Chapter 12
Joel & Quentin
Joel was excited to go to the hockey game, which was never something he thought he’d say. Quentin’s manager, Billy Rasmussen, had arranged for a private box. Joel took Harlan and Shivonne with him.
The Minutemen were playing the Tampa Bay Gators. Joel read about both teams beforehand, and he had Harlan find him a Minutemen jersey that he could wear to show his support.
“The fans are going to love this,” Harlan said when Joel put the jersey on with a pair of jeans. “You look like a real hockey fan.”
“Maybe I’ll become a real hockey fan.”
“I’d love to see that.”
The Gators were a good team. They won several Cups in the last decade, and it was going to be a popular game with a lot of fans there.
Joel’s presence at the game was well-publicized, and he went to the game with a team of bodyguards and signed autographs beforehand, though he made sure to always explain that he was here for the hockey and he didn’t want to take away from their thunder, and he hoped that his fans would stay for the game.
“I hear it’s gonna be a good one!”
“I hear your boyfriend is gonna be here,” said Dorsey, one of the other Boston players, to Quentin as they were getting ready in the locker room.
Quentin froze. “What?”
“Joel Beckett,” Dorsey said with a laugh that was almost harsh. Quentin didn’t like Dorsey very much. He was a good player, but he wasn’t always kind. He had an old-fashioned approach to hockey and enjoyed a crass version of locker room talk that Quentin didn’t like and didn’t approve of.
“He’s my friend,” Quentin said. “Not my boyfriend.” He was conscious of other guys on the team tuning into their conversation, including Henri. “There’d be nothing wrong if he were,” Quentin said, gripping his stick to hide that his hands were shaking. “So, I don’t appreciate comments like that.”
Dorsey held up his hands in surrender. “Just making a joke, dude.”
“Jokes like that aren’t funny,” Quentin said. He was angry at Dorsey and was trying to keep his temper.
Dorsey rolled his eyes, and Quentin decided to let it slide. They were here to beat the Gators, and they were going to win.
Joel had a hard time following the game at first, but Shivonne proved to know hockey pretty well, and helped him understand what was happening on the ice. She explained the concept of lines, helped him understand who was playing when, and pointed out Quentin when he was on the ice.
Quentin played incredibly, scoring once and assisting on another goal. Joel cheered loudly for him. Both times, the cameras cut to show him in his box with Harlan and Shivonne, and the crowd let out a roar whenever they saw him.
“He’s a genius on the ice,” Joel said, beginning to fully appreciate Quentin’s hockey skill. He played a respectful game and wasn’t involved in any fights on the ice.
Boston won the game 2-1, and the celebration on the ice afterward was respectful, but rowdy.
“Jesus, they’re good,” Harlan said as they began to pack up their stuff in the suite. They were supposed to head back to Orlando tonight, even though it was already late.
They were making their way out of the arena through a back way when Joel’s phone buzzed. He checked it.
Quentin: Hey, I know you might have to leave, but some of the guys and I are gonna go out to celebrate. One of them knows a guy who opened a new bar, and it’s supposed to be really good. You should join!
Joel stared at his phone for a long moment and then turned to Harlan and Shivonne and said, “I’ll come to Orlando tomorrow morning.”
Shivonne turned to him sharply. “What? Why?”
“I’m going to celebrate the win with the team.”
Harlan hid a smile.
Quentin didn’t know what was harder for him to believe: that he’d invited Joel to join him and the team for drinks, or that Joel had said yes.
He told the team, those of them who were going, and they cheered.
Most of them didn’t have Dorsey’s outdated and frankly homophobic perspective on Joel hanging out with the team.
Dorsey didn’t say anything, though he was also joining them.
The bar was called Luca’s, and it was owned by Luca Loretti, a celebrity chef who had restaurants in Los Angeles, New York, and Las Vegas.
Luca’s was supposed to be a simpler, more pared-back place, with an Italian spin on classic bar food, and good cocktails.
There was dancing there at night, and it was an exclusive place, and hard to get into.
The team got in because Luca was trying out a new menu that night, and there was a famous DJ, and one of the guys on the team knew Luca.
“Joel looked like he was having fun tonight,” Henri said as he and Quentin were getting ready in their hotel room.
“I think he did,” Quentin said.
“That’s good. Looks like you’re really becoming friends.”
“I think we are.” Quentin wondered if Henri was getting at something specific.
“I’m glad you’re friends,” Henri said. “He seems like a good guy. You should keep hanging out with him.”
Huh, Quentin thought. “I think I will.”
