Chapter Twelve
Eric loved playing against Toronto because he hated Dallas Kent.
Toronto’s star forward had loads of talent but was one of the biggest assholes Eric had ever met. He was obnoxious like Ilya Rozanov, but without any of the charm. Because for all of the talk about what a bad boy Rozanov was, he’d never, to Eric’s knowledge, used slurs on or off the ice, or posted sexist or homophobic jokes on Twitter. Rozanov had a reputation as a ladies man, but he always seemed to treat women—and talk about them —with respect.
Basically the opposite of Dallas fucking Kent.
Eric had a lot of career achievements to be proud of, but his secret favorite might be that he’d never let Kent score on him. Not once. And that wasn’t changing tonight.
Eric noticed that Kent seemed a little quieter tonight than he had been last season. Probably because he didn’t have his protector anymore—Ryan Price had quit hockey in the middle of last season. Frankly, Eric couldn’t blame him; he’d rather drink poison than have to defend Dallas Kent for a living.
Kent might also be quieter tonight because he knew slurs weren’t going to fly with Scott Hunter’s team. If he dared utter anything even remotely homophobic, the New York Admirals entire roster would come crashing down on him. It hadn’t been a completely smooth road for the team since Scott came out—a few players had felt blindsided and uncomfortable by Scott’s very public announcement—but now, over two years later, there wasn’t a single man on the team who wouldn’t defend their captain.
Eric didn’t miss the way Kent glared at Scott on the ice, though. The sneers. Kent was a piece of shit.
And he probably wasn’t a fan of all the rainbow flags.
Since Scott came out, every arena the Admirals played in would have at least a couple of rainbow flags in the crowd. Sometimes there would be homemade signs thanking Scott, or proposing marriage to him. The flags might be for Scott, but Eric was heartened by them too. It was nice to feel
supported, even if the fans didn’t know they were showing support for him, specifically.
He wondered how many other players secretly felt that way. Maybe some of homophobic Dallas Kent’s unfortunate teammates. He remembered, again, that Ryan Price was gay, and it had been his job to protect Kent. How was Kent even still alive?
Eric narrowed his eyes at Kent as the asshole waited to take the face-off.
“You see that guy? He doesn’t get a thing past us tonight, all right?” His goalposts were silent, but Eric was pretty sure they understood their orders.
Fortunately, Scott won the face-off and the puck was carried quickly to the opposite end of the ice. Eric stood up straight and shook out his shoulders, which had been tight for the past couple of days.
“Pass it to Carter, he’s all alone over there,” Eric muttered. But instead Scott took a shot that was deflected, and now Kent was racing toward Eric with the puck. “Okay, fellas. Remember what I said. He gets nothing by us.”
Matti caught up with Kent, so Kent dropped the puck back to his linemate, Troy Barrett, who Eric had always secretly thought of as “Dallas Kent-light.” He was almost as talented, and almost as gross. At least, Eric assumed he was because he was known to be tight with Kent, and Eric didn’t think someone could be friends with Kent unless they were a shitty person too.
So Troy Barrett wasn’t allowed to score on him either.
Barrett was forced to turn back to the blue line with the puck so the Toronto forwards could regroup.
“Watch Aucoin!” Eric yelled, because the only Toronto forward who wasn’t a superstar was being left wide open. “Get on him!”
Matti heard him and went to cover him, but not before Barrett got the puck to Aucoin. Eric went to the corner of the net and waited. He was known for his patience, for being excellent at waiting the opponent out and forcing them to move first. He did this now, and was rewarded with a flick of Aucoin’s gaze that told Eric exactly where he planned to shoot it. If Aucoin had been a more intelligent player, like Ilya Rozanov or Shane Hollander or, hell, Dallas fucking Kent, Eric would have to decide if that shift in his gaze was a bluff. But Aucoin was more predictable, and he shot the puck exactly where Eric expected him to: high on the glove side. An easy save.
