Chapter Two #2
“Coach,” Dmitriyev called from the goal net Luca and Breezy had been defending. “Can you play less good D-pair? I am very bored, and it gets cold.”
Everyone laughed, including Tom and Jax.
“Good show, guys,” Lindy told them as they hopped off the ice. “I like what I’m seeing. Hayes, Nieminen, you’re up on D. Mooney, Howie, you’re on offense.”
Phil patted both Luca and Breezy on the shoulder as they took their seats on the bench, shucking their gloves and helmets. “Nice work.”
Breezy’s leg brushed against Luca’s, and when he offered Luca his water bottle, their hands touched.
The brief brush of skin on skin did nothing to compensate for Hayes elbowing him aside later to get the showers while the water temperature was still decent, nor did it keep Luca from hearing Vanderbilt joking with some of the call-ups about the “queer charity bullshit.” Nonetheless, the sense memory of Breezy’s warm, sweat-damp touch lingered, reminding Luca of everything he loved about being here, in the NHL, on this particular team.
“Ugh,” Breezy groaned as they got into his car. “I’m so tired. All I want is the biggest bowl of carbonara in the state.”
“You mean tagliatelle in cream sauce,” Luca corrected. “Training camp has barely begun, and the meal plan is already worthless to you.”
“If you keep being rude about my mom’s authentic Italian recipes, I won’t make you any.”
“Oh no. Whatever will I do? I suppose I will starve.”
Luca didn’t even have to wait a full minute before Breezy relented. “Okay, fine. I’ll make you some.”
He smiled to himself as Breezy pulled out of the players’ garage.
“I’m on to you,” Breezy told him. “I’m going to teach you to cook someday.”
“But then what will I need you for?”
“Being your personal chauffeur.”
“The light up there is red.”
Breezy cursed and slammed on the brakes.
Luca didn’t have any more snarky commentary, and he still felt so sensitive about his role on the team he was afraid he’d reveal how much Breezy meant to him, so he let the conversation drift while Breezy concentrated on getting them home.
At some point midway through last season, Luca had to give up his attempts at getting Breezy to hate him.
Breezy didn’t mind Luca snapping at him, Luca rejecting his claims at Italian ancestry, or Luca mocking his cooking.
He smiled through it all, offering to make dinner and watch soccer, though Luca knew it bored him stiff because he spent half the game on his phone.
Breezy was never going to hate him, and Luca was never going to get rid of his attraction to the man.
Being rude and snappish when Breezy had done nothing to deserve it made Luca feel worse, so now, he saved it for when he would otherwise do something even stupider such as kiss his roommate.
Once he’d accepted Breezy’s friendship—whether he wanted it or not—Luca began to think of the excessive amount of time they spent together, both at work and at home, as exposure therapy.
If he spent all day, every day with him, Luca must eventually become immune to his big, wide eyes, his stupidly broad shoulders, and his earnest nature.
Luca did think every third thing out of Breezy’s mouth was ridiculous, so it shouldn’t be hard to teach his heart and his dick to feel the same way.
Nearly a year on, and he had yet to succeed.
Luca had great taste in women. His first girlfriend was an under-eighteen world champion figure skater, and his second was a girl from his Early Modern European history course at university.
He’d loved both of them passionately at the time, but things had fizzled out under the half-long-distance, half-too-busy-for-dating strain of a hockey season.
He had no idea how he had gone from dating beautiful, accomplished women to a persistent and unavoidable fixation on a teammate, let alone one like Breezy who lived with one foot in perpetual cluelessness.
Breezy smiled over at him. He had dimples when he smiled, and his new haircut made him look even more boyish and charming than before, highlighting his strong nose and cleft chin. Luca’s stomach filled with butterflies.
No. He could not keep doing this to himself. They could be friends and roommates, but Luca needed to let his feelings go by any means necessary.
“Howie told me he is looking at apartments around our area,” he said casually. “How much do you think he’ll end up paying?”
“Hm…” Breezy considered. He’d rolled his window down as soon as he started the car, his left forearm resting on the ledge.
He guided on the wheel with his other hand, confident and easy, and it was so big.
Luca wondered how those hands would feel on him.
Would Breezy’s touch feel as soft and gentle as the way he spoke and acted?
Or would he be as decisive and forceful as when he was on the ice?
“I bought my place for around 800K,” Breezy said. “But I’m sure Howie got a much bigger bonus last year. He had a way better plus/minus than I did.”
Luca frowned. “Howie is a forward. And you played on the PK almost all year, no?”
“Yeah.”
“So you played in the most difficult defensive situations. How would you get a good plus/minus?”
“By letting in less goals.”
Luca pursed his lips. “Plus/minus is a stupid statistic. It doesn’t take the team around you into account, and it doesn’t take into account your position.”
“Yes, it does. Goalies don’t have a plus/minus.”
“Technically accurate, but not a helpful point. You are a different type of player than I am.”
“Yeah, I’m supposed to stop pucks from going in our net. You’re supposed to score on the other guys. How many goals get scored against us when I’m on the ice is, like, my most important stat.”
“But I didn’t—you—” Luca wished he’d taken a statistics class at university so he could explain why Chris, yet again, undersold himself. “I cannot begin to explain how wrong you are.”
“I think that means I win.” Breezy looked so pleased with himself at the thought Luca wanted to kiss him.
This was not why he had started this conversation. “So you think Howie can get a place for, what, a million?”
Breezy nodded slowly. “Yeah. Maybe even a bigger place. I mean, property values go up all the time around here, but it’s only been a year, so he might get lucky.”
“Your apartment could be worth maybe 900K now, then.”
Grinning brightly, Breezy nudged him with his elbow. “Totally. There’s this famous NHL star living there. He got to go to the All-Star weekend last season.”
Luca rolled his eyes. The All-Star weekend was the most ridiculous event he had ever attended, and he’d spent the whole time wishing Breezy had gotten to go as well because Luca had become unfortunately used to spending all his time and playing all his hockey with Breezy by his side.
Still, he had the information he wanted—how much Breezy’s apartment was worth.
With the figure in mind, he could extrapolate what he should be contributing per month if Breezy charged him rent.
Discovering the extent of Breezy’s generosity sobered him.
Luca could cover groceries, gas, and utilities, and come nowhere close.
And Breezy wouldn’t let him pay for any of those either.
The other part of the conversation bothered him more though.
“I like how different our playing styles are,” he said as Breezy shut off the motor and made to get out of the car. “I think we complement each other. It is a strength, not a failing.”
“Oh.”
The underground garage was dark, but Luca could swear he saw Breezy blush.
“Well. I, uh…” Breezy rubbed at the back of his neck. “Thanks, and same.”
Warmth suffused Luca from the inside out, a steady glow that came from being appreciated by someone he cared about. It wasn’t poetry, let alone the romance Luca craved, but it was very Breezy.
He trailed Breezy to the kitchen and watched as he set about making dinner.
For all their banter in the car, Breezy often invented meal-plan-approved variants on his mother’s carb-and-cream-heavy cooking.
For her “carbonara,” he used whole wheat pasta and lean ham instead of bacon (which also wouldn’t have been right, but Luca conceded that finding decent pancetta in the USA involved going to specialty stores, a time investment not worth the effort during training camp), and he came full circle on the sauce, using whisked eggs instead of cream.
“I figured out a way to do it where it comes out pretty saucy,” Breezy told him as he cooked.
Luca listened in bafflement as Breezy proceeded to explain in great detail how whisking the eggs into the pasta while it was piping hot yielded a sticky, thick, flavorful sauce.
“That is carbonara,” Luca said.
Breezy beamed. “I know, right?”
“No, I mean, you’