His words made me grin. Somehow, I didn’t think any of them would even come close to the grumpy, standoffish guy I’d met last night. “Don’t worry about it. I know what it’s like for players under pressure. I’m a professional footballer, remember?”
He laughed. “True.”
We spent the next hour catching up on everything we’d missed. Brayden gave me a detailed insight into the Calgary Bobcats’ playoff run so far and the pressure they were under to make it to the finals. It was more than enough to hold my attention, but even as we talked, a tiny part of my mind kept going back to Conan. The way his hands had felt on my skin, the sexy-as-fuck growl in his voice when he’d called me “British,” how he’d made me feel as he pressed me up against the wall, leaving me completely spent but still wanting more?—
“Jude.Jude.” Brayden’s voice cut through my thoughts, and I blinked, huffing out a laugh.
“Sorry. Bloody jet lag.”
He studied me for a moment longer and then smiled. “You’ll be over it soon enough. Take it easy in the meantime. I’m just glad you’re here.”
Would I ever see Conan again? I wasn’t sure I could even remember where the club had been located, and he’d said he only went there occasionally to scratch an itch. Fuck. I wanted to see him again.
With an effort, I finally pushed those futile thoughts from my mind, giving Brayden a genuine smile as I nodded in agreement with his words. “Yeah. Me too.”
5
Jude
The Calgary Bobcats’ training facility was one of a cluster of buildings perched on a hill above the city, comprising part of Calgary’s main ski resort. I found the training facility itself easily, thanks to the team’s logo emblazoned above the main entrance. When I’d parked the SUV, I headed around to the front of the building and spotted Brayden waiting outside.
“You look a bit shifty, loitering around here,” I told him as I drew closer.
He rolled his eyes at me. “Come on. Let’s get inside.”
“Lead the way.”
He guided me through a maze of corridors lined with team photos, pointing out various rooms along the way—the medical facility, the equipment room, and a room filled with sofas and air hockey tables that he said was used as the players’ lounge.
“We’re here a little later than I’d planned, so some of the guys will probably already be on the ice warming up,” Brayden said as we reached a set of double doors. “I’ll show you where to sit, and then I’ll have to leave you to it. We’ll do proper introductions afterwards.”
“Okay. Just tell me where you need me to go. I don’t want to be in the way.”
“You won’t be in the way.”
The moment we stepped into the small arena, I was hit with a wall of sound. Skates gliding over ice, sticks hitting pucks, voices shouting instructions. The cold air hit my skin, making me shiver after the summer warmth outside. It was all so different to my own training sessions, which took place outdoors, whatever the weather.
“Fucking hell,” I breathed, stopping dead and taking in the sight of several of Brayden’s teammates skating across the ice. Being a professional footballer, I was used to athletes, but there was something about the way these guys moved that was so different to anything else. I was mesmerised by the way they glided and turned so fluidly, sheer power in their movements, their muscles flexing and shifting with their smooth motions.
Brayden nudged me with his elbow, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to Coach Keller first, then you can watch from the stands.”
I followed him over to the side of the rink, where a stocky man with dark hair threaded with grey was studying the players intently.
“Coach? I’d like you to meet my brother, Jude. The one I told you about who plays soccer in England.”
Coach Keller turned to me, holding out his hand. “Pleased to meet you, son. Brayden mentioned you were out of action. How’s the injury?”
I extended my own hand, gripping his firmly. After a short, perfunctory handshake, I gave him my most professional smile. “Much better, thanks. It’s been disappointing on a professional level, but I’m glad it’s given me this opportunity to come and see Brayden play.”
He nodded briskly. “Make the most of it.” His attention turned back to my brother. “Brayden. On the ice.”
“Yes, Coach.”
I took a seat at the side of the rink, watching as Brayden disappeared into the locker room. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I replied to a text from my agent before losing myself in the latest Premier League transfer rumours, and by the time I put my phone away, Brayden was back, skating smoothly onto the ice with the remainder of his teammates.
I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the rink. I’d always known hockey was fast-paced, and I’d watched Brayden’s games when we were kids, and more recently on TV, but seeing the players up close was something else entirely. They moved with a combination of grace and aggression that reminded me of some of the top footballers I’d played with and against. It was that balance of skill and physicality that so many athletes aimed for, but only the best managed to achieve.
Despite my efforts to watch the team as a whole, I found my gaze drawn to number 39, over and over again. Even with a helmet obscuring most of his features, something about him drew my attention more than any of the other players. Maybe it was the way he moved with determination across the ice, all pent-up aggression and tensed muscles, taking every opportunity to go on the offence. It made my dick stir in my jeans.
