He hadn’t taken Teddy up on his offer that night though.
Thad had felt weird about the quid pro quo, but as he spent more time with Teddy, as he too longed for comfort, for a release … well, he’d finally agreed to what Teddy was offering.
And it had been good. He’d liked Teddy and his quick, sharp wit. He’d liked the feel of Teddy’s body against his and Teddy’s smile.
Teddy was probably the closest Thad had ever gotten to a relationship, and didn’tthatsay a lot about what his life had been like until now.
But of all the things Thad had felt ashamed of in his life, finding comfort with Teddy wasn’t one of them.
Taunting Graham after the kiss was, however.
Thad didn’t exactlyregretthe kiss itself. Graham had initiated it. But Thad could have been less of a dick after Graham pulled away.
Graham had been interested until he wasn’t and if his interest had evaporated as quickly as it had happened or it wasn’t something Graham wanted to admit to himself, well, that was his business.
It wasn’t Thad’s job to help the dude figure out his sexuality.
So they were friends who didn’t talk about the very, very hot kiss they’d shared one night.
Whatever.
There were plenty of other people willing to go to bed with him so there was no reason for Thad to think about what the curve of Graham’s surprisingly full lips had felt like against his own or the hectic color in his cheeks after he pulled back.
There was no reason to think about the width of his shoulders or the way his ass filled out the sweats he wore.
Just because Thad did anyway, just because he sometimes wished he didn’t know what it felt like to have Graham pull him closer or that his cologne smelled like citrus and rain, well … that was between him and the privacy of his own thoughts.
Restless tonight, Thad drained his beer and stood, weaving through the crowd at O’Neill’s Pub. The Irish bar was packed, players and staff mingling as they celebrated the end of the season.
It hadn’t been a good end. Their attempt at even making it to the playoffs had been embarrassingly weak.
But there was hope the next season might be better.
And hockey players, coaches, upper management, and fans all lived for the next season. A better roster, more luck, the hockey gods’ favor smiling on them a little more brightly.
There was hope.
But Thad wasn’t feeling particularly hopeful as he pushed through the door of the pub and out onto the back patio. Mostly, he felt tired. And old.
It had rained earlier, so the enclosed patio was empty of people, with droplets of water pooling on the stone and glistening in the glow of the string lights crisscrossed over the damp tables and chairs.
With a relieved sigh, Thad slipped a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, guiltily lighting one. He’d been trying to stop, trying to quit the habit that ate into his budget and was certainly shortening his life.
But the heady rush of nicotine never got old and, well, this wasn’t a vice that would get him in trouble.
Unless his brother saw it.
Things were better with Gavin than they had been when Thad had showed up at the Harriers Community Ice Complex last fall.
And, if Thad was being honest with himself, blackmailed Gavin into finding him a job.
Thad could tell himself he’d been driven by desperation and it had all worked out in the end, but it didn’t stop the flicker of guilt he felt at having done it.
Thad had never actuallyplannedon following through, never planned to tell anyone the robbery he’d gone to jail for had actually been Gavin’s crime.
They weren’t identical twins, but at the age of eighteen, on grainy CCTV footage, they’d looked similar enough no one had questioned Thad’s confession. No one had doubted him when he’d signed the paperwork that sent him to prison for five years. Which had, eventually, turned into ten thanks to a choice he’d made once inside.
Thad was still perversely proud of the decision to save his brother.
