by Avon Gale
A few days later, he met Ryu and Morley at a small local rink to run some practice drills. Despite being in his element—on the ice with a stick in his hand and a puck on his tape—it took Tristan an unbelievable amount of energy to focus.
He didn’t understand why he was so preoccupied with fantasies about Professor Cruz when they’d spent maybe a grand total of twenty minutes alone together. Possibly, it was the lure of the unattainable, and Tristan’s growing assurance that his attraction was far from one-sided. He’d felt that gaze lingering on him, and he’d watched Professor Cruz shake his head, consternation clear on his features, when Tristan looked up and caught him staring—three different times.
But Tristan couldn’t afford to be so distracted. What if he seriously injured himself or broke a limb? That would be fun to explain to the coaching staff when training camp started. Somehow, he didn’t think they’d appreciate hearing, Sorry, guys, I have a hard-on for my professor and can’t stop thinking about his dick. Or mine.
Tristan almost laughed aloud at the thought. Trying to center himself, he circled the rink for half an hour, practicing his turns and stops and dribbling the puck around a few makeshift obstacles. He wasn’t as good at stick-handling as some of the forwards on the team, and he didn’t have any flashy tricks up his sleeve, but he liked to think his skills weren’t anything to sneeze at, either.
When Ryu banged his stick against one of the goal posts to call his attention, Tristan took a puck down the ice and aimed for Ryu’s weak spot—top shelf left. It sailed cleanly over Ryu’s shoulder.
Morley guffawed behind Tristan. “Guess training with that Swedish dude didn’t help, eh, Ryu? You might want to get your money back. Is there a refund policy?”
Ryu sent him a steely-eyed look through the cage of his mask and knocked the puck out of the crease. “Why don’t you try me?”
Morley shrugged one big, padded shoulder. Tristan moved aside as he skated to the blue line and tried a quick slapshot. Ryu easily caught the puck, dropped it to the ice, and kicked it away with enough attitude Tristan broke into a grin.
Morley laughed good-naturedly. “Hey, bro, I’m not here to make goals. I’m here to stop the other team from making them.”
Ryu ignored him, jerking his chin at Tristan. “Again.”
For the next hour, they took shots at Ryu and ran passing drills while skating the length of the ice. Ryu shut down Morley’s every attempt and gave him a tiny, vicious smile when Morley growled in frustration. He could’ve goaded Morley further, but Ryu wasn’t much for trash talk. He let his actions speak for him, standing casually in net with his arms draped along the crossbar, which needled Morley more than any insults Ryu might have slung at him.
Tristan was chuckling at Morley’s pissed-off expression when the arrival of about a dozen miniature hockey players signaled the end of their time. Unlike most Atlantans, who’d likely pass Venom players on the street and be none the wiser, these kids and their parents actually recognized the three of them.
“Holtzy!” the smallest boy yelled, nearly mowing down his teammate in his rush to get to Tristan. “I wanna be a D-man like you when I grow up. I’m gonna be on the Venom too, and we’re gonna win The Cup for sure.”
Tristan grinned. “Is that so?”
“Yeah! On my day, I’ll eat Fruit Loops and drink beer out of it. Maybe both at the same time. And I might even let my little sister touch it, if she asks nicely.” The kid shot him a gap-toothed smile. “Hey, can you sign my jersey?”
The volume increased as Morley and Ryu were surrounded as well. Tristan signed sticks and helmets while experiencing the same out-of-body surrealism that overtook him whenever he got asked for an autograph. It didn’t make sense that people would want his signature on anything, let alone seem so thrilled about it. It was humbling too. He remembered being a starry-eyed tyke at his first NHL game. He must’ve been four or five at the time. Even now, meeting some of the players he’d admired as a teenager left Tristan awestruck. He didn’t think he’d ever get over the oddness of being on the receiving end of the admiration.
After showers, they met at a nearby restaurant for lunch. Tristan’s carb intake was huge during the regular season, but in the summer, when he wasn’t burning through calories almost faster than he could consume them, he focused on eating healthier. His meal was a grilled salmon salad, a slice of multigrain bread, and water with lemon.
