Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
Brandon
Florida is not making it easy for us tonight, that’s for sure. The score has been tied one to one since the first period.
I look up at the clock on the jumbotron above the ice. There’s just over a minute left to play in regulation. If either team doesn’t score soon, we’re headed into overtime. We’re all gassed. That is the last thing anyone wants.
“We just need one more!” Danton yells out on the ice as everyone gets into position for the next face off.
Roysy’s line is out there right now, with Reinhold taking the draw.
He has a pretty good percentage when it comes to winning face offs, but he’s no Ryan, that’s for sure.
I wish our line was out there. But I understand Coach Chris’s thought process here.
Roysy’s line is better defensively than ours.
Ryan, O’Shea, and I are skill guys. Roysy and company are pests.
Complete menaces out there whose sole purpose is to annoy and bother the other team’s best players into making a mistake.
Which is exactly what is happening the minute the puck is dropped. Reinhold loses the face off. But Florida doesn’t have the puck for long as even though he lost, Reinhold uses his close proximity to shoulder check Florida’s center, causing him to give up the puck.
Roysy gets ahold of it, then flips it out to Danton in our zone. He holds it behind the net while Roysy’s line and our line make a quick change.
Ryan is first over the boards, followed by O’Shea. As soon as Reinhold makes it back to the bench, I hop over.
When my blades hit the ice, Ryan skates the puck into the neutral zone and I take my position, flanking him on his right wing.
On the bench, Coach’s voice carries. “Ivanov!” he shouts, signaling for Ivanov to come in and for Gauthier to come join us on the ice as an extra forward.
I hate when coaches pull the goalie. It’s a risky move. If a single one of us misplays the puck, it’s a near guarantee that Florida is going to score on our empty net. So it is very important that we run this perfectly.
Luckily for us, Ryan is dialed in. It’s clear he has a sense where everyone is on the ice. He knows how everyone is moving, where they’re going, when they will be somewhere. He passes the puck to O’Shea. Then uses the space he just created for himself to move closer to net front.
Instantly, O’Shea is in trouble. Florida’s top defenseman is on him, keeping him locked into the top of the left circle. He chips it away from himself, back towards the middle of the lane.
Gauthier is moving there, taking Ryan’s old position at center. He gets the puck on his stick then immediately passes it to me. I wind up a one-timer and slap the puck towards the net.
Florida’s goalie deflects it with his blocker. But Ryan catches the rebound and pushes it into the back of the net with his stick right before the clock hits zero.
“Fuck, yes!” I yell as I skate to him and wrap him into a hug. Danton isn’t far behind me, and then Clemmers, O’Shea, and Gauthier are with us too.
“One hell of a rebound,” I say to Ryan, beaming up at him.
His face is flushed, and he looks relieved. “Let’s get out of here, boys,” Ryan says. “I need a drink after this one.”
Ryan
As soon as we get back to our hotel, the entire team makes a beeline to the bar. I catch a glimpse of the bartender. He rakes his eyes over all of us and I can see him make the assessment that we are not their typical clientele.
I take a look around. The place is packed, but the vibe is chill and quiet with lo-fi beats playing in the background. It’s decorated to match, making the place look and feel less like a bar and more like a stylish lounge with wide open doors that lead out to Miami beach.
At least we all still have our suits on, otherwise we would be terribly underdressed and look more out of place than we already do. But even in his suit, Brandon looks a mess. His hair is all over the place and it’s dried frizzy thanks to the Florida humidity. I find it distractingly charming.
“Who’s ready for another drink?” Danton asks, clapping Brandon and me on the shoulders.
“I am,” I say, feeling the adrenaline from this win wearing off.
“What about you, Baby?” Danton yells. He slings his arm across Brandon’s shoulders, drawing the attention of some nearby patrons. “Are you ready for another drink?”
Brandon has gone pink in the cheeks. A group of gentlemen at the nearby table has taken notice.
One of them raises his eyebrow as he stares at Brandon and Danton, sipping his drink.
A nearby table full of women are giggling like this is the cutest thing they’ve seen all night.
And the bartender suddenly looks very interested in Brandon and Danton, which is surprising as upon our entrance he seemed to be barely tolerating our presence.
It’s funny, really. I see this a lot. No one ever assumes a hockey player could possibly be gay. They think we’re all nothing but a bunch of bros. Which, okay, that’s a fair assessment. We are a bunch of bros. But since when can bros not be gay?