They joined some of their teammates in a private limousine, which took them to Luca’s, the bar. There were bouncers out front, and EDM music played from the inside. The bouncers let them in, and Quentin and Henri went to the bar, where they ordered drinks.
“When is he getting here?” Henri asked as they leaned against the bar together with their drinks.
Quentin shrugged. “Soon, I think.” Soon, I hope.
An attractive dark-haired woman, maybe a couple of years older than him, slid up to the bar next to him. “Hey,” she said. “You’re Quentin Hartley, aren’t you?”
Henri clapped him on the shoulder, gave him a smirk, and disappeared into the crowd.
“I am,” Quentin said, shifting his posture a bit so he could look at her. She was very attractive, and the smile she gave him wasn’t overly flirtatious. It seemed genuine and curious.
“I’m Shelby,” she said. “I saw your game today. You played so well.”
“Are you a Tampa Bay fan?” he asked, smiling at her.
“I am, but I can make an exception for you.”
“Oh, not very loyal to your team, I see?”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, I cried when we lost.”
“I see.”
“Did a ritual sacrifice before the game, burned a picture of you.”
Quentin blinked.
“I’m kidding,” she said, laughing.
“Oh…good.”
Shelby winked. “I didn’t actually burn the picture.”
“You’re confusing me,” Quentin admitted.
“I’m trying to flirt,” Shelby said. “But I don’t think I’m doing a very good job.”
Quentin propped himself up against his elbow on the bar. “Ah, now I’m seeing it.” He knew that he should offer to buy her a drink. It would be the polite thing to do, and she had admitted to flirting with him, and she wasn’t being rude or forceful.
“Would you like a drink?” he asked. He wondered when Joel would arrive. He would rather be buying Joel a drink.
“I’d love that,” Shelby said.
He got her a Cosmo, and they leaned against the bar, sipping their drinks and talking. She was friendly and easy to talk to, but Quentin wasn’t enjoying himself the way she was. He could see the potential of friendship with her, but nothing more than that.
The bar was loud, but not in a bad way, when Joel arrived.
Like usual, he slipped in through the back.
Harlan had offered to send a bodyguard with him, but Joel had turned him down.
Luca’s seemed like a classy place, and Shivonne had pulled the guest list, and there was no one Joel was worried about seeing.
Nicely-dressed people danced on the floor, and couples were crowded around tables and booths and around the edge of the bar, talking and smiling. A DJ played EDM remixes of popular music, and Joel briefly wondered if he’d hear any of his music there.
So far, no one had noticed or recognized him. He wore a simple dark outfit, with a cap over his hair, and kept his head low.
He took his phone out and texted Quentin:
Hey, I just got to the bar. Are you here?
There were several other Boston players in the bar, dancing or drinking. Joel spotted Henri dancing by himself with a drink in one hand and wound his way over to him.
“Henri!” he called, shouting over the music.
Henri jumped in joy when he saw him. He looked a little tipsy. “Joel!” he screamed, throwing his arms around Joel.
“Hi, Henri! Is Quentin here?”
Henri draped an arm around Joel’s shoulders. “Yessir! Right over there.” He pointed towards the bar, where Joel saw Quentin leaning close to a woman. They were talking and laughing. “Oh, interesting,” Henri said. “Is he flirting with her? I never see Quentin flirt. Sorry, I’m drunk.”
“Maybe he’s flirting,” Joel said, silently stunned, and trying to ignore the fact that he was bothered by the idea of Quentin flirting with someone.
“That’s surprising,” Henri said. “I don’t think…” He shook his head. “Never mind. I’m drunk, I shouldn’t say anything.”
Joel wanted to ask what Henri was going to say, but he also wanted to respect the fact that Henri was drunk and probably wouldn’t have been as loose-lipped if he were sober. Joel wouldn’t take advantage of that.
“You should go talk to him,” Henri said.
“To Quentin? He seems busy.”
“Maybe, but I think he’s really excited that you said you’d come tonight.”
Fuck, Joel thought. Whatever this was, it was getting dangerous.
Maybe he should just leave. Quentin was standing at the bar, flirting with a woman, which was entirely within his rights.
He was probably straight, and there couldn’t be anything between them.
Joel was making a mistake by coming here.
He couldn’t let himself get closer to Quentin, because he would risk getting hurt, and would be an even bigger risk for a scandal.
Joel felt a grip of nerves in his chest. He’d made a mistake coming here, and he needed to leave.
“Henri, I’m sorry,” he said, “but I don’t think it was a good idea for me to come here. Tell Quentin I’m sorry, but I had to go.”
Henri looked at him, surprised. “Are you sure? Are you okay?”