Morley eyed Tristan’s plate in disdain as he chomped on his bacon double cheeseburger. “I don’t get how you can be satisfied with that, bro. That’s bird food.”
“I like it.” Tristan shrugged. “And it’s what you should be eating too.”
Morley patted his muscular stomach. “It takes more than romaine to keep this tank running, Holtzy. I’m a growing boy.”
“You’re twenty-seven,” Ryu said flatly. He was eating a wrap of some sort with fruit on the side. “The only growing you’re going to be doing is outward.”
Morley cupped one huge hand over his ear. “I can’t hear you from down there, shrimpy. Do you need me to ask the waiter for a stepladder?”
Ryu leveled Morley with the dead-eyed stare he usually reserved for game time. “Take your taunts back to middle school, Morley. Your juvenile humor is wilting the lettuce in my Caesar wrap.”
Tristan choked on a bite of salmon.
“Let’s talk about something else,” Ryu continued. “Like how distracted you’ve been lately, Tristan.” Aside from the coaches and trainers, Ryu was the only teammate who called Tristan by his first name. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that you whiffed twice today and missed an easy pass from this one over here.” He nodded toward Morley. “It’s not only that, though. You’ve been weird every time I’ve seen you.”
“That’s probably why he almost broke his face on the treadmill the other day,” Morley said around a mouthful of chewed-up burger. “He’s been body-snatched.”
Ryu’s lip curled with disgust. “Swallowing should happen before speaking.”
Morley grinned. “That’s what she—”
“Really? Could you not?” Ryu’s voice dripped with scorn. “That joke is over a decade old.”
Morley’s voice boomed as he said something about classics enduring through the ages. Tristan tuned out their bickering while he collected himself. He wasn’t surprised his friends had noticed his distraction. Of course they had. It would be obvious to anyone who knew him.
Fucking Sebastian Cruz with his deep, sexy voice and that lean, strong body. Something about him turned Tristan’s crank like nothing else in a long time. Tristan wanted a chance to explore their chemistry, but whether or not they would get it, Tristan knew he couldn’t take another of Professor Cruz’s classes again.
It was too damned distracting. He’d imagined himself in the submissive role with someone domineering like Professor Cruz about a thousand times. When he was alone in bed at night, he craved dominance. Someone to help him just...let go. But he didn’t know how to ask for what he needed. Usually, given his size, the guys he hooked up with expected him to lead, to take control and do the fucking. Requesting anything different had led to some embarrassing moments. Why he felt like Professor Cruz would understand, and more than that, give him exactly what he wanted, Tristan couldn’t explain.
But daydreams were for children, not grown men. He needed to remember that before other aspects of his life began to suffer.
“Yo, earth to Holtzy.” Morley’s big paw waved in front of his face.
Tristan snapped to attention “Sorry, guys. I’m good. Acclimating to taking classes again, you know? It’s harder than I thought it would be.” Pun intended.
Morley grabbed his strawberry milkshake and peered, frowning, into the mostly empty glass. “I still don’t get why you’re bothering, bro.”
“I already explained. Backup plan, remember?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Mo
rley slurped the rest of his shake and signaled their waiter. “Hey, can I get another one of these? No, make it chocolate this time. Or can you do half and half?”
Tristan felt the weight of Ryu’s scrutiny and looked up. Ryu was regarding him with narrowed eyes, but thankfully, he didn’t press the issue once Morley was distracted.
The conversation turned to the recent NHL draft and the new prospects they might see during training camp. Speculating about who might actually join them on the ice in the near future was enough to divert Tristan’s thoughts, and soon he put Sebastian Cruz from his mind entirely.
Of course that only lasted until he got home. He stared at the sociology textbook on his kitchen table and contemplated starting his final paper. It wasn’t due until the end of July, which meant he had plenty of time to write it. He wanted it to be perfect, though, not something scraped together at the last minute. He couldn’t stand the idea of turning in anything less. Not only that, homophobia in professional sports was obviously a subject near and dear to his heart. He owed it to himself and every other queer athlete to give the topic the respect and consideration it deserved.
