Chapter Seven #2
“The non-hockey friends are a small and very separate group. Tonight it’s just hockey and hockey-adjacent, I’m afraid.”
“Is that me? Hockey-adjacent?”
Eric paused at the landing in the middle of the stairs and turned back toward Kyle.
“Technically I met you through hockey, but...” He stopped himself because there was no non-intense way to finish that sentence.
If he was answering as honestly as possible, the sentence would have ended with something like I think I might be able to be my whole self with you.
“But?” Kyle asked. His pale blue eyes sparkled under his glasses.
Eric shook his head, trying to appear calm and collected even as his heart rate accelerated. “Nothing. Let’s get you a drink. Do you like barbecue?”
“Only if there’s kale salad.”
Eric laughed. He loved the way Kyle teased him. It was playful and almost fond, as if they were old friends. “I’m sure there’s plenty of salad left over.”
Kyle really had no idea what he was doing at this party, but the stolen time alone with Eric in the kitchen was.
..nice. He’d felt sort of warm and buzzy since they’d joined the party in the basement, even though Eric had been pulled away from him immediately by a couple of women, who were probably wives or girlfriends of his teammates.
Kyle was now sitting on a sectional sofa with Scott, Kip, Carter, and an attractive Swedish hockey player whose name Kyle kept forgetting. He looked about Kyle’s age.
Kyle knew Carter Vaughan because he often accompanied Scott when he’d visit Kip at the Kingfisher.
Carter and Eric were Scott’s best friends on the team, but the two men couldn’t be more different.
Carter was loud and fun, always the life of the party.
He loved food and top shelf spirits, often giving Kyle shit about the subpar whiskey selection at the Kingfisher.
Carter, like most of the party guests, was closer to Kyle’s age than Eric’s.
He was movie-star handsome, with dark skin and a strong jaw that was usually clean shaven.
Eric was gorgeous, but in a more distinguished way with his salt-and-pepper beard and thick, curly hair that was begging to be rumpled.
What they had in common was that Carter and Eric were both good people, and they fully supported and loved Scott. Kyle liked them both.
“When are you and Gloria getting engaged, Carter?” Kip asked.
“Whenever she wants,” Carter said, which made everyone laugh. “I’m serious. She knows I’m ready when she is. It’s just hectic right now. We’re both traveling constantly.”
Carter was dating a very famous actress, Gloria Grey. She wasn’t here tonight, but she’d come to the Kingfisher a few times and she was super cool.
“Where is she tonight?” Kyle asked.
“Atlanta. She’s filming an action movie with Rose Landry where Gloria is an assassin and Rose is the special agent trying to stop her. Then they end up working together.”
“Boo. Spoilers,” Kip complained jokingly.
“It sounds badass,” Carter said.
“Do they fall in love?” Kyle asked. “The assassin and the special agent?”
“Not officially.” Carter grinned mischievously. “But Gloria said she and Rose are gonna play it like they’re totally hot for each other. See if anyone notices.”
“I love it,” Kip said.
Carter stood. “I’m hitting the bar. Anyone need anything?” He turned to Kyle. “Can I get you a beer for a change?”
Kyle laughed. “I’m okay.” It was probably silly, but knowing Eric didn’t drink made Kyle not want to drink either. “I might try to get a peek at some more of Eric’s art collection.”
“It’s nice, right? I need to get that classy son of a bitch to teach me about that shit someday.”
“It won’t help,” joked the mystery Swedish guy.
“Fuck you, Tommy.”
Tommy. Right. Kip and Scott were clearly lost in each other’s eyes at the moment, so Kyle turned his attention to Tommy. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Kyle.” He held out his hand, and Tommy shook it.
“Tommy. Andersson.”
“Right! You’re the other goalie. Sorry I didn’t recognize you.”
Tommy smiled. He was really goddamned handsome. He looked like a Skarsgaard. “Don’t worry about it.”
There was nothing flirtatious about the way Tommy spoke to or looked at Kyle, but it occurred to Kyle that it was pretty cool that this probably-straight hockey player was calmly sharing a sectional sofa with three gay men.
