3. Allen
Allen didn’t know how he found himself in these types of situations.
Actually, he was pretty sure sitting in a car with two hockey players in their twenties was a new one for him, since he had spent the majority of his life avoiding the shit out of jock-types.
He blamed his hatred of hockey on his sister, who had put on skates when she was three and had never stopped talking about it.
And because she was the younger sibling and he had to set a good example for her, that meant Allen had been forced to endure the woes of ice, bruised ribs, and awkward locker room encounters until he was old enough to put his fucking foot down.
His parents hadn’t taken the fact that their thirteen-year-old son was uninterested in sports with grace. They tried to push him no matter how hard he cried, which only earned him groundings and talks about how much of a disappointment he was.
And their refusal to let him be who he was—a nerdy kid who wanted to play video games, thank you very much—was ultimately what made him want to run away. Which he did, again, and again.
And again.
And now he was sitting in a car, joined by two hockey players and their stinky gear while one snickered in the back, and the other glared at the road whenever the tires slipped on the slush.
Correction, two young hockey players.
Allen had thought they were part of a beer league when he saw the older guys in their group, but at twenty-three?
No. They were young enough to be in college.
Were they in college?
Fuck, were they playing professional hockey, or just horsing around with their strange group of friends?
“You’re not saying anything,” said the tall, gorgeous mannequin humper named Jake.
Allen reluctantly took his eyes off the road so he could stare at the broody man’s striking profile. “I mean, neither are you.”
Another round of snickering from the back had Allen frowning, which in turn made Jake frown.
Allen was completely unprepared when Jake’s hand left the steering wheel, and his arm swung out to lay tightly across his chest. He almost shoved the arm away, but then Jake hit the car brakes hard enough to send the guy sitting behind Allen crashing into the passenger seat with a loud thump.
“Ow! What the fuck, Mouse? You trying to brain me?”
The arm was removed, and Allen drew in a deep breath because his lungs had apparently forgotten what their job was when Jake touched him.
The car began moving again, and the curses from the backseat nearly drowned out the sound of the purring engine.
“Impossible.”
Allen wasn’t sure what Jake was talking about, but his friend didn’t seem to have the same problem.
“If you’re saying I don’t have brains—”
“I’m saying nothing,” said Jake.
His voice was very monotone, but even in the dark of the car, Allen could see his mouth slowly curving into a smile.
They were annoyingly cute for jocks, but there was one thing Allen didn’t understand.
“Mouse?” he asked and then braced himself for the answer.
Jake’s frown turned more severe. “My nickname. They call me that because I’m as quiet as a mouse.”
“Oh shit,” said Allen, smacking a hand over his mouth to keep his laughter muffled. “That makes sense, I guess?”
Allen couldn’t tell if Jake approved of the nickname or not because his expression was hard to read, but he thought it was cute. Being named after a small, fluffy animal when you were over 6’5 was hilarious, and he had a feeling the jokester in the back had something to do with it.
“Are you two friends or just hockey friends?” Allen asked, motioning toward the man in the back. “You seem pretty close.”
“Best friend,” said Jake. “I’ve been suffering since the day he learned how to talk.”
A head popped up beside him, sporting a nice smile and dark blond hair. “My name is Riley. Sorry if I’m interrupting your date.”
Date?
“This isn’t a date,” said Allen.
Jake made a distinct growling sound and shoved Riley’s head away hard enough that there was another thump and a curse.
“Suffering,” Jake emphasized. “But I need him. He’s a good forward.”
Ugh. Time to talk hockey.
“Do you play professionally?”
Jake shrugged. “Riley is on the farm team for the Halifax Citadels. I wasn’t allowed to go any further than Major Junior because my father wouldn’t let me, and also because I kept injuring myself.”
Allen would have loved to have a father who wouldn’t let him play hockey. That would have been the dream.
“So, you play beer league hockey,” said Allen, already piecing the puzzle together. It explained why the two young guys had been hanging out with a group of scruffy old ones.
“You like hockey?” Jake asked, shifting his gaze from the road to give Allen a hopeful look.
