Chapter Four #3
Ilya pointed at a chalkboard beside the bar that advertised the drink special that hadn’t changed in over two years. “I would like a Scott Hunter. Please.”
Scott groaned. “Just bring him a beer, Kyle. He’s being an asshole.”
“Have you had it?” Ilya asked Eric.
“No.”
“I want to try it. And bring one for Bennett.”
Eric caught Kyle’s gaze and shook his head. “I don’t—”
“I can make one without alcohol,” Kyle offered.
Ilya looked delighted. “Yes! A virgin Scott Hunter.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Scott grumbled.
“You don’t have to,” Eric said. “I’m fine.”
“I never got to make you that mocktail the other night.” Kyle placed a hand on Eric’s shoulder. “I was watching you show off on television earlier. Let me show you what I’m good at.”
Eric swallowed so hard the rest of the table must have heard it. There was that fizzy feeling he’d been chasing. “Okay.”
Kyle grabbed their empty glasses, then left with a wink at Ilya. Eric hated how jealous he was of that wink. Ilya didn’t even react beyond his usual infuriating half smile.
Scott stood up. “I’m gonna hit the men’s room.”
He lingered a moment before leaving, which left him vulnerable for a Rozanov attack. “Are you hoping for company?”
Scott scowled. “No.” He turned and left, and Eric had to bite his cheek to keep from laughing. His amusement didn’t last, because as soon as Scott was gone, Ilya started on Eric.
“Kyle seems nice.”
Eric kept his expression as neutral as possible. “He is.”
For a long moment, Ilya didn’t say anything. He just quietly studied Eric, as if searching for a weak spot. “He is attractive.”
“I suppose.”
“He looks like Hunter a bit. But younger.” He paused, and grinned. “Much younger.”
Eric’s expression got a whole lot less neutral. He didn’t reply, so Ilya kept going. “Is like if Scott Hunter had a younger brother. And that brother had a son.”
Eric did not like anything that Ilya was implying. “He seems to like you,” he volleyed back, hating that it was true.
Ilya shook his head. “This table is a mess.”
“What do you mean?”
Ilya leaned forward, uncomfortably close to Eric. “You want to fuck Kyle. Kyle wants to fuck Hunter’s boyfriend, but maybe also you, since Hunter and his boyfriend do not see anyone but each other.”
“I do not!” Eric sputtered, even though he was pretty sure everything Rozanov had just said was true. Jesus this asshole was perceptive. “I barely even know him. And I’m not—I’m just here with Scott.”
“Yes.” Ilya’s eyes darted to where Eric’s left hand rested on the table. “Also, you are wearing a wedding ring but have no wife.”
Eric covered his left hand protectively with his right “I like wearing it. I’ve worn it my entire NHL career, and it doesn’t feel right to take it off. Not when I only—” He stopped himself just in time. Or at least, he’d thought he had.
“Not when you only have this season left,” Ilya finished for him. God, Eric hadn’t told anyone that yet. He was planning to announce it after the Christmas break, maybe.
“Don’t say a word to anyone, Rozanov.”
Ilya leaned back in his chair. “Is not going to shock people, Bennett. You are very old.”
“Thanks.”
“Tommy Andersson will be happy.”
Eric spotted Scott coming back from the bathroom. “Shush. I mean it.”
Ilya pressed his lips together, but his eyes danced and Eric really wasn’t sure if he was going to keep quiet or not. His stomach clenched at the possibility of having his two biggest secrets revealed right now by Ilya goddamned Rozanov.
But Ilya didn’t say a word, and shortly after Scott sat down, Kyle returned with their drinks.
“One naughty Scott Hunter,” he said as he placed a blue cocktail in front of Ilya.
“And one nice Scott Hunter.” He placed an identical drink in front of Eric, then darted away before Eric could even thank him.
Ilya lifted his glass. “Should we drink to Scott Hunter and his future husband?”
“I think we drank enough to that last week,” Scott said sheepishly.
“To love, then. And”—he glanced at Eric—“to being brave.”
They all clinked their glasses, and Ilya winked at him in a gesture that Eric translated as your secret is safe with me.
Ilya took a sip of his drink, and his face scrunched up. “Ugh. Tastes like Scott Hunter. Too sweet.”
Eric thought the drink was remarkably well balanced, but his obviously had different ingredients.
“Kyle!” Ilya called out. “Help!”
Eric saw Kyle pause on his way from the bar to a table. He was carrying a tray loaded with drinks. “Leave him alone. He’s working.”
“I am a customer,” Ilya argued. “And I need a beer or something to get this taste out of my mouth.”
“I once watched you drink three Cherry Cokes at an All-Star weekend lunch, so don’t pretend you don’t like sweet drinks.”
Ilya looked a little stunned by Eric’s snark. Then he grinned. “I did not know you were so interested in me.”
“I’m not. At all. It was a shocking amount of Cherry Coke for a pro athlete to consume. It was memorable.”
“You know,” Ilya said with a weird little smile. “You were not the only one to think so that day.” He took another sip of his drink, and made a disgusted face. “Where is Kyle? Or the other one, Hunter’s guy.”
Eric sighed. “Stay here. I’ll get you a beer.”
Ilya’s smirk was far too knowing. “Yes. You go talk to Kyle. Would you like me to hold your wedding ring?”
Eric didn’t answer him. He turned and strode toward the bar before Ilya could see his cheeks darken.
Kyle was just returning to the bar when Eric got there. “Oh, hey,” Kyle said. It definitely wasn’t warm.
“Ilya wants a beer, and I wanted to stretch my legs,” Eric said.
“Uh-huh. What kind of beer?”