Like, he shouldn’t get a trophy for it or anything, but from what Kyle knew about team sports, especially hockey, it wasn’t an insignificant gesture.
He wondered how big an impact Scott had made on the way his teammates viewed queer people.
“So you like getting hit by pucks too, huh?”
“Most of the time, yes.” He was so much younger than Eric. Kyle wondered if he was Eric’s competition, or if Eric was more like his mentor. Maybe it was a bit of both.
“Do you like New York?” Kyle asked. It was maybe the most boring question he could ask, but at least it filled the silence.
Tommy, thankfully, seemed enthusiastic when he answered. “Yes, I am very lucky. Not only because it’s New York, but because I get to play with Benny. Eric, I mean. He was my hero, growing up.”
“Whoa, really? That’s nuts!” Kyle couldn’t imagine what that was like for Eric. It must make him feel old.
“Yes,” Tommy said seriously. “He is one of the best ever. He has been a great teacher.”
Kyle knew that Eric was considered to be one of the greatest goaltenders to ever play the game, but he kind of forgot about it when he was talking to him. He couldn’t quite reconcile the man behind the mask and the quietly intense man who collected art.
At that moment Maria dropped on the couch next to Kyle, and a very tall and beautiful blond woman snuggled up to Tommy. They began speaking to each other in Swedish, so Kyle assumed this was Tommy’s girlfriend or wife.
“How’s it going?” Kyle asked Maria. “How’s Operation Finland?”
Maria exhaled with enough force to blow the tendrils of hair that fell in her face straight out. “Terrible. Have you seen the women at this party?” She subtly nodded in the direction of the woman Tommy was now kissing. “How am I supposed to have a chance?”
Kyle’s gaze dropped to her chest. “You could try more cleavage.”
Instead of telling him to fuck off, like he’d expected, she laughed and then curled into him. “God, I look ridiculous. And desperate.”
Kyle kissed the top of her head. “You look gorgeous. So was Jalo a dick to you? I can beat him up. It might take a few days of punching him, but eventually he would feel it. I think.”
“I haven’t even tried to talk to him,” Maria said into his shoulder. “I don’t know what I was expecting to happen.”
“Well, what should have happened was that he spotted you across the room, and then parted the crowd with his massive shoulders and thighs so he could get to you. Then he should have swept you off your feet and carried you back to his place for six days and seven nights of lovemaking.”
“Like, would that have been so hard? Men. Honestly.” She sighed. “I’m going to die alone.”
“You’re not. You’re going to die during a threesome with Oscar Isaac and Michael B. Jordan.”
“That’s really nice of you to say.”
“Do you want to look at art with me?”
She lifted her head. “I think I’d rather look at that bar over there.”
“Pace yourself, girl.”
“Fuck yourself, boy.” She playfully punched his arm before standing and heading for the bar. He turned his attention to Kip, who was actually for real booping Scott on the nose, so Kyle stood up and got the fuck out of there.
He headed out of the crowded basement and upstairs to the front entrance area.
He’d noticed some paintings and sculptures on display there that he hadn’t had a chance to inspect earlier.
He figured he could poke around a bit, maybe mix Eric another drink, and then hit the road.
He wasn’t in much of a party mood tonight.
Eric’s house was undeniably beautiful, but Kyle wondered what it looked like when it wasn’t full of lively party guests. The stark white walls and modern, minimal furniture were ideal for displaying art, but Kyle imagined it might be a cold place to live alone.
There was a canvas hanging by itself on one wall that had caught Kyle’s eye earlier.
It was hard to miss, really: an enormous abstract oil painting that was full of frantic angular scrapes of dark brown, indigo, black and stark white.
Scattered in a few places were dots of eye-catching fuchsia.
Kyle lost himself in it for several minutes.
“Powerful, isn’t it?” Eric’s hushed voice rumbled behind him. Kyle hadn’t heard him approach, so he turned quickly, startled. Eric held up his hands. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“It’s okay.” He turned back to the painting. “This is really beautiful.”
