Page 7 of Bonus Game
Correction, two young hockey players.
Allen had thought they were part of a beer league when he saw the older guys in their group, but at twenty-three?
No. They were young enough to be in college.
Were they in college?
Fuck, were they playing professional hockey, or just horsing around with their strange group of friends?
“You’re not saying anything,” said the tall, gorgeous mannequin humper named Jake.
Allen reluctantly took his eyes off the road so he could stare at the broody man’s striking profile. “I mean, neither are you.”
Another round of snickering from the back had Allen frowning, which in turn made Jake frown.
Allen was completely unprepared when Jake’s hand left the steering wheel, and his arm swung out to lay tightly across his chest. He almost shoved the arm away, but then Jake hit the car brakes hard enough to send the guy sitting behind Allen crashing into the passenger seat with a loud thump.
“Ow! What the fuck, Mouse? You trying to brain me?”
The arm was removed, and Allen drew in a deep breath because his lungs had apparently forgotten what their job was when Jake touched him.
The car began moving again, and the curses from the backseat nearly drowned out the sound of the purring engine.
“Impossible.”
Allen wasn’t sure what Jake was talking about, but his friend didn’t seem to have the same problem.
“If you’re saying I don’t have brains?—”
“I’m saying nothing,” said Jake.
His voice was very monotone, but even in the dark of the car, Allen could see his mouth slowly curving into a smile.
They were annoyingly cute for jocks, but there was one thing Allen didn’t understand.
“Mouse?” he asked and then braced himself for the answer.
Jake’s frown turned more severe. “My nickname. They call me that because I’m as quiet as a mouse.”
“Oh shit,” said Allen, smacking a hand over his mouth to keep his laughter muffled. “That makes sense, I guess?”
Allen couldn’t tell if Jake approved of the nickname or not because his expression was hard to read, but he thought it was cute. Being named after a small, fluffy animal when you were over 6’5 was hilarious, and he had a feeling the jokester in the back had something to do with it.
“Are you two friends or just hockey friends?” Allen asked, motioning toward the man in the back. “You seem pretty close.”
“Best friend,” said Jake. “I’ve been suffering since the day he learned how to talk.”
A head popped up beside him, sporting a nice smile and dark blond hair. “My name is Riley. Sorry if I’m interrupting your date.”
Date?
“This isn’t a date,” said Allen.
Jake made a distinct growling sound and shoved Riley’s head away hard enough that there was another thump and a curse.
“Suffering,” Jake emphasized. “But I need him. He’s a good forward.”
Ugh. Time to talk hockey.
