Page 6 of Man Advantage

“You eat?” Cole asked.

It was how he said hello. When Ford had teased him about it, he’d explained that his mom considered feeding people a love language and mused that he took after her in that sense. It was one of the few things he’d shared about his upbringing, and Ford had held on to the detail as if he’d been offered something special.

“Was about to.” He hadn’t been, but at the mention of food, his stomach rumbled. “There’s chili from Sunday.”

Cole toed his boots off, set them square by the door, and hung his coat on the hook that had been his for a year. His hair curled at the ends the way it did after he showered at the rink and didn’t bother to blow-dry it. Ford watched as Cole bent in front of the fridge, digging around for the container of chili. He swallowed hard when he realized he’d been staring at the way Cole’s jeans stretched over the round globes of his ass.

“Charlotte at Nadine’s?”

“Till Thursday.” Ford leaned against the counter as Cole spooned chili into a pot and set it over a low flame. These were the moments he was going to miss when Cole was gone. He’d somehow slotted himself into Ford’s and Charlotte’s lives as if he were meant to be there. “She wants to bring the class hamster home over break.”

“You said no?”

“I said we’d discuss it. But it’s not happening.”

“That’s cold, Callahan.” The corner of his mouth tipped up. Ford imagined having permission to close the distance between them to kiss the shallow dimple that formed. He shook that thought from his head when he realized Cole was still talking to him. “…responsibility is good for her. And you never know, maybe she’ll surprise you.”

“I’m more worried about the damned rodent surviving going in and out of the cold when Nadine picks her up or drops her off,” Ford admitted.

When the chili was done heating, Cole served them both and led Ford to the breakfast nook. Tonight, it felt more intimate than usual. Ford had to bite his lip to keep from groaning when Cole stretched and the hem of his shirt lifted just enough to give Ford a glimpse of skin still tan from the summer. Cole said something about Wyatt finally being able to get Cole’s truck into the shop, and Ford grunted his agreement when he asked if it’d be cool for them to ride together to the rink for the week.

The apartment sat there like the elephant in the room, and neither of them touched it. Cole didn’t bring it up. Ford didn’t ask. As long as he didn’t mention it, he wouldn’t have to admit he didn’t want Cole to leave.

Cole rinsed the bowls when they were done because he always did, and Ford stood beside him at the narrow sink to dry. There wasn’t room for two grown men at the sink, never had been, and for a year, Ford had handled it by leaving Cole to the cleanup. Tonight he couldn’t help but test the boundaries, no matter how foolish that might be. He was close enough to feel the heat coming off Cole’s arm, close enough to catch the clean rink-shower smell of him, and when Cole passed him the second bowl, their wet hands met around the rim and stayed there a beat longer than was normal.

Ford went still all over. He turned his head, and Cole was already looking at him, close, closer than ever before, the water running unnoticed over both their knuckles. He wanted to lean in and find out what Cole would do about it.

A split second before Ford made a mistake neither of them could come back from, Cole took a step back. He was looking anywhere but at Ford.

“I’m beat.” His voice cracked, betraying the cool he tried projecting. “Night, Cally.”

Hearing his nickname felt like a reminder of why they could never be anything more than friends and teammates. “Night.”

Ford watched as Cole disappeared up the stairs, wondering if Cole was as affected as he was. The man gave nothing away and never had, which left Ford sorting the real from the wished-for, every time, with a deck he’d stacked himself. He followed one careful step at a time, forcing himself to look straight ahead as he passed Cole’s door.

THREE

Deluca ran the team through the same D-zone breakout until their legs gave out. They’d dropped both ends of the Columbus trip, and a bad weekend put the coach in a black mood with one cure. The whole roster skated the same drill into the boards, reset and run it, reset and run it, until Riggs was bent over the boards in the corner fighting the urge to puke and nobody had the wind left to chirp him for it. By the time Deluca waved them off the ice, Cole’s legs were toast. The locker room was quiet, every man hoarding what little he had left for the walk to the shower.

Cole flopped onto the bench in front of his stall and started peeling the tape off his shins, in no hurry to be anywhere else. Down the row, Ford had his mask off, looking almost as worn out as the rest of the team despite the fact that the goalies were the only ones spared Deluca’s wrath.

Ford caught him looking and dragged a hand back through his sweat-damp hair. “Don’t start.”

“Wasn’t going to.”

“You’ve got a whole speech you’re sitting on. I can feel it.”

There was no irritation in his voice, but Cole knew the fact that he’d even warned Cole meant he was hurting. He tried his best to keep his mouth shut, even though it was killing him to watch Ford abuse his body for the sake of the game. He understood not wanting to face the end of his career, but Ford was reaching the point where that decision could easily be taken out of his hands.

Cole didn’t look away as quickly as he should have when Ford went back to unbuckling his pads. He’d learned the difference this season between Ford wrung out and Ford hurting, and today it was both. Out on the ice, Cole had taken to tipping his coverage so Deluca’s shooters ran at his good side. Ford had never mentioned it, and Cole was glad. A thank-you would have made it something he’d have to consider his motives behind.

Cole was usually the last one out of the locker room. He gathered the tape balls nobody else bent for and hung up the towels other guys had dropped on the floor. Nobody asked him to. Cole had just always found it easier to be useful than to be seen.

Russ dropped onto the bench beside him, already dressed. “You call Delgado yet?”

“Haven’t had a chance.”

“Cole.” Russ gave him a look. “It’s been over a week. He’s holding it for me as a favor, but he’s getting impatient. Two guys walked it Saturday, and they were interested in it.”