Hotshot (The Elmwood Stories #5) Read Online Lane Hayes

Categories Genre: M-M Romance, Sports Tags Authors: Series: The Elmwood Stories Series by Lane Hayes
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Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 80035 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
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“Sorry about that. I—Denny.”

And this, right here, was what I’d hoped to avoid. My pulse raced and my hands went clammy as I drank in the sight of him like a man dying of thirst.

He looked sexy as always in his black joggers, snug tee, and a Condors ball cap, his longish hair spilling out the sides. The desire to touch him was so strong—a brush of fingers or elbows…something, anything.

“Hey.” He cleared his throat and inclined his head toward the bakery. “I just dropped Grams off.”

“Coffee.” I pointed at my cup awkwardly.

“My next stop.”

“Good call.” I stepped around him. “I should⁠—”

“Come to the scrimmage,” he blurted. “I heard Riley and he’s right…you should come.”

I swallowed hard. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“It’s a great idea. Everyone will be there and…you’re kind of a hero in town.”

“They’re just impressed that I know how to operate a forklift,” I snarked.

“I’m impressed too.” Denny’s lips curled on one side.

“Yeah, well…”

“Come by,” he whispered. “One last time…please.”

The urgency in his tone was my undoing. Or maybe I was charmed by the contrast of his boyish shrug and masculine jocklike aura. It wasn’t smart and I knew it would hurt, but I couldn’t say no.

“Okay.”

24

DENNY

Ihad a bad week. Like super sucky.

All I could think about was Hank. I thought about him constantly and heard about him all over town. He’d become a mini celebrity with locals who were impressed with how he’d handled the situation at the mill. Suddenly, everyone was talking about him.

“Hank Cunningham is just what the Four Forest area needs.”

“Hank’s a good man.”

“Oh, my gosh, he’s dreamy too.”

Yeah, I agreed. He hadn’t needed my help. He’d done it himself. I wanted to tell Hank I was proud of him, but I wasn’t sure he’d want to hear from me. And to be honest, I was a little angry with him. He’d blindsided me, told me he loved me, and now I didn’t know what to think.

A week of meetings in New York, Philly, and Denver, smiling for the press and assuring everyone I was ready for whatever the fuck came next, and I was mentally and physically depleted. I’d come to the conclusion that I didn’t know how to just be…happy.

My value, my purpose, my reason was hockey. What else did I have?

I had friends, I had a home, I had Grams. That should have been enough, but I wanted more.

I wanted Hank.

I admit it, I was greedy. My agent was more excited than me about contract negotiations and PR, and I couldn’t have cared less.

“That’s it! We’re set. I’ll meet you in Denver on Tuesday,” McD said. “We’ll chat before the press conference and get our ducks in a row. You don’t have to say much. Something simple about how happy you are to stay in Denver will work. Any questions?”

There was that word again…happy.

I fiddled with my AirPod and sank onto a bench in the empty locker room at the El Rink. “No.”

“Great. Sounds like we’re ready to go. Talk to you soon, Den.”

I disconnected the call and picked up a roll of tape, spinning it idly on one finger as I checked out the familiar surroundings with its lingering aroma of sweaty jocks and ammonia. I rested my elbows on my knees, tossing the tape as I formulated a speech in my head. Not for the press. This one was for Elmwood.

I didn’t know how much I’d share, but I knew it was time to speak up.

The Elmwood Juniors’ end of camp scrimmages were a highlight every year. We hosted playoff games between our winningest teams and a skills competition where players could show off their stick-handling ability, shooting accuracy, and speed.

The final event was the coach’s game, featuring visiting pros and the El Rink and Elmwood High hockey staff, which consisted of former pros who in some cases had been retired for a decade or longer. It was supposed to be fun and silly. No one wanted to risk injury. Or as Smitty put it, “If I have to take ice baths for a month after this, I will be fucking pissed.”

We taunted each other good-naturedly on the ice and tried to deliver an entertaining show for the parents and teens. And the entire Four Forest area, along with a contingent from the press.

Our audience ate it up.

Jake, Trinsky, and I skated circles around Vinnie, Riley, Court, and Smitty, showing off our NHL prowess while the older guys hammed it up. Vinnie played air guitar in between puck drops and Smitty made up a ridiculous dance that had the crowd roaring with laughter. It was hysterical, and it reminded me to stop taking myself so seriously and just have fun. So I did.

I showed off my speed, slowing at the net to pass to Jake. At the last second, I deked past Vinnie instead and buried the shot myself.


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