Chapter Four #2
Harris kept smiling at him, as if there was nothing that would make him happier than being asked to gift Troy with apples.
He was, Troy considered, almost the complete opposite of Adrian.
Where Adrian had been tall, with golden skin, dark hair and eyes, and a physique that was more muscular and defined than even Troy’s pro-athlete body, Harris was compact, pale, and soft.
Adrian smiled easily, but at least some of it was performance.
He could put on a friendly face no matter his actual mood, if he needed to.
Harris’s good humor seemed completely natural and genuine.
Adrian was also a bit of a snob, and would never wear a pom-pom toque, or a denim jacket covered in pins.
Or a Wonder Woman T-shirt, which Harris was definitely wearing right now.
In fact, Adrian probably would have had something bitchy to say about Harris’s entire vibe, which Troy hated to think about.
Troy wondered if Harris had a boyfriend. He seemed like a good guy. He was probably very affectionate. The kind of boyfriend who bought thoughtful gifts. Or who made thoughtful gifts.
“Hypothetically,” Troy said, “if I did the Q and A video, how long would it take?”
“Not long. Maybe fifteen minutes? It gets edited down to about ninety seconds.”
“Is it something you could do...now?”
Harris beamed. “I could totally do it now.”
“Just easy questions, right? Crunchy or smooth peanut butter? That kind of thing?”
Harris’s eyes went wide in mock horror. “No way. You don’t want the crunchy peanut butter fandom coming for you online. Best to avoid controversial subjects like that one.”
“Maybe I like crunchy.”
“The smooth fans are even worse.”
Troy didn’t laugh, but he felt lighter than he had in days. “Let’s do it.”
“Have a seat. I just need to finish setting this stuff up.”
Harris watched as Troy took one step toward the chair, then stopped. He frowned at the floor and chewed his lip, as if trying to make a decision.
“Something wrong?” Harris asked.
Troy fixed his intense, cobalt gaze on Harris. “No.” He resumed moving to the chair, then stopped again. “I’m not a homophobe.”
For a rare second, Harris was speechless. Then he said, “Good to hear.”
“You’re, um, gay? Right?”
Harris wanted to make a joke about the pin he was wearing that said Big Gay Libra being a subtle clue, but he held his tongue. “I am.”
“That’s cool. I know when we met, I probably looked like I was judging you for your...” Troy gestured to his own chest. “Pins. And stuff.”
“It’d crossed my mind,” Harris admitted.
“I wasn’t. I swear. It just surprised me. I really don’t have a problem with...y’know.”
“Pins?” Harris bit the inside of his cheek. He was enjoying teasing this guy more than he should, probably.
Troy’s cheeks pinked, just slightly. “Right.”
For a moment, Harris was mesmerized by the way Troy’s lips had formed into something close to a bashful smile. His eyes softened, and Harris was reminded that Troy was only twenty-five. The same age as him. “Let’s start over, then.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Harris.”
Troy’s smile grew another millimeter. “Troy.”
His hand was as solid and warm as Harris remembered it being from their first handshake, his grip firm and his skin a bit dry. “Nice to meet you, Troy. Get comfortable there and I’ll make sure this is quick and painless.”
Troy sat in the chair, legs spread and hands folded in his lap.
He was wearing loose shorts that draped over his bulging thigh muscles.
Harris had seen more than his fair share of perfectly sculpted thighs and asses during his time working for the Ottawa Centaurs, but he still allowed himself a moment to admire Troy’s legs before checking the light levels on his face.
“You know it’s cold outside, right?” Harris teased.
Troy glanced at his own bare legs. “I kind of half jogged over here.”
To apologize to Harris. Which was distractingly sweet and didn’t at all align with everything people said about Troy.
“You’re not down south in Toronto anymore. Winters are brutal here.”
“South,” Troy scoffed. “Toronto has the same winters.”
“You might sing a different tune in January. If you haven’t frozen to death by then.”
“I promise I’ll wear pants in January.”
Harris laughed, then stole one more glance at Troy’s muscular thighs before moving the conversation away from his impressive lower half. “If you decide to set up an Instagram account, I can help you with some content for the first posts.”
“Okay.”
Despite his reputation for being mouthy during games, Troy was definitely not a talker off the ice.
Fortunately, Harris had no trouble filling a silence.
