Chapter Four
Anthony
I love the environment at the arena. It’s loud, passionate, and everything in between. The floor feels like it vibrates with each and every cheer, making my heart jump up and down inside my chest.
Hayes is on my left, Donovan on my right. When they found out I was coming, Rylan got seats for them too, the three of us so close to the action that I almost feel like I’m out there with the team.
Rylan’s line is on the ice. He’s the right defenseman for the Rebels and currently battling one of Seattle’s wingers for the puck. Rylan slams him into the boards, Hayes’s hand slapping down on my thigh and squeezing with maybe a little too much intensity.
“Ouch. Shit.”
“Oh my God. I’m so sorry! More apologies later!
” he says, not taking his eyes off Rylan as he keeps fighting for the puck.
From what Hayes has said, he hated hockey before he started dating Rylan—and not just because he’d been at a hockey game when he’d proposed to Malcolm, gone viral, and all our lives had never been the same.
But now? Now he might be hockey’s biggest fan.
He’s at least Rylan Pierce’s biggest fan, which I can totally understand.
Rylan gets the puck from Seattle and takes off down the ice. He sends a fast tape-to-tape pass toward Volkov, who immediately takes a shot on goal, the puck flying over Seattle’s goalie’s right shoulder. The crowd goes wild, all of us on our feet when the lamp lights up.
“Hell yes! Good job, baby!” Hayes shouts as Rylan skates toward the bench, pointing his stick at Hayes, which is maybe one of the most romantic things I’ve ever seen.
Between Rylan and Hayes and Donovan and Eric, I’m surrounded by romance—the real thing—something I haven’t seen much of in my life. I’m happy for them, and it makes me feel mushy inside. For those who want love, it seems pretty great.
“So how did you end up with Mads getting you a ticket for the game?” Donovan asks during the first intermission, where the Rebels are up one to zero.
“We went out to dinner the other night, and he asked me if I wanted to come.”
“What?” Hayes practically gasps.
“What, what?” I ask.
“You know what,” Donovan says. “You didn’t tell us you went on a date with Mads.”
What are they even talking about? “That’s because I didn’t. He asked if I wanted to try this new restaurant on La Cienega, and I said yes.”
“Sounds like a date to me.” Hayes cocks a brow, giving me his serious face.
“I’ve gone out to a meal with each of you, and that wasn’t a date,” I remind them. My response seems to stump them, but for a reason I can’t explain, I’m not as happy about that as I should be.
“That’s different,” Donovan replies.
I look back and forth between them. “How is it different?” No way Kason Maddox asked me on a date. I would know if he’d asked me on a date. I might not be boyfriend material, but I’ve had enough experience with men to know that.
“It just…is,” Hayes replies.
“Compelling argument you have there.”
“Because it would be perfect if you and Mads became boyfriends and then we’d all live happily ever after?” Donovan says it like it’s a question.
“Being in a relationship with someone isn’t the only way to have an HEA,” I tell them. “Unless you’re reading a romance novel.”
“Right?” Hayes asks.
“Exactly.” The three of us chuckle. “Seriously, though, I know the two of you have noticed we’ve become friendly. It’s…nice, having someone else to hang out with. Someone I can trust.”
“I’m glad you have him,” Donovan tells me.
“I guess if you’re not going to date, friends is the next best thing.” Hayes playfully nudges me. “I’m joking, in case you can’t tell.”
“I can.” I wrap an arm around him and give him a hug.
Intermission ends, and I can’t stop myself from watching as Kason skates onto the ice. He looks over and waves. I have one of those TV moments where I want to look behind me to see if he’s waving at someone else before I remind myself how ridiculous that is.
Kason is my friend. Of course he would wave at me. I’m being really fucking weird right now. Maybe it’s because of Hayes and Donovan’s wishful thinking.
Hockey immediately takes me out of my thoughts, Seattle winning the face-off.
They fly down the ice toward Kason, their right winger flicking the puck toward their left, who takes a shot.
For a second, I think it gets past Kason’s gloved hand that shot out faster than anyone has a right to be able to move, but the lamp doesn’t light up.
Holy shit. He’d batted the puck, and Stevens is there to get it, the Rebels heading down, trying to score.
Both teams take shots as the game progresses, neither able to get it into the net until Tremblay intercepts the puck, making a forward hand pass to Kennedy. The black disk flies so quickly, I can hardly keep up with it, but the crowd cheers, everyone on their feet as the Rebels score again.
It’s a rough game after that, intense and quick as Seattle works their asses off to get a score on the board, but I swear I can feel the determination pouring off Kason.
