Chapter 4 #4
Based on the excited chitchat as Breezy, Howie, and Mooney—along with a good portion of the Scandinavian and Russian contingents on the team—followed them out, Jax had no doubt they would have an excellent night.
An hour and a half later, showered, changed, and fed, Jax dropped into place next to Hayesie at the hotel bar, giving East’s leg and the spare chair it was propped up on a wide berth.
“Sneaky move from Coach, giving a curfew exemption in St. Louis,” Jax said.
Hayesie snorted into his beer. Jax scanned the menu.
Nothing but Budweiser products to be found, naturally.
NHL players traveled a lot, but Jax had yet to find a city that screamed, “We’re proud of mediocrity” as loudly as St. Louis.
Still, Jax raised a hand to signal the bartender and ordered a Bud Select—about as close to water as an alcoholic drink could get. What more could a man want?
Tom was staring at him again.
“What?” Jax asked.
“You’re not going out?”
“Again, St. Louis.”
“What’s wrong with St. Louis?”
The bartender brought over Jax’s beer. He thanked her with a smile and a tip equivalent to the cost of the drink. Then he took a long sip and made a face.
“For a start, it’s the home of the Anheuser-Busch brewery.”
Hayesie clinked their glasses together.
“Okay, but wouldn’t you rather be out with the other guys?” Tom stressed the word “out,” making his meaning unmistakable.
“I don’t have to go out in every city we’re in.”
East snorted. “Can you imagine? I think I would die before the All-Star Break if I tried.”
A flush settled across Tom’s cheeks, emphasizing his truly delightful cheekbones. “I just mean…no curfew and all.”
“Again, it’s St. Louis.”
Jax wasn’t about to explain the risks he didn’t feel comfortable taking.
Hooking up in St. Louis, with its many country-and-western-themed bars and its dedication to the products of Anheuser-Busch, was one of them.
True, the city might possess a thriving queer scene—St. Louis was a big place, after all—but he didn’t feel as safe there as he did in the anonymity of a Florida club.
Even if he’d been in the mood to explain the way local color affected his experience of app-based hookups and gay bars to Tom and deal with his wide-eyed confusion, Jax had no intention of outing himself in front of more teammates.
Why Tom decided to mention it in this setting in the first place remained a mystery.
Jax did the only thing he could to save the conversation and changed the subject.
“Anyway, how’s the knee doing?”
East grimaced.
“I’m so—”
“If you apologize one more time…” East threatened Tom.
“It’s fine. You know I’ve been playing on a strain all season, and I never fully recovered the first time it tore.
You can’t stick a Toradol shot in a nonexistent ligament.
It was bound to happen. And this way, I got to see you lose your cool for once. ”
Hayesie snickered. “Yeah, what was that about? No offense, Cap, but you should leave the fighting in our gloves.”
Tom sank lower in his chair. “I don’t know… He was saying…stupid things, and I wanted him to shut up.”
East’s eyebrows rose. “Jax, he said something to you, right?”
Jax wanted to make a quip about his cocksucking mouth, hiding the truth behind a joke as he had a hundred times before, but he caught sight of Tom’s panicked face, eyes wide and frantic.
His eyes were an odd color, a grayish blue which should have seemed cold but instead appeared deep. A man could get lost at sea in there.
His concerned expression triggered Jax’s understanding.
Tom worried other people would find out about Jax, and it would spread around the league that impeccable, impenetrable Tom Crowler had a queer on his team.
Of course. “Not a homophobe,” Jax’s perfectly round left ass cheek.
He might not be calling Jax names to his face, but he didn’t want to be associated with his queerness either.
“Oh, you know,” Jax said vaguely. “The usual bullshit about why I got traded.”
Neither Hayes nor East had ever asked about his sudden appearance in San Francisco.
Jax cursed himself for mentioning it and scrambled for a last-minute cover story involving a torrid affair with a fictional girl from the front office.
But they continued their streak of disinterest despite having a perfect opportunity.
Had hockey players always been so incurious, or was this a trait specific to the Sea Lions due to years of exposure to Tom’s particular brand of never talking about anything if he could help it?
East even seemed satisfied with the nonexplanation of why Tom had chosen to fight for the first time in his career.
Jax would have thought he’d know his own best friend better, but he seemed to take Tom jumping into a fight over a perceived slight to Jax, of all people, at face value.
Maybe the knee was too distracting for common sense.
“Philly’s coming up,” Hayesie pointed out instead of asking anything pertinent about the trade. “How’re you feeling about going back?”
Jax took a long draw of his shitty beer. “Pretty good,” he lied.