Which makes this situation even funnier as Danton is definitely not, and I’ll be fair, Brandon is still unconfirmed. But… this blush on his cheeks, and okay, these lingering glances I catch him giving me, and the conversations we’ve been having, the answer to my question looks a lot like a yes.
Danton finally seems to pick up on what everyone in our vicinity is thinking about them. And true to Danton’s form, he doesn’t miss a beat. He kisses Brandon on his bright red cheek with a loud smack.
Brandon looks at me. Panic written all over his face.
I yank him out from under Danton’s arm. “Alright, Foley,” I say. “Leave him be.”
“Aww, Rye!” Danton exclaims. “Don’t be jealous.” He kisses my cheek just as loudly as he did Brandon’s. “You’ll always be my first.”
Laughing, I shove his shoulder and roll my eyes. “Does your wife know? I feel like this would be a surprise to her.”
“She’d be shocked!” Danton laughs. “Especially since we have four kids at home.” He turns to look at the bartender, who has gone back to looking at us with disdain. “Maybe we’d be better off taking this party up to our rooms. It’s a little stuffy down here, don’t you think?”
“Very,” I say, nodding my head.
Danton starts to round everyone else up and I look at Brandon.
He looks completely relieved at the idea of going somewhere without prying eyes staring him down.
“Come on,” I say with a tip of my head towards the elevators.
Right now what I need is some time alone between the two of us.
“Let’s get a head start on raiding the mini bar. ”
Brandon
Ryan’s idea of raiding the mini bar is less about cracking open tiny bottles of booze and more like calling room service and ordering an overly expensive bottle of red wine, two steaks, and a large platter of mashed potatoes for us to share.
Now I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t know much about dating.
But what I do know is that if I was to ever go on a date with someone, this is exactly the kind of thing I would want.
Not that this is a date. It isn’t, of course. It’s pure coincidence that this is just my dream scenario. Including the company.
“We can catch up with the rest of the guys in a bit,” Ryan says while cutting into his steak. He eagerly brings the chunk to his mouth and groans his satisfaction. It’s torture. After he swallows, he continues, “I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”
“Me neither.” I take a sip of my wine to quench my thirst. It doesn’t work.
I probably know less about wine than I do about dating.
I guess this is what people mean when they describe it as dry.
How can a liquid be this useless at wetting my mouth?
It does complement the steak well, though, so I’m not complaining.
“So…” Ryan looks at me from across the table. There’s an intensity radiating from him that’s not usual. What is he about to say? “You got awfully red in the face down there earlier.”
Oh. “Which time?” I ask with a roll of my eyes. Because let’s be real, I’m always red in the face lately.
Ryan grins. “When Danton called you Baby in front of everybody.”
“Again,” I laugh around a mouthful of food, “which time?”
Ryan’s eyebrow rises to accompany his grin. “The time where everyone at the bar who wasn’t a Mule assumed that you and Danton were dating.”
“As if I’d ever date Danton,” I say before I can stop myself. But this time, instead of my face turning red, I feel all the color drain out of me and run through the floor, taking my stomach with it.
Ryan keeps his eyes on me as he sits back in his chair and takes a sip of his wine. He swallows then wipes his lips with his napkin. “I get it,” he says. “He’s not my type either.”
My heart rate picks up. I can’t breathe. My mind is stuttering. Did he just confirm what I’ve been thinking? There is literally no way. Except…
“I can hear the hamster spinning the wheel that runs your brain, Brandon.” He leans forward again and cuts himself another piece of his steak.
He licks his lips before he eats it, then after swallowing, with a deep, sultry voice, he says, “You can tell it to slow down before it falls off and you crash out. I’m gay. Just as I suspect you are.”
Taking a deep breath, I nod my head to confirm his suspicions.
“Now that we’ve got that out of the way—” he cuts into his steak again and this time he drags the slice through the buttery mashed potatoes and eats it all together, “—you want to fuck?”
I choke on my wine again.
My brain hamster starts running at full speed again. Because like, holy shit… yes. It’s been my fantasy for eight fucking years. But also, like, no. That’s a terrible fucking idea.
“I’m kidding.” He laughs, though I catch an edge in it.
I expect relief to course through me, but instead what I feel is rejection. “Right,” I say. “I’m not your type.”