Kent bumped into him right after Eric caught the puck, knocking Eric back so his shoulders slammed against the crossbar of the net. It fucking hurt.
Eric shoved him back, hard. “Real fucking nice, shithead.”
Matti and Scott were both there too. “Get the fuck off of him!” Scott yelled, grabbing Kent.
Kent shook him off, then shoved him, “Don’t fucking touch me, Hunter.”
He made a disgusted face, as if Scott were a pile of rotting meat, and tried to knock Scott’s hand away. Scott held tight and pulled him closer. Kent looked horrified, as if Scott was going to kiss him or something.
“Let go of me, you—” Kent cut himself off just in time.
“You what?” Scott yelled in his face. “You what? Finish your fucking sentence.”
“All right, that’s enough.” One of the refs arrived to separate them. “Go to your benches now or you both get penalties.”
“Finish your sentence!” Scott yelled again, over the ref’s shoulder at Kent’s retreating back.
“Hey.” Eric shook his glove off and put a hand on Scott’s arm. “Forget about him.”
Scott was a sweetheart most of the time, but he could turn violent on the ice if someone got to him enough. He was a big guy—over six feet tall and made of muscle—so he could do a lot of damage when wanted to.
“I hate that fucking guy,” Scott said. His voice was calmer now, so the ref
released him.
“We all hate him,” Eric said.
“No comment,” the ref muttered, then skated away.
Eric noticed, then, that Troy Barrett was standing a couple of meters away, watching them. He didn’t look menacing at all. In fact he looked...embarrassed? Certainly uncomfortable.
Eric flipped his mask up and shot him a questioning glance. Troy opened
his mouth, closed it, then skated away.
Toronto was a team of weirdos.
Eric drank some water and got ready for the face-off that would be happening right in front of him. “And that,” he told his goal posts, “is why we don’t let Kent score on us.”
It was too bad that Kent was such a shithead homophobe, because Toronto had a large and vibrant queer community. It would be nice if their
star hockey player was a better role model.
Kyle had suggested that Eric go out while he was in Toronto. Check out one of the many gay bars and find, in Kyle’s words, some sexy Canadian sweetheart to keep him warm. Eric was definitely not going to do that, and he tried not to think about the possibility that Kyle was looking for his own bed warmer tonight back in New York. Eric would much rather replay their kiss in his head. And fantasize about Kyle’s offer to do more.
More. There was no way that was a good idea.
Also not a good idea: daydreaming about sex with Kyle while in the middle of a hockey game.
The play had been at the other end, but Toronto was charging back toward Eric with the puck now.
“Here we go, fellas,” Eric told his posts. “I’ll do my job, you do yours.”
The shot came from an unexpected angle. Eric had positioned himself to block a low shot from his right-hand side, but the puck was passed at the last second. Eric tried to slide over to stop it, but the shot was high and
sailed over his blocker.
Ping!
That sound, that glorious sound, was Eric’s favorite in the whole universe. The crisp chime of a puck hitting the post and deflecting away from the net was a chorus of angels to a goaltender. If Eric made it to old age, he wanted that sound playing on a loop next to his deathbed as he passed.
The disappointed groan of the Toronto crowd that followed the ping was also a pretty excellent sound.
“Thanks, pal,” Eric said, once the play had moved out of his end of the ice. He gave the post a loving pat.
Okay. Focus, Eric. He couldn’t count on the posts to save his ass a second time, so he needed to clear his head.
Win this game, he told himself, and you can think about Kyle all you like when you’re back in your hotel room.
He didn’t feel good about using something that pathetic as motivation, but it worked. Toronto didn’t score again, and New York won the game.
Kyle: I found someone for you.
Eric squinted at the message on his phone screen. Normally he’d be asleep at this hour, especially after a game, but he’d been restless tonight.
He wondered if Kyle was at work right now. He wondered what made him text.
