grady?”
“Yes?”
“Next time you decide to fall in love with another hockey player, don’t let me find out from the internet.”
Grady’s cheeks heated. “Kind of hoping this is the last time.”
“Mazel tov. Okay, you can put me on speaker again.”
The rest of the team had cleared out by the time the meeting ended. Grady drove himself home wondering if Max had had a similar experience of his own—but he didn’t have to wonder for long.
His phone rang.
Grady stabbed the button to take the call on the car speakers.
“So,” Max said, “did you have the same talk I just did?”
Grady signaled a lane change and slowed way down. The delay in leaving practice meant he’d hit traffic. Well, worse traffic than usual. “The one where our respective front offices think our relationship means dollar signs?”
“Yeah, I mean, I know we’re commodities, but this is a whole new level. On the other hand, it seems like they’re going to let us do whatever and not interfere.”
“That was the impression I got too.” Considering that only a few years ago the whole league would’ve flipped its shit over a player coming out, never mind two of them dating each other, Grady couldn’t complain much. Maybe he should write Baller a thank-you note. “Like their own personal soap opera or something.”
“Hey, if it works for pro wrestling,” Max said wryly. “So… I’ll see you tomorrow?”