No, Allen hated hockey. He hated it so much he could—
“Yeah, I like hockey,” said Allen.
What the fuck was wrong with him? He didn’t know why he was getting Jake’s hopes up when this would be the last conversation they had. It’s not like he had a chance with the sexy, young idiot.
“Come watch me play,” said Jake. “Riley joins us on the weekends.”
No.
“Sure.” Allen smiled, though he thought it probably looked more like a grimace. “If you promise not to come to my workplace and make a mess of my underwear.”
The car swerved, and Allen let out a startled cry, and his hands flew for the holy shit handle. He was so distracted by thoughts of dying that he didn’t process the words he had said until Jake regained control of the car.
Why had he worded it like that?!
One glance at Jake’s face told him the man was the colour of a goddamn tomato, and the muffled breaths from the back hinted at Riley having a fucking breakdown too.
This is why Allen didn’t socialize. He wanted to slam his head against the window until he knocked some sense into his dumb brain.
Fortunately for everyone involved, they arrived at Allen’s destination five minutes later, which meant he could run away and forget this ever happened.
“Thank you for the drive,” Allen squeaked, hands fumbling for the handle to open the door. “I would love to stay and chat, but I have…things. So many things.”
Then the door was open, and Allen was out of the car and free. He didn’t turn around to say goodbye, choosing instead to run to his apartment like a coward—which he was.
The sound of a car door opening and closing behind him sent a thrill of cold fear through his body, and he turned to see Jake walking toward him. He wasn’t wearing a winter jacket, just a grey hoodie with a logo on it that Allen didn’t recognize.
He stared Allen down as he approached, and if he didn’t know any better, he would have said he was definitely about to get murdered.
Allen walked backward toward the lobby doors, too scared to take his eyes off the tall and imposing man following him. He felt like he was a rabbit in the woods being chased by a hungry wolf, because Jake’s expression was intense enough to set his pulse racing.
Allen’s back hit the lobby door, but Jake didn’t stop until he was standing in front of him, making him have to crane his neck upward to meet his gaze.
“Wh-What do you want?” Allen asked, cringing at how breathless and scared he sounded.
Jake removed his hand from his pocket, bringing his phone along with it. “Number,” said Jake. “You said you would come to my game.”
He had said that, hadn’t he?
There was no way to escape, not with Jake practically pinning him to the door, so Allen relented and took the phone. He jammed his number into a contact as quickly as he could, wanting to remove himself from the situation as soon as possible.
He was scowling when he thrust the phone into Jake’s chest, snapping his hand back before Jake had a chance to touch him.
“You’re really into guys?” Allen asked, cursing himself for saying it as soon as he opened his mouth.
Jake gave another of his nonchalant shrugs. “I’m into you.”
There was a stuttering in his frantic heartbeat, and for once, Allen had no snarky comeback.
Jake noticed his hesitation, and his lips instantly curved into a wicked smirk. Allen held still as knuckles brushed over his heated cheeks, caressing him gently.
“Pretty,” said Jake.
Yeah, Allen knew he was pretty, but it was different hearing it from a guy who was a thousand times out of his league.
Jake pulled his hand away, still smirking as he gave Allen a goodbye nod. “I’ll text you.”
Allen swallowed to wet his dry mouth before he could speak. “Okay.”
Really? That was the best he could manage?
Jake huffed a laugh and strode back to his car with a confident swagger, which only lasted until his feet slipped on a patch of ice.
Laughter stuck in Allen’s throat as he watched Jake sheepishly get back into his fancy car, followed by the sound of Riley’s laughter before the engine revved and he sped off.
Allen continued to stand in the cold, unsure how to process the events of the last hour. He was still trying to wrap his brain around Jake’s interest in him when he finally went inside, and the thoughts carried into his apartment, shower and lastly, his bed.
They weren’t dating. Allen hadn’t agreed to anything beyond names, drives and numbers, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had been cornered.
Like a rabbit hiding in its den, knowing eventually it would have to leave and face the wolf waiting outside.