Oh. Right. He found someone. As in, someone for Eric to date who wasn’t Kyle. Eric ignored the way his stomach clenched at that idea.
Eric: Who?
Kyle: I don’t know his name yet. But he’s perfect for you.
Eric laughed into the dark hotel room and pulled himself up a bit so he could lean on his elbow.
Eric: Sounds amazing. He hoped his sarcasm was clear.
Kyle: He’s definitely in his thirties, cute as hell, and I overheard him say he’s a vegetarian.
Right. Because dietary preferences were the number one thing Eric was attracted to.
Eric: He’s a customer?
Kyle: Yes. I think he was on a date tonight but it didn’t go well. Now he’s sitting by himself.
Eric: You were spying on a customer while he was on a date?
Kyle: I just bring the drinks! I can’t control what I hear!
There was a long pause, and then Kyle wrote, I also took a pic of him.
Eric groaned. It was week one of being a bisexual man on the prowl and this was already getting way out of hand.
Eric: That’s creepy.
Kyle didn’t reply. Eric sighed and wrote, Send it.
A few seconds later Eric was looking at a dark and slightly blurry photo of a man sitting at a table, turned so he was in profile. It was hard to tell, but he did look like he might be handsome. Tidy, brown hair, nice clothes, and, yes, he appeared to be reasonably close to Eric’s age.
Eric: Shouldn’t you be working?
Kyle: I’m on my break!
Oh. Eric couldn’t help but be touched that Kyle was spending his break talking to him. And spending his evening trying to find Eric a date.
Eric: He does look nice.
Kyle: I wish you were in town. You could slide into that empty chair and ask him his name.
The back of Eric’s neck heated just thinking about that.
Eric: And then what would I say?
Kyle: Normal stuff?
Eric had no idea what normal stuff was when it came to flirting.
Kyle: Let’s practice. I’ll be him. You be you.
Eric: That’s not necessary.
Kyle: So you don’t need the practice?
Eric grimaced. He definitely needed the practice. He sighed and wrote, Fine. So I sit down and say, “Hi. I’m Eric.”
Kyle: Solid start. Ok. I’m shaking your hand and saying “I’m Neil.
Nice to meet you, Eric.”
Eric: Neil? Really?
Kyle: Yes. Why are you making fun of my name, dickbag?
Eric laughed, then wrote, Sorry, Neil. It’s a lovely name.
Kyle: I’m named after my grandfather.
Wow. Kyle was going deep on this character.
Eric: Oh. That’s...neat.
Kyle: He was the first man to walk on the moon.
Eric threw his head back on the pillow and barked out a loud laugh. He was relieved that Kyle wasn’t taking this little exercise too seriously.
Eric: Wow. That’s amazing.
Kyle: ANYWAY. What do you do, Eric? You look familiar for some reason.
Eric: I play hockey for the New York Admirals.
Kyle: Holy shit! Do you know Scott Hunter?
Eric: I’m afraid so.
Kyle: He’s really hot.
Eric: Yes. He’s wonderful. And engaged.
If this was supposed to be helping Eric learn how to flirt, it wasn’t working. He decided to take control.
Eric: Are you here alone?
Kyle: Not anymore. He punctuated it with a winky face emoji.
Eric had no idea what to say next. It was hard to flirt with an imaginary person. Maybe if he called the imaginary person Kyle in his head...
Eric: You have beautiful eyes. Hey, there was nothing wrong with stealing lines from that Alex guy. Besides, Kyle did have beautiful eyes.
Kyle: I’ll bet you say that to all the boys.
Eric: I really don’t.
Kyle: I like your eyes too. And the way you’re looking at me right now.
Eric wasn’t actually looking at anyone right now, but he still felt the urge to avert his gaze. He wrote, I’ve been looking at you all night.
Kyle: I’ve been looking at you too. I was hoping you might notice me.
Eric: Oh yeah? Why’s that?
Kyle: Because I think you might be a good kisser. I want to test that theory.