“You can keep it totally professional, and just post official team stuff. Some of the guys barely use their accounts, and some are super into it. Wyatt posts a lot of comic book stuff. Bood basically does my job for me, with all the videos he posts. Ilya didn’t used to use it, but now he’s super into taking photos of random stuff in different cities.
” Harris laughed. “I wish he’d turn the camera around sometimes.
The fans would probably rather see their hero than a weird fire hydrant, right? ”
“I guess.”
“Sorry. I’m chatty.”
Troy pinned him with that gaze for a moment, his blue eyes sharp but not cold. He almost seemed amused. “I noticed.”
“I’d say just tell me to shut up, but it probably wouldn’t work.”
“It’s fine.” Troy returned his gaze to the floor, his shoulders slumped. He looked tired. Harris decided to move things along.
“I just need to get this mic on you and then we’re all set.” He grabbed a little clip-on mic out of his equipment bag and walked over to Troy. He crouched down between Troy’s widespread legs and carefully clipped the mic to the collar of his Centaurs T-shirt.
When he glanced up at Troy’s face, he found those deep ocean eyes studying him. An unwelcome burst of heat shot through Harris, as his dick noticed that he was wedged between the muscular thighs of a very handsome man.
He stood quickly and walked back behind the camera so he could observe Troy on the little screen, instead of from between his legs. “Ready when you are.”
“Okay.” Troy rolled his shoulders back and sat up straight. He kept his hands folded in his lap, all business and probably not at all distracted by sexual thoughts.
Harris started off with hockey questions, because he found hockey players were the most comfortable talking about their sport. He asked about Troy’s favorite players as a kid, and favorite career memory.
“Who’s your favorite current player?” Harris asked.
Troy didn’t hesitate. “Scott Hunter.”
Well. That was...unexpected. Scott Hunter was certainly one of the best players in the league, but he was also an openly gay man, and an activist. In short, Harris was impressed with Troy’s choice. “He’s pretty awesome.”
“I’m also a big Ilya Rozanov fan,” Troy added. “It’s exciting to have the opportunity to play with him.”
“Jesus. Don’t tell him,” Harris joked. “That guy doesn’t need his ego any bigger than it already is.”
Troy’s lips twitched, just barely. “I won’t.”
Harris felt this was a good point to transition into personal preference questions. “Are you a dog person or a cat person?”
“Uh...dog, I think. I’ve never had a pet.”
“Wow. Never?”
“Nope.”
“Jeez, that’s sad. I love dogs. I don’t have one now, but I want a house in the country someday and, like, five dogs. Big ones.”
“That’s a lot.”
“It’s exactly the right amount of dogs.”
Troy shook his head and made a noise that was almost a snort of laughter.
“Do you have any hobbies?”
Oddly, this seemed to be a difficult question for Troy. After a moment of racking his brain to reveal literally anything he liked to do besides play hockey, he finally said, “I play tennis sometimes.”
Well, at least it wasn’t golf or video games, which were the answers that Harris got ninety percent of the time.
“Never played it,” he admitted. “I like watching it, though.” He didn’t add that he mostly watched because tennis players were hot.
He would bet that Troy looked really good playing tennis. “What’s your favorite ice cream?”
“Um. Shit. It’s been a while. Chocolate, I guess.”
“Wait.” Harris changed his tone to mimic a reporter asking a very serious question. “When was the last time you had ice cream?”
“I don’t know. A few years ago?”
“How is that possible?”
Troy lifted one shoulder. “It’s not something I crave.”
“So what do you crave?”
Lord above, was Troy blushing? “I—”
“Like, what’s a treat for Troy Barrett? If you could eat anything?”
Again, Troy seemed to struggle with the question. “I like salmon.”
Harris laughed. He couldn’t help it. “I was kinda looking for something that’s not part of your trainer-approved diet plan.”
“I don’t really care about food. It’s just fuel.”
Harris didn’t understand those words at all. “Food is the best thing about being alive! Like, I love fish, but if someone put a salmon fillet and a pile of my mom’s apple fritters in front of me, that salmon is gonna get real cold.”
“Cold salmon is good.”
“You can have it. I’m stuffing myself with fritters.”
“I don’t have a sweet tooth, I guess.”
“Nothing wrong with that. What about something savory, like poutine?”
“Always seemed kinda gross.”
Harris blew out a breath. “I’ll edit that answer out so the Ottawa fans don’t know your shocking views of poutine.”
“Cheese and gravy don’t go together.”
“The fuck they don’t!”