“It’s called Guardian. I fell in love with it the moment I saw it, but the name really sold me.”
It took Kyle a moment. “Because that’s your job. Guarding the net.”
“Right.” Eric was standing so close that Kyle would only have to lean back slightly to feel Eric’s chest against his back.
He had to close his eyes for a moment to fight the longing to have Eric wrap his arms around him from behind.
For him to kiss Kyle’s neck and nibble his ear.
For Kyle to press his ass against Eric’s crotch, and feel him grow hard against him.
These were all bad thoughts. Kyle took a step forward under the guise of wanting a closer look at the painting. “I love the energy of it. You can feel the artist’s urgency.”
“Urgency?”
“In creating the guardian. Blocking out whatever it is they feared or hated.”
“So the guardian is good, you think?”
Kyle turned to him. “You don’t?”
Eric frowned at the painting. “I’m not sure. I thought maybe the guardian was an obstacle to something better. The pink spots”—he pointed to a couple of them—“might be the good trying to break through.”
“Huh.” Kyle considered this perspective. It did make sense. “Then that makes you the bad guy.”
“In a way, I am. I keep people from scoring goals. From winning. I stand between them and victory.”
“Or you protect your own teammates from defeat.”
“Perspective is important,” Eric agreed with wry smile. “I’m glad you like the piece. When I showed it to Carter, he said it should be called Rectangles.”
Kyle laughed. “At least he knows his shapes.”
“It’s a start.”
The smile faded from Eric’s lips at the same moment Kyle felt his own heart seize in his chest. He couldn’t miss the way Eric’s gaze had landed on Kyle’s mouth.
What would happen if Kyle leaned in, just slightly? Would Eric kiss him? Would he back away? Was Kyle misreading the desire he was sure was darkening Eric’s eyes?
Footsteps pounded up the stairs, and Eric turned quickly away from Kyle. Kip, followed closely by Scott, came into view, pausing in surprise when they saw Eric and Kyle.
“Oh, hey guys,” Kip said. “We have to head out.”
“Early morning tomorrow,” Scott said apologetically.
“Right,” Eric said. His calm voice didn’t suggest that he’d almost been caught kissing Kyle, so maybe Kyle had been imagining things. “I remember. Thank you for coming. Let me get your coats.”
“Already on it,” Kip said, holding up a finger before returning to the basement. Scott crossed his giant arms in front of his massive chest and smiled at Kyle and Eric.
“What?” Eric asked.
“Kip and I have been trying to get you two together for months.”
“What?” Kyle sputtered.
“Together? Why?” Eric asked, much more smoothly.
“We thought you guys could be friends. Y’know. About art and stuff.” He nodded at the painting.
So maybe Kyle’s sputtering was unwarranted. He turned back to the painting to hide his embarrassment while Eric said, “It is nice to talk about something other than video games and fantasy football.”
Kip emerged from the basement wearing his coat and carrying Scott’s. “There are at least three guys playing Fortnight on their phones down there. I’m going to write a tell-all about how uncool pro hockey players are.”
“You’d better not,” Scott teased.
“Oh, I’m going to have a whole chapter about your love of word search puzzles.”
“They’re relaxing!”
Kip threw his arms around Eric. “Happy birthday, buddy.”
“Thanks.”
Kyle was hugged next, which was always an exercise in not nuzzling Kip’s neck. It was easier to resist with Kip’s fiancé looking on. “Goodnight, Kip.”
“I’m glad you came out tonight. Have fun, all right?” He gave Kyle an extra squeeze, then released him. Kyle could still feel Kip’s arms around him as he watched Kip take Scott’s hand and lead him out the front door.
When Kyle turned back to Eric, he saw that same sympathetic look on his face that he’d seen the night of Kip and Scott’s engagement party. He hated it.
“So,” Kyle said brightly, refusing to acknowledge the fact that his feelings for Kip were so fucking obvious that even this near-stranger noticed them. “Can I get you another drink?”
Eric’s face shifted into the quietly amused expression that Kyle greatly preferred. “Sure.”