Decided, Tristan went to change into some sweats. He had plenty of reading to do before he outlined a rough draft. Might as well be comfortable.
Chapter Eight
Sebastian was still brooding about his attraction to Tristan when he met R.J. for dinner and drinks at a trendy sushi restaurant in Buckhead. He’d arrived before R.J. and was already ensconced at a table with a Scotch, trying to sip it like a civilized person instead of gulping it to make himself stop having fantasies about a student.
R.J. raised an eyebrow at the Scotch as he sat across from Sebastian at the table. “Wow. Scotch already? You usually start with a beer.”
“What are you, my boyfriend?” There was a bit more of a bite than Sebastian intended to the words. He sighed into his glass and took another sip, mentally chiding himself to calm the fuck down.
“No, but if I was gay, I’d probably be totally into you,” R.J. said, unconcerned, barely even looking at Sebastian as he examined the menu. “Well, maybe if you had an attitude adjustment. What’s with you lately anyway?” He set the menu aside. “Your asshole levels have been raised to previously unrecorded numbers these last few days, Seb. What’s up?”
Sebastian felt comfortable talking to R.J. about this, if no one else. R.J. was more than a fellow colleague, he was a friend. “I... Ugh, this so stupid I can’t believe I’m about to say it. I have...inappropriate interest in a student.”
R.J. just looked at him, so Sebastian stared intently at his glass and ran the tip of his finger around the edge. “The hockey player. Before you ask.”
“And that’s...stupid?” R.J.’s voice sounded amused. “I thought you were down with appreciating the eye candy?”
Sebastian shrugged. “I am. But I think—I think this might be mutual. And that can’t happen.”
There was a moment of awkward silence—at least, it was awkward to Sebastian—and then R.J. said, very carefully, “But you haven’t done anything, right?”
Sebastian shook his head. “No.”
“You haven’t, like, sent him a racy email or asked him to stay after for a special tutoring session, right?”
“Of course not.”
R.J. studied him. “But you think he’d be into that. If you did, I mean.”
This was exactly what Sebastian didn’t want to think about, and had, of course, spent all weekend thinking about. “Yes. But I won’t.”
“The class is only for a few more weeks, though, right?” R.J. asked. “What’s stopping you from pursuing something after grades are turned in? Are you thinking he’s going to show up in another class of yours in the future?”
“I hope to God not,” Sebastian said with a frown. He didn’t think he could handle Tristan in those sweatpants for a second longer than he had to. Too tempting. “And just because he wouldn’t be my student doesn’t take away the part where he is now.”
R.J. rolled his eyes, clearly not as perturbed by the idea as Sebastian. “Dude. You went to grad school, right? Half my professors were married to former students.”
So that phenomenon wasn’t limited to the field of sociology. “Yes, but do you know what those professors have that I don’t?”
“Uh.” R.J. snorted. “Should I really answer that?”
Before Sebastian could say anything, the waitress came to take their order. He really wanted another Scotch, but made himself stick to water and a light beer. He’d hoped that R.J. would drop the subject once the waitress left, but mathematicians, Sebastian was learning, were relentless.
“I know what you’re going to say,” R.J. informed him, tucking into the edamame appetizer Sebastian had ordered when he’d first arrived. “That you don’t have tenure, and they do. But, Seb, man, do you really think you’d be the first nontenured professor to have a relationship with a former student?”
“Why would that matter? It doesn’t mean it’s a good idea.” Sebastian took a few pieces of edamame. “I appreciate that you’re trying to find the bright side here, R.J., but you don’t have to try to convince me it would be anything other than a mistake.”
“Well.” R.J. peered at him thoughtfully. “I understand that you don’t want anything to happen while he’s still your student. But if you guys are into each other, and he’s finished with sociology at the end of the summer... I’m still not seeing what the big deal would be if you two hooked up.” R.J. lifted his glass and grinned. “Plus, you’d totally be my hero if you hooked up with a hot professional hockey player and somehow scored me some tickets.”
