Title: Prove It
Series: Do or Die #1
Author: Stephanie Hoyt
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: 02/27/2024
Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex
Pairing: Male/Male
Length: 87100
Genre: Contemporary, Contemporary, romance, family-drama, new adult, gay, bisexual, sports, hockey team, in the closet, slow burn, rivals to lovers
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Description
Despite being unanimously projected to go first overall in the upcoming NHL Draft, Noah Anderson wants nothing more than to get the Draft over with so he can escape his dad’s unrelenting criticism and establish himself outside the rivalry he’s never tried to fuel.
Alex Valencia can handle getting picked second after a guy touted as the next Gretzky—but he can’t wrap his head around the fact that Noah is the one friend he can’t make.
When the draft lottery all but guarantees they’ll play for rival teams, Alex accidentally walks them right into a loser-buys dinner competition, ensuring their relationship remains a point of interest long after the season begins.
Opposites in so many ways, neither Alex nor Noah expect a relationship built on the begrudging acceptance of a challenge made on live television to become so deeply important to them. But as the line between chirping and flirting blurs, they both must decide how much they’re willing to sacrifice to play in the NHL.
Prove It
Stephanie Hoyt © 2024
All Rights Reserved
Alex joins Anderson at the railing and bumps their shoulders together. “While I’d never complain about getting a moment alone with Canada’s golden boy—”
Anderson makes a dismissive sound.
“Oh, come on. Acknowledging the masses think you’re God’s gift to hockey won’t hurt my feelings.”
Noah wrinkles his nose. “You’re no hand-me-down.”
Alex grins, chest swelling. “Don’t hurt yourself there, bro.”
Anderson scowls, but that’s par for the course and Alex won’t let it deter him. He kicks the sole of Anderson’s shoe. “Seriously, shouldn’t you be off celebrating in a sea of red and white? Why’re you up here?”
Anderson narrows his eyes. “Why’re you?”
He asks Alex some version of this every time they interact, and Alex never has an adequate answer. He gets under Alex’s skin though; makes him want to work a reaction out of him, leaves him aching for a sign he isn’t taking this rivalry so damn seriously.
“Rooftop’s a pretty good place to sit with your failures after losing, don’t you think?”
Anderson rolls his eyes. “You didn’t even bring a scarf.” His gaze drops to Alex’s hands. “Or gloves. You’re not prepared for sulking.”
“Oh, this is nothing.”
Noah scoffs. “Yeah, okay. Aren’t you from—” He takes a beat, eyebrows knitting, mouth pressed in an impossibly thin line. He blows out a sharp breath. “—a non-traditional hockey market?”
He doesn’t think Noah means to be funny, but Alex cackles regardless. “I can’t believe you used ‘non-traditional hockey market’ as a geographical marker.”
“But aren’t you?”
“Texas forever, baby.”
Noah doesn’t smile, but there’s a tiny upward slant to his mouth when he looks back out over the city that keeps Alex there after the silence turns tense. He would usually leave by now, but they were so close to gold and Alex needs a distraction. “Why are you here? You never said.”
Noah doesn’t answer, but he turns back, and despite the beanie pulled low over his ears and the scarf looped around his neck, his cheeks are still rosy from the chill. He looks warm, soft, and entirely too upset for someone who just won gold.
“Hey, I’m the one who lost; you could at least indulge me out of sympathy.”
Anderson exhales sharply and another long moment passes where he seems to fall back on his usual play—icing Alex out until he leaves—before he grimaces and says, “Too loud. Too much t—” He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and his shoulders jump in an aborted sort of shrug. “I don’t know. It’s a lot. I needed a minute.”
Alex doesn’t know what to make of the admission, let alone how to respond, but it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t have time to stumble through asking for a clarification before one of Anderson’s teammates bursts through the rooftop door and saves Alex from prying with a loud shout.
“Finally! Thor said you might be up here.”
He’s as pumped as Alex expected Anderson to be, barely even dimming when he notices Alex.
“Hey, Valencia,” Connor says. At least Alex thinks his name is Connor. It might be Cole. Definitely a C.
“Hey.” Alex moves to leave. “Congratulations on the win.”
“Thanks.” Maybe-Connor slings an arm around Anderson’s shoulders, unperturbed by the way he tenses under the weight. “Come on, man. The boys are asking for you.”
Something twists in Alex’s chest, and he wants to ask—needs to ask. Alex has never seen Anderson flinch away from a hit; has watched him celly with his teammates, just saw Thorn sweep him off his feet. But here, outside the rink, a casual touch has set him on edge and Alex can’t help but wonder if touching is what Noah stopped himself from saying.
Once again, Connor doesn’t give him the chance. He practically drags Anderson inside, and Alex has the inexplicable urge to fling Connor’s arm off Anderson’s stiff shoulders and snap at him for not realizing how uncomfortable he’s making his friend. But no matter his efforts, he and Anderson aren’t friends and Connor is his teammate—if one of them is misreading Anderson, it’s probably not Connor.
Alex’s fingers really are cold, but he shoves his hands in his pockets and stays put, unwilling to get stuck in the elevator with them, and tries not to dwell on what Anderson meant and why today, of all days, he gave Alex an inch.
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Stephanie here! I write romance novels with a magical twist. I live at the intersection of Crying Time™ and Unfettered Enthusiasm™ where I tell stories that blend the melancholy of self-discovery and self-acceptance with the delights of friendship and falling in love. When I write, I’m a plotter with plot-commitment issues who lives and dies by chaotic bisexuals and happily-ever-afters.
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