Chapter 9 Ethan
ETHAN
The Vegas Aces allowed its minor league players to buy tickets to sit in the owners’ box a few times a year.
One of the advantages of their PHL affiliate being in the same city as the NAPH team, I guess.
I didn’t know if it was meant to motivate us to work hard so we’d get called up, or if it was just a cool perk, but I didn’t ask questions.
I especially didn’t ask questions when it meant having a kickass venue for a date. I mean, I probably could’ve piqued a lot of interest on ye olde hookup apps if I opened with, “I can get us seats in the owners’ box at a Vegas Aces home game—want to go?” It would’ve worked on me, that was for sure.
But I didn’t need to roll out that admittedly sick pickup line on the app because…
Because I had a date.
With my fighting instructor.
I’d been excited as hell the first couple of times I’d been in here.
This time, I was… hell, the closest I’d ever felt to this was when I’d been starstruck.
Like when I’d been sitting up here last year and ended up two seats over from Matt Shea, the Aces’ star forward, who’d been recovering from an injury.
Between being awestruck by him and totally fucking hot for that suit he was wearing, I was a fidgety wreck for that whole game.
To this day I couldn’t remember a thing about the game—including who’d won—because all I’d been aware of was “oh my God it’s Matt Shea. ”
I was similarly distracted and unable to sit still tonight as I took my seat beside Jake.
Carson was to his left, and beside him was, of course, Marek.
If a bored and douchey sports reporter saw us up here, there might be a shitty remark about Marek wearing sunglasses indoors.
Hopefully that post would then be peppered with comments reminding them that Marek was prone to migraines thanks to last season’s head injury.
Everyone knew he was wearing the shades for the same reason he now wore a tinted visor.
Wouldn’t stop bored and douchey sports reporters from being bored and douchey sports reporters, of course.
And hey, maybe they’d be too busy showing their asses by clowning on Marek’s sunglasses to notice that the four of us were here on a double date without a woman in sight.
Marek was out. I was out to anyone who cared, which so far didn’t include too many reporters.
And I doubted anyone cared about us, our sexuality, the men we were with, or what any of us were wearing on our faces, but I was a nervous wreck overthinking every goddamned thing, so why not?
Ethan. Jesus Christ. Get a grip.
I needed to. Ideally before Jake realized what a dumbass I was, cut his losses, and bailed.
I shifted in my seat, trying to be as subtle about it as I could.
That didn’t work, because Jake turned to me, concern etched all over his face. “You all right?”
“Uh. I’m—”
“He’s a hockey player.” Carson snorted. “Trust me—they never sit still.”
That earned him an elbow and some Czech cursing, which just made him cackle.
Jake eyed me as if for confirmation.
Face burning, I half-shrugged. “He’s not wrong.”
Oh God. Carson bailed me out, and then I made it worse by—
Jake laughed, shaking his head, and gazed down at the ice, where the Zambonis were doing their thing. I almost breathed an actual sigh of relief. He didn’t think I was a complete dork for being twitchy and fidgety.
“When do warmups start again?” Carson asked.
“See that timer up there on the Jumbotron?” Marek asked in a playfully patronizing tone. “When the numbers say sixteen, that’s when warmups start.” He patted his boyfriend’s thigh. “Just like they do at every game.”
There was a loud tsk, probably accompanied by an eyeroll. Then Carson leaned forward and looked past Jake to me. “Hey, warmups don’t start for another twenty minutes. You want to come with me to grab some snacks?”
“They have snacks in here,” Marek reminded him.
“Uh-huh. But that one place with the kickass nachos is down on the first level.”
“Okay, that’s fair.”
“Mmhmm. Thought so.” Carson leaned over, kissed Marek lightly, and then got up.
“Hold on, hold on.” Jake put a hand to his chest. “You’re sitting in the bougie box, but you’re going to get peasant snacks? What the fuck?”
Carson rolled his eyes and kicked Jake’s shin. “No nachos for you, then.”
“I’ll take the bougie nachos, thanks,” Jake said in an exaggeratedly haughty voice.
“Suit yourself,” Marek said. “The nachos from downstairs are pretty fucking good.”
Once again, Jake looked at me for confirmation.
I shrugged. “I’ve never met a nacho I wouldn’t eat, so… ”
Jake glanced back and forth between me and Carson. Then, “Okay. Okay, I’m convinced. I’ll try the peasant nachos.”
“That’s what I thought.” Carson stepped past me, then gestured for me to follow. “You can help me carry them.”