This conversation wasn’t going at all the way Eric wanted it to. He tried for flirtatious. He leaned forward a bit, resting an elbow on the bar top. “I might need to rely on your expert opinion for that.”
Kyle stared at him, his expression so unfriendly that Eric slid his elbow off the bar and let his arm hang at his side. Then Kyle said, with a huff of irritation, “I like the red ale.”
“Okay. I’ll go with that, then.”
Kyle grabbed a glass and wordlessly filled it with ale. Eric awkwardly accepted it, but didn’t move to return to the table. He should leave, he knew that, but he also desperately wanted Kyle’s attention, if only for a moment.
Why is he still here?
Kyle was starting to wish Eric would outright proposition him so he could turn him down and be done with it.
Maybe he doesn’t want to proposition you.
It was definitely a possibility. Kip had said that Eric could use a friend—someone to talk about art and history and other non-hockey things with.
In fact, it was extremely possible that Kyle was being an asshole because he was projecting his past heartbreak onto a perfectly innocent attractive older man.
An attractive older man who looked completely lost right now, holding someone else’s beer and seemingly trying to think of something to say that would make Kyle be nice to him.
Kyle decided to throw him a bone. “Do you have the day off tomorrow?”
Eric’s face lit up, and Kyle flooded with shame. “I do.”
Kyle pretended to be busy wiping down the bar. “And how does Eric Bennett spend his days off?”
Eric seemed to think about it for a moment. “I do a more intensive yoga practice at home on days when I don’t have a game or practice.”
“Wow.” Kyle laughed. “Is that how you kick back and unwind? Intensive yoga?”
“Yes.” There was nothing playful in Eric’s tone, so Kyle let it drop. Maybe the yoga was enjoyable for Eric. Maybe intensive yoga turned into intensive, flexible morning sex with his wife.
“I’m also going to visit my friend’s gallery,” Eric said. “She’s preparing a new exhibit and wants to show me the paintings in advance. I’ll be on the road for the opening.”
“Oh, that’s right! You’re a patron of the arts.” Kyle said it as if he’d completely forgotten that Eric collected art. It was one of many enchanting things about Eric Bennett that Kyle was trying not to think about.
“I buy art that I like,” Eric corrected. “It’s mostly selfish.”
“Is that something a lot of hockey players do? Collect art?” Kyle already guessed that it wasn’t.
“Not many that I’ve met. Nothing against my teammates—some of them are my best friends—but they aren’t the most cultured bunch.”
The way he said it suggested to Kyle that when Eric went to galleries and openings, it was probably alone. “Where’s the gallery?”
“In Chelsea. It’s the Saint-Georges Gallery.”
“I know it!” Kyle exclaimed. “I mean, I haven’t been in it, but I am very familiar with the empanada shop next door.”
Eric’s face split into another broad, devastating smile. “Córdoba Bakery! I love that place.”
Why couldn’t he stop being perfect? “I’m a regular there. I live a block away from it. The spicy beef empanadas are like sex, oh my god.”
“I’ll have to take your word for it.”
Kyle couldn’t help himself. “About sex?”
Eric chuckled. “About beef. I’m a vegetarian.”
Of course he was. “That’s great! I mean, great for...the environment. And for you! And, um, animals. I’ve been trying to cut back myself.”
Eric’s face settled into the same calm amusement Kyle had found so bewitching at the engagement party. “I’m not offended that you eat meat. Most of my friends do.”
“Oh.” Eric’s crisp white dress shirt was open at the collar, giving Kyle an excellent view of his throat, which was sexier than it had any right to be.
A few curls of dark chest hair were visible just above the first closed shirt button.
Kyle loved chest hair. He bet Eric had the perfect amount of it, and maybe some of it was silver. God, that would be hot.
“If you want, I mean,” Eric said, and Kyle realized he’d completely missed whatever had preceded it.
“Sorry. Want to what?”
“Come with me. To the gallery tomorrow. Jeanette, the owner, is very excited about these paintings and I thought you might like to see them.”
It would be so easy for Kyle to say yes to this. It was a normal thing that two people who shared an interest might do. It didn’t have to mean more than that. It could be...safe.
But Kyle knew himself. Eric, he couldn’t be sure of, but he knew himself. Spending cozy one-on-one time together would lead to Kyle falling back on bad habits. So instead of saying yes, he said, “I can’t tomorrow. Maybe I’ll try to make the opening, though. What night is it?”
Eric told him the details, disappointment written all over his face, and Kyle pretended to commit them to memory.
Kip came up behind Eric, grinning from ear to ear. “I knew you guys would get along. What are you two talking about?”
“Art,” Kyle said, taking a step back from the bar, and from Eric.
“See? Best friends,” Kip said. “But also, Rozanov is looking for his beer.”
“Shit, I forgot about him,” Eric said. He picked up the beer. “I guess I’d better deliver this.”
“Doing my job for me?” Kyle teased.
“Terribly, clearly.”
He turned to leave, and Kyle blurted out. “Hey, um.” Eric turned back, his expression all interest. “If you’re hungry, you should know that we do great cauliflower wings here. One hundred percent meat-free.”
Eric smiled like Kyle had just offered to grant him his greatest wish. “Thank you. For letting me know.”
Oh god. Kyle really did want to take this man apart.
He was the perfect blend of distinguished and shy.
Confident about who he was, but timid about what he wanted.
Whether he wanted Kyle’s friendship or he wanted Kyle to fulfill every secret gay fantasy he’d ever had, it was clear that Eric had no idea how to ask for it.
He needed someone to take charge, and Kyle very much wanted to be that person.
But he couldn’t. Obviously. Eric was married, probably closeted, and probably self-loathing. Everything Kyle absolutely did not need in his life.