Eric absently brushed a thumb over his lips as he considered his reply.
Eric: I can help you with that.
In this imagined scenario, there would be a table between himself and, um, Neil. Not conducive to kissing. He was trying to figure out a smooth way to suggest leaving the table when Kyle wrote, I only live a couple of blocks away.
Oh. Okay. Well, this is where things would get awkward. It was where things were getting awkward, right now.
Eric: I’m not really into hookups.
Kyle’s reply seemed to take forever.
Kyle: That’s cool. Is there anything you might be into with me?
Eric: Can I buy you another drink? Maybe we could talk for a bit?
Kyle: I’d love that.
Eric grinned at his phone, wondering if “Neil” would actually be this easygoing. He also wondered if Kyle was playing a part, or just playing himself. Is that how he would truly react if a man suggested they have another drink instead of rushing off to have sex?
Except now Eric wasn’t sure what to write. Was he supposed to go to the bar and buy “Neil” a drink, or just keep talking? This was weird.
Eric: So then what happens?
Kyle: Are you asking me, or Neil?
Eric: You.
Kyle: You buy Neil a drink, and then you lose track of time talking to each other. It goes really well. You definitely want to see him again.
Eric: OK. So should I ask him to have dinner with me sometime?
Kyle: You can try.
Eric snorted, and wrote, I’d love to see you again. Would you like to have dinner sometime?
Kyle: Definitely. Let me give you my number.
Well, that wasn’t so hard. Eric found himself staring at those last two lines, and how much it looked like he had just successfully asked Kyle on a date.
Kyle: You still there?
Eric: Yes. Sorry. Wasn’t sure what to say.
Kyle: You must be awesome at sexting.
Eric laughed and wrote, I have never even tried.
Kyle: Well, if you ever want to practice...
Practice. There was that offer again.
Eric: I came out to Scott.
Kyle: Yay! How’d it go?
Eric: Great. He was very supportive, of course.
Kyle: Of course.
Eric steeled himself. It was time to bring up the thing he’d been obsessing over for days.
Eric: I’ve been thinking about your offer.
Kyle: Oh?
Eric: I’m back in town on Wednesday night. I have Thursday off.
He held his breath as he waited for a response.
Kyle: Oh yeah?
Eric: Come over for dinner?
Kyle: Dinner or “dinner”?
Eric’s stomach fluttered. He wanted to be bold and confirm the latter, but he still wasn’t sure he was ready.
Eric: Let’s start with dinner.
Kyle: And if we’re still hungry after...
Eric bit his lip and wrote, I’ll text you when I’m back in town.
Goodnight.
Kyle sent a kissy face emoji. Eric didn’t send anything back because emojis always felt silly to him.
So Eric had a possible date with Kyle. Or rather, a possible scheduled platonic sex session. Ugh, that was a depressing way of thinking about it.
He was maybe going to have sex with Kyle. Possibly anal sex, which was both thrilling and scary to think about. It was something he had never done with Holly—giving or receiving—but he’d done a bit of experimenting with his own fingers. Enough to know that he wanted more.
Eric wished Scott were the type of friend he could talk about sex with, because he’d like someone to relieve his anxiety about having sex with a man. Eric wondered if Scott’s shyness about sex carried to the bedroom, or if he was secretly a sex god.
Okay. That right there was proof that Eric needed this scheduled platonic sex session. He should definitely not be thinking about his best friend, and captain’s, sexual personality.
He let his thoughts drift back to Kyle, which wasn’t difficult. His imagination supplied a vision of Kyle gazing down at him, his eyes hooded and his pink lips shiny and slack with desire as Eric took his cock into his mouth. Eric had never done that, but god, he wanted to.
He jerked himself off quickly, as usual, and felt a lot more ready for sleep after he finished. He cleaned up in the bathroom, and when he returned to the bed he saw his phone had a new message.
Kyle: His name is Sebastian. I wasn’t even close.