Free Hat Trick (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) by Lynn Tyler

flexed them a little, relieved to find they were only stiff. He was going to lose the video game tournament with Nathan and Rachel tomorrow because of the stiffness, but at least they weren’t broken. It would really suck if he couldn’t work on his video games because his hands were in casts. “They’re fine,” he said.
    The doctor shook his head and sighed. “You hockey types. You’d go right back out on that ice after I stitched you up if you didn’t have those penalties, wouldn’t you?”
    Jeremy grinned at that because it, of course, would be exactly what he would do. He reached up, expecting to brush away more blood and was startled to see there wasn’t nearly as much as before. “It’s not so bad,” he said to the doctor. “The blood is already slowing down.”
    The other man gave a long-suffering sigh, letting Jeremy know exactly what he thought of jocks. “I gave you some epinephrine to slow the bleeding so I could at least see what I was doing. The lidocaine has probably had enough time to work now. Tilt your head back a little.”
    Jeremy sat very still as the doctor threaded the needle and began sewing his forehead back together. He knew it wasn’t really serious since the doctor would have sent him to the hospital if he had been worried. However, it still wasn’t a good idea to crack a joke when a man was piercing you with a sharp pin every few seconds.
    By the time the doctor had assured himself that Jeremy had no signs of concussion, that he still had all his teeth, and that all his parts were still working, the game was over and the rest of his team was filing back into the locker room. From the grins on their faces, it was easy to surmise they’d won. Nathan didn’t come into the locker room and was probably talking to the sports reporters just outside the room.
    The goalie, Johnston, plopped down on the bench next to him and spit out his mouth guard to grin at him. “Great fight, rookie!” He bumped fists with him before standing up to begin stripping off his equipment, tossing it on the ground willy-nilly until he stood in nothing but his jock strap. “I don’t care if you’re fucking a dead horse at night. You really manned up out there, and that goal of yours was a beauty. I caught the replay on the big screen just before Matheson decided to dick up.”
    Jeremy watched Johnston head for the showers with bewilderment. Goalies were a strange breed. Anyone who voluntarily stood there and let people shoot ninety-five mile an hour pucks at them had to be just a little crazy. “Fuck a dead horse?” Jeremy said out loud, still trying to wrap his mind around what the goalie had just said.
    “Yeah, don’t mind him. He’s crazy,” Hawkins, a right wing from the second line, called out across the room. “Goalies. Sheesh. But he was right about your fight, dude. You handed Matheson his ass on a silver platter. Caught word that you broke the fucker’s nose. Good for you. Don’t let anyone fuck with you.”
    At least the rest of the team seemed to be back on an even keel with him. No one was looking at him funny. They were slapping him on the back and joking around with him like they had before that wretched column had been released. Hopefully, the coach wouldn’t be too steamed.
    The coach marched into the room as if summoned by the thought. “Reiner, get in here!” he roared, pointing to his office.
    Jeremy shrugged at the others and stood up, taking a few seconds to take off his blood-stained jersey and shrug out of his shoulder pads before joining the red-faced man and closing the door behind him. He stood there, unsure what to do. Should he sit down? He didn’t really want to mess up the leather chair since the sweat was still drying on his back. Maybe he should have taken the time to fully change before coming in to face a seething man. Somehow it didn’t feel right to be standing here half naked. The only thing he wore on his upper body were the suspenders that kept up his