Sebastian glared, but the liquor had done its job and taken some of the heat out of it. “Can we please not talk about this anymore? And you can’t say anything about this to anyone. I’m serious. He’s not out. Honestly, I shouldn’t even have told you, but I needed to talk to someone I trust.”
R.J. set his glass down and raised his hands, palms out. “I would never repeat what you tell me to anyone, especially about something like this. I promise. And now that I know you’re being a broody asshole because you have a crush on one of your students, we can move on.” He laughed, clearly unperturbed by Sebastian’s scowl.
Sebastian didn’t bother to respond to that. Maybe he did have a bit of a crush on Tristan, and maybe he was being a little too hard on himself. So what if Tristan apparently returned his interest? He knew he wouldn’t do a thing about it, and even though there would technically be nothing wrong with him pursuing Tristan after the semester grades were turned in... No. He’d worked too hard to get where he was, and he didn’t want to do anything to fuck that up.
The conversation switched to other topics, but before they left, R.J. clapped him on the shoulder and said, “So, hey, even if you decide not to go after hockey boy when the semester ends, that doesn’t mean he won’t try something. If he’s into you.”
“It doesn’t change anything.” Sebastian was beginning to wish he’d kept his mouth shut.
“At least think about it,” R.J. cajoled, tossing some cash on the table.
That definitely wasn’t going to be a problem. Sebastian had a hard time not thinking about Tristan, especially when he was at home by himself.
In class he played it cool and looked at Tristan as little as possible, though it did nothing to lessen his attraction. Every now and then Sebastian would find Tristan staring at him, and he’d feel the heat flare up between them. Still, Sebastian stuck to his guns and limited their eye-fucking as much as he could...until the day of Tristan’s final presentation arrived.
The students were supposed to present their papers in front of the class, and Tristan’s time slot was the first one for the day. Sebastian had prepared himself by getting off in the shower while having inappropriate fantasies of his student in there with him, sucking his cock to earn a good grade. It wasn’t the fi
rst time he’d ever had that fantasy, of course, but it was the first time he had someone specific in mind. Sebastian hoped that indulging in the fantasy might make it easier to sit in the lecture hall and listen to Tristan give his talk about LGBT issues in professional sports, especially considering Sebastian’s professional interest in the topic at hand.
But, as Sebastian settled in his seat and waited, it looked as if maybe Tristan wasn’t going to show up. Frowning, Sebastian crossed his legs and checked his watch, noticing the time inch closer to the start of class. If Tristan was late, he’d miss his spot and that would severely impact his grade. All of the implications of that began to whirl like a maelstrom in Sebastian’s mind, and he was momentarily paralyzed with visions of himself in a very uncomfortable meeting with the dean, when the door opened just in time, and Tristan came in.
Or, more appropriately, rushed in. He was breathing hard, which meant he’d probably run all the way from the parking lot, and his hair was still damp as if from a shower. He was wearing a Venom shirt (the first time, to Sebastian’s knowledge, that he’d done so) and those goddamn gray sweatpants. He gave Sebastian what could only be described as a harried look and said amidst his attempts to catch his breath, “I’m sorry I’m late, Professor.”
There’d been something similar in that shower fantasy, and Sebastian was glad he was sitting down. He waved a hand. “Get yourself together and prepare for your presentation, Mr. Holt.”
Tristan took a few deep breaths, raked his hand through his hair, and grabbed a folder out of his messenger bag. He gave his classmates a sheepish smile. “I haven’t slept through my alarm in about two years. Sorry to make everyone wait.”
It was such a sincere, effortlessly conscientious thing to do that Sebastian wondered if the universe was trying to torment him. The problem was, his interest in Tristan wasn’t only sexual, and seeing what a decent and kind man he was, well, that wasn’t helping his determination to pretend Tristan didn’t exist until after the grades were in.
