Puck Mates

Gabe

I didn’t fight this hard for a shot at the NHL to end up some straight guy’s experiment.

Especially Connor Mitchell’s.

Famous father. Perfect smile. The kind of money that means never having to wonder if you can afford another season.

I know his type. I’m not a fan.

Then one charity game proves we’re ridiculously good together. On the ice, I know exactly what he’s going to do before he does it.

Off the ice? Not a clue.

He tells me he’s never wanted another man. Then he asks me to kiss him.

I should really remember why I don’t like him.

Connor

Gabe Ashford thinks he has me figured out.

Spoiled. Smug. Straight.

I’m starting to question at least one of those.

He has plenty to say about my attitude, and he doesn’t seem particularly impressed by my last name. He’d be annoying, except playing hockey with him is the most fun I’ve had in years.

I want him on my team.

I also want to kiss him again, but getting him to agree to either is proving difficult.

Gabe just signed with one of our biggest rivals. And apparently, he thinks what happened between us was a mistake I’ve already forgotten.

I haven’t forgotten a damn thing.

He’s afraid I’ll break his heart.

I’m starting to think he’s going to break mine.