I kind of wanted to get irritated that he was pulling me away because, hello, I was on a date? At the same time, I was relieved at the chance to step out and get my stupid head together. I had all evening ahead of me with Jake, and the less I made an ass of myself, the better.
So… nachos it was.
I got up and said to Jake, “I’ll be back. Do you want anything?”
“I’m curious about these nachos, so… split one with you?” He quirked his lips. “But if you’re going down to get them… ” He reached for his wallet. “You fly, I’ll buy?”
I waved that away. “I got it. Don’t worry.”
“Are you sure? You already bought the tickets, and—”
“And I asked you out, so it’s on me.”
I liked that bashful smile a little too much. And that hint of a blush.
Definitely the right moment to follow Carson out of here before I actually swooned or something.
God, I was a dork.
At least I’d be out of Jake’s sight for a few minutes. Maybe that would be enough time to get my head together and—
“So, hey,” Carson said, pulling me out of my thoughts as we walked through the thin crowd toward the escalator. “I didn’t just ask you to come with me to help carry nachos.”
I blinked. “Oh. Uh… Okay?” Carson and I weren’t super close, but we were friendly. I had no idea what this could be about.
We stepped onto the escalator, and he turned to me. “I want to propose to Marek.”
I straightened. “Ooh. That’s awesome, man! Congrats!”
His lips pulled into a lovesick smile, and he blushed, reminding me of the man who was waiting for me to come back with nachos.
Unaware of all my mental roads leading back to Jake, Carson said, “Thanks. I’m, uh…
I’m still trying to figure out what to do, but I kind of want to do it at a game or something. Or a practice? If that’s allowed?”
“Hmm. I guess it depends?” We stepped off the escalator and into the denser crowd on the lower-level concourse. As we shouldered our way through, I had to raise my voice a bit to be heard. “Do you want to do it on the ice or something?”
“Maybe? I hadn’t gotten that far yet. I didn’t want to plan something elaborate and then find out it wasn’t allowed.”
“Fair enough.” I thought about it as I followed him through the crowd. About the time we’d stepped into the long line for the nacho place, I said, “I can talk to the staff. You’ll probably have better luck getting on the ice during practice than during a game, but… I mean, maybe?”
“Practice is fine. It doesn’t have to be… ” Carson circled his finger in the air to encompass the building we were in. Then he chuckled and rolled his eyes. “I’m probably overthinking it. I could just propose at home or something, you know? Not make a big public spectacle out of it?”
“I don’t know.” I half-shrugged. “I kind of think Marek deserves a public spectacle.”
That made him smile and blush again. “Yeah. Yeah, he does.”
I chuckled and elbowed him. “You are such a sap, you know that?”
“I wasn’t before I met him, I swear.”
“Eh, neither was he. You guys just turned each other into sappy dorks.”
He pursed his lips. “I can’t really argue with that.”
I laughed as we moved forward in line. I thought a bit more about his proposal. “Do you know how to ice skate?”
Carson wobbled his hand in the air. “Marek’s tried to teach me. I can stay on my feet, but there’s no way I can keep up with him.”
Smirking, I asked, “Are you sure it’s not just that you lose your balance from watching your gorgeous boyfriend skating—”
“Oh my God, shut up.” His deepening blush gave him away, though.
“That’s what I thought.”
“Yeah, yeah. Why do you ask, anyway?”
“Well, I was trying to figure out what the options are for ‘on-ice.’ If you can’t skate, then we can’t, like, dress you up in goalie gear and surprise him.”
Carson’s eyes went huge. “Dress me up in—seriously? You think we could do that?”
“Maybe? I’m pretty sure we can talk one of the goalies into letting you wear his gear. If you’re game for skating with fifty pounds of crap strapped to your body.”
His eyebrow flicked up. “Is that, like, hyperbole fifty pounds? Or fifty actual pounds?”
I barked a laugh. “Oh, my sweet summer child.” Shaking my head, I moved forward with the line. “You really are new to hockey, aren’t you?”
“Oh fuck. It’s fifty actual pounds, isn’t it?”
“Mmhmm.” I shot him a look. “But your man is worth it, right?”
He stifled a groan. “Oh God… ”
“Don’t worry.” I clapped his arm. “We can do a few practice sessions. Especially so you can get down on one knee without falling on your face.”
The response was a melodramatic sigh. “Why did I ask you for help with this again?”
“Because Marek is worth all the fuckery you’re going to subject yourself to in order to propose to him.”
“I… can’t really argue with that.”
“No, you can’t.” I flashed him a grin and took out my phone. “I’ll text Cantwell to see if he’ll let us use his gear.”
“Oh, fuck my life… ”