He’s everywhere he needs to be at the exact moment, and when the final bell buzzes, I’m screaming at the top of my lungs for his shutout, heart breakdancing against the walls of my chest.
After the game, Donovan heads straight home to his husband, but Hayes and I stick around. I’m not sure why I am, but then, Kason did get me this ticket, and I don’t want to bail on him without saying thanks.
Me: That was fucking amazing.
Mads: One more infinity point for me.
Me: Is that what we’re calling them now?
Mads: I’m feeling pretty invincible tonight, so I can say that. You have plans?
Me: Nah, I’m free. Wanna do dinner?
I mean, I do owe him after the other night.
Mads: I’d rather stay in if you don’t mind.
Me: A new episode of Sunset Boulevard dropped.
Mads: God, you’re fucking perfect. I’ll meet you at your place?
I’ve never met a guy so into queer drama shows in my life, but I’m here for it. The same is boring, and Kason Maddox is anything but the same.
Me: Sounds good.
I say my goodbyes to Hayes and head to my car.
Traffic isn’t quite as bad as it would have been if I’d come right when it was over, but it still takes me longer than I’d hoped to get back to my apartment.
I change into a pair of shorts and a tank top, and I’m just looking through my fridge to see if there is anything I can make us for a late dinner, when there’s a knock at the door.
My lips automatically curl into a smile.
When I pull the door open, Kason is there, wet hair peeking from under his hat, and he’s wearing a grin of his own.
“You hungry? I assume you ate before the game, but you probably worked up an appetite while earning yourself a shutout.”
He smirks. “I did, and I’m fucking starving.”
“I don’t have a ton, but I think I have the stuff to whip up a quick Alfredo sauce if you like that.”
“Is there anyone who doesn’t like Alfredo?” He comes inside.
“I would assume there must be someone, but they clearly have bad taste. Good thing we don’t.”
Kason grins. “No, we don’t. Teach me? I’ve never made Alfredo sauce from scratch.”
I nearly stumble at his request. He wants me to teach him how to cook something? I’ve never had a guy ask me that. “Sure.”
We go to the kitchen together and wash our hands. He’s wearing athletic pants and a black Rebels T-shirt that hugs his muscles just right, the miles and miles of lean muscle and taut skin and—No! I won’t do this. I won’t sexualize my friend.
“Okay, chef. What’s first?”
“Definitely not a chef. There’s not a lot I know how to make, but this is one thing I can handle. I’ll get the ingredients out. It’s actually really easy. Butter”—I pull it out and name each ingredient as I grab it—“heavy cream, garlic, parmesan. I sometimes add Romano.”
“Where are the pots?” Mads asks, and I point to the cabinet. He gets out one for the sauce and one for the pasta, putting water in that one and getting it going.
“Let’s let that boil before we start the sauce. How are you feeling, Mr. Shutout?”
“Like, you should call me that every time we see each other.”
“Only when you earn it.” My voice comes out sultrier and flirtier than intended, and I repeat to myself one of my Anthony Commandments—thou shall not flirt with your new friend.
“Guess I’ll have to do that, then.” He crosses his arms and leans against the counter. “Do you like to cook?”
“Not necessarily. I don’t dislike it, though. It’s just a thing that needs to be done.”
“I hear you. I’m the same. I must admit I get a lot of my meals pre-prepped. It makes it easier. They know my macros during the season and—”
“This isn’t in your macros.”
He chuckles. “I know. I can be a rule breaker.”
“Nope.” I shake my head. “You, Kason Maddox, are a rule follower. I can tell.”
He drops his head back. “Ugh. That’s just as bad as calling me a nice guy. I’m doomed.”
“You have infinity points and keep getting more, remember? You’re definitely not doomed.”
“Well, if you say it, then I have to believe it.” He quirks a brow, and I swear, for a moment it almost feels like he’s flirting with me.
It’s an absolutely wild thing to imagine.
I don’t think I’m his type at all, so I pack those thoughts away and send them out priority express.
The last thing I want to do is fuck this up.
“It’s time to put the pasta in the pot, suck-up.” I walk over to the pantry and grab it from the shelf.
“You sure have a lot of names for me.”
“I guess that’s my thing for you. Do you want me to stop?”
“No. It’s fun never knowing what you’re going to call me next.”
“You’ve got some strange kinks,” I tease.
He salts and adds the pasta to the water, and we chat for a while longer, waiting until it’s close to being done.
“Let’s get going on the sauce now. We start with melting the butter.” I reach for a knife, but he puts his hand on top of mine.
“Hey, I get to do this. You instruct. I’m a hands-on learner.”