Troy smiled properly at that. A brief and heart-stopping flash of teeth that made Harris light-headed. It changed Troy’s whole face, and Harris wanted him to do it again.
“I’ll take sweets over fries and gravy any day,” Harris said, “but poutine is delicious. Who do you play as in Mario Kart?”
“What?”
Harris grinned. He found he got the best answers when he kept the questions random. “You’ve played Mario Kart, right? Please say yes, or I’ll have to tear up my entire second page of questions.”
“You have a page of questions about Mario Kart?”
“Answer the question.”
The smile didn’t fully return, but Troy’s eyes glinted in a way that suggested he might be having an okay time. “I’ve played Mario Kart. I usually pick Mario.”
“No imagination whatsoever.” Harris sighed.
“He’s the best one, isn’t he? The game is named after him. Why? Who do you pick?”
“I’ve been a Yoshi man since I was, like, six years old.”
“He’s my second choice,” Troy conceded.
“We’re basically the same person!”
“Twins,” Troy agreed flatly.
“What’s your favorite place on earth?”
“It’s really hard to follow these questions.”
“But you’re not bored, right?”
A slight quirk of Troy’s lips. “No. I’m not bored.” Again, he took his time considering the question. “Is on the ice a terrible answer?”
“It’s the worst answer. Where do you spend your summers? Or have you traveled anywhere good?”
“I, um.” All of the amusement left Troy’s face. He looked tortured, like answering this question might actually kill him. Harris took pity.
“On the ice is fine. Don’t worry about it.”
“Thanks. Sorry. I’m not good at this.”
“You’re crushing it,” Harris assured him, though it wasn’t exactly true. “Next question: Mountains or ocean?”
“Why choose? I’m from Vancouver.”
Harris grinned. “That’s right! And the team is heading there this week. That must be nice for you.”
Troy frowned. “Sure. Yeah. Of course.” The way he said it implied that he would rather travel directly to hell than home to Vancouver.
Harris was fucking this up. Even the most basic questions were making Troy uncomfortable. Harris was usually so good at talking to people.
He decided to try a ridiculous question, to clear the tension out of the room.
“Okay. This one’s important: What’s your favorite type of apple?”
Troy’s brow furrowed. “I don’t know. Red?”
“Aw, man. Seriously?” Harris placed a hand over his heart, feigning being wounded.
“What? Not all apples are red. I like the red ones.”
“I’m offended.”
“Sorry I’m not a fucking apple expert like you.”
It was a little mean, but it was also a little...warm. Troy’s eyes once again glinted with something close to playfulness, and Harris liked it. “You’re right,” he teased back. “That was a really hard question.”
Troy almost laughed. Harris was sure of it, and for some reason his stomach flipped in anticipation.
But Troy pressed his lips together in what was probably an effort to keep any displays of amusement from escaping. His eyes still sparkled, though. “How about McIntosh? That’s an apple, right?”
Harris shook his head. “The disrespect. Unbelievable. Last question: Would you rather skate sprints for half an hour, or answer questions for five minutes?”
“Sprints. Definitely.”
Harris laughed. Probably too loudly, as usual, because Troy flinched and then quickly stood. “So, we’re done?”
“Done.”
“Okay.” Troy walked to the door, clearly keen to get out of there.
“Wait,” Harris said. Troy stopped, then looked back anxiously. Harris put a hand on Troy’s shoulder, and he heard him inhale sharply. “You still have the mic on.”
“Oh. Right.” He stood perfectly still as he let Harris remove it, which Harris did quickly with as little contact as possible. He could smell the woodsy aroma of Troy’s aftershave, or probably his bodywash since the shadow on his jaw suggested that he hadn’t shaved that morning.
“Good to go,” Harris announced cheerfully, holding up the mic.
He took a giant step backward, needing to put some distance between them before Harris did something stupid like sniff Troy’s neck.
“You, uh, you might want to make sure you have noise-canceling headphones,” Harris said.
“For the flight. Those guys are pretty lively on the plane.”
“You’ve flown with the team?”
“A few times. I usually go on a road trip or two each year to document stuff. It makes for fun content. I’m going on the trip south in January. There’s a day off in Tampa, so it should be fun.”
“Oh. Cool.” It didn’t sound like Troy thought it was actually cool that Harris would be on the team plane. He tried not to feel offended.
“Thanks for doing this,” he said. “I’ll let you know when I post it.”
Troy nodded once, and then he was gone.