Jeremy

THE COLD AIR INSIDE the ice rink cools my sweat-slicked

skin during practice. The smell of the blood, sweat, and

tears that have been spilled in this rink give it history and I

am never unaware of it.

After spending most of my life playing hockey, the last two

years in the best league in the US, I love that I'mhere in

Denver, playing for Darby University. It's a Top-Tier Division

One school and I am honored to be here. Add in that I get to

play with my best friends from Muskegon and this is going

to be an amazing year.

We've been practicing for weeks now, getting back in

shape for the season. Since we have a new coach this year,

we don't really know what to expect from him, but he's

kicking our asses. Classes start on Monday and we're all

falling into our workout and practice routines.

The team is pulling offour practice gear in the locker

room after a hard practice when Coach gets our attention.

"Alright, boys, a few things." His gruffvoice has the room

falling quiet. "Carpenter, congratulations, Son, you're

captain this year."

The room breaks out in claps and whoops. I cup myhands

around my mouth and cheer for him with a big smile on my

face. The senior is smiling as he heads toward Coach to grab the jersey he's holding up with the embroidered C on

it. I don't know him well yet but he seems like a good dude.

"Thanks, Coach," he says before turning to face the room.

"We're gonna have a bomb-ass season. Work hard and kick

ass." The room erupts again and he heads back toward his

spot in front of his cubby, clapping each teammate he

passes on the back and ruffling their sweaty hair.

"Next," Coach yells and everyone shuts up. "A few of you

still need to get your physicals done with medical. Get on it.

Lastly, we have a new transfer coming in this weekend. We

are very lucky to have Charles Preston Carmichael joining

our team. His father has made a gracious donation to our

school and to our team. You will make him feel welcome."

The room goes silent, with everyone side-eyeing each

other.

Charles Preston Carmichael.

My head goes blank. Empty.

There's no way.

He's expected to be the first defensive draft pick this year.

On the ice he's brutal, focused, angry, and calculating. I

faced him before and came back broken and bruised. In all

honesty, he's fucking terrifying. I'm not entirely sure how he

hasn't caught assault charges for some of the shit he pulls

on the ice. Why the hell would he transfer here? Our team is

good, but he signed with Boston. What the hell happened?

Our D men are going to be pissed."But why?" the words are out of my mouth before I can

think better of it. In the quiet of the space, myquestion

echoes loud enough for Coach to hear it. The angry,

intimidating, former NHL player meets my gaze. Shit. He's

going to murder me.

"He's your new roommate, Albrooke."

Fuck. Me.

Coach leaves the room and we finish getting undressed

and into the showers. We're all sweaty and disgusting.

"That sucks for you, man." Brendon Oiler, my best friend

since we were eighteen and playing in the juniors league

together, claps me on the shoulder. I'm glad he was able to

come here with me after we aged out last season. Since you

can only play in the juniors league until you're twenty, we

all had to come up with another plan so we all decided on

college. Paul Johnson played in Muskegon with us on the

Lumberjacks until last year when he turned twenty and

talked up this school a lot. He basically talked Brendon and

me into applying here. It's weird to be in classes with

freshmen when you're twenty-one but it's prettycommon

for hockey players.

"Fuck you," I grumble, pulling offmy base layer and

grabbing a towel, the sound of his laughter following me

into the showers.

I thought I got lucky and wouldn't have to room with

anyone this season. Goddamn it. I can only imagine how much fun he is to live with. He's probably a major asshole.

Cocky and full of himself.

I'm soaping myself up, ignoring the fact that there's hot,

naked, muscular, wet jocks around me, and focusing on

hockey stats while staringat the wall. Despite the fact that

I've been playing hockey since I was eight and showering in

locker rooms since I was eleven, I am very aware of how

long my gazestays on anyone in here. I spend most of my

time with my back to the room, just so no one gets jumpy if

I get hard. Most of the team doesn't know I'm gay. I'm not

really hiding it but I'm not announcing it either. They'll figure

it out. Why did I have tofall in love with a sport that has

men with the sexiest asses? It's just unfair.

Shit. What if Carmichael is a giant homophobe? Cold

anxiety slithers up my spine at the thought.

"It's Friday night…party?" Brendon asks as he grabs the

shower next to me, wagging his eyebrows at me. He turned

twenty-one last month and no longer needs to hide his

drinking.

"Getting drunk does sound pretty good right now." I eye

him with a smirk. Over the years, we've fucked around a bit.

Brendon is bisexual and during the season there isn't much

time for dating, so we endup fucking when we need to take

the edge off.As far as I know, only Paul knows, since he was

around when we first started it. "Where are we going?"

"Rocky's." Brendon ducks his head under the water to

rinse off. Rocky's is the bar right offcampus that the team likes. It's convenient since we can walk back to the dorms

instead of worrying about rides.

I rinse offand grab my towel, scrubbing my skin to rid

myself of the water. "I gotta grab my shit from my room,

meet me there in ten?"

He turns to lift his eyebrows at me with a knowing grin on

his lipsand I walk away before I start to chub up.We both

know what this means.

Fifteen minutes later, Brendon is pushing me onto my tiny

twin size mattress. My shirt is somewhere on the floor, his

hands on my skin, pulling me closer to him. His lips leave

mine as he pulls at my sweats and boxers. I growl when my

dick smacks against my stomach. It's been so fucking long,

this is gonna be quick.

"Oh fuck." The words are forced from my throat as my

dick disappears into Brendon's mouth. He lays between my

thighs, his hand wrappedaround the base of my cock and

his head bobbing over the tip.

I dig my fingers into the long red hair on top of his head,

encouraging him to move faster. We've been fucking around

on andofffor two years now, he fucking knows how to do

this but he'staking his sweet ass time and I'm not in the

damn mood.

His head pops offmy dick and he grins at me. "When is

your roommate supposed to get here?"

"I don't know, and I don't care. Hurry the fuck up." He

chuckles at my impatience but gets back to work with increased vigor. My hips buck offthe bed on instinct and

electricity starts humming through my veins. God damn, I'm

going to cum.

I open my mouth to warn him of my impending orgasm as

the door to my room opens.

In amatter of seconds, Brendon is offthe bed, my dick is

back in my pants, and we're both standing. I don't need to

look athim to know his face is bright red, all the way to the

tips of his ears. My breathing is ragged as adrenaline and

fear tightensmy muscles for the incoming attack. I know

guilt iswritten all over me but I can't seem to look up for

more than a few seconds.

The guy standing in my doorway is staring at me. Hard.

Unblinking. Ican feel it like a physical weight on my

shoulders and Brendon won't look at me. In fact, he's

looking anywhere but at me or the newcomer.

Shit.

"See ya later, man." Just like that, Brendon is gone,

pushing pastmy new roommate, at least, that's who I'm

assuming it is, and leaving me alone to deal with the fallout.

Did hesee anything? Does he know Brendon was sucking

my dick? I think he does but I don't really want to meet his

gaze either.

"Charming." The single word spoken in that flat, almost

bored tone has my spine straightening.

I will not be made to feel less-than because of my

sexuality.Lifting my gaze offthe floor, I make eye contact with the

cold face of my new roommate. His spine is straight as a

board, jaw set like he's grinding his teeth, with no emotion

or thoughts showing through the mask he wears. Great.

"Uh, hey, I'm Jeremy Albrooke." I lift my hand to shake his,

but he doesn't take his eyes offmine. It's uncomfortable

and awkward. "Okay then." I let my hand drop and cross my

arms over my chest.

Carmichael looks so muchlike his father, it's kinda creepy.

He's like a clone. Doctor Andrew Carmichael is basically a

celebrity. Everyone knows him. His face is on the side of

buses and on TV; he does work on celebrities and

professional athletes. The man is charming, always smiling,

and comes across as a really nice guy. This dude does not.

"So uh, this is about it." I shrug, waving my hand around

the room. Two twin beds and nightstands, dressers, desks,

tiny closets, and a bathroom. There's a mini fridge between

the nightstands with a microwave on top of it.

He looks around the room quickly and slides his bagto the

unmade bed.The dude isa beast on the ice when he's in all

his gear and pissed off. I've been slammed into the boards

by himmore than once over the last few years, healed up

my fair share of bruises, but this doesn't seem like the same

guy.

He hasn't said anything else and everything about him is

stiffand tense. I don't understand what I'm seeing here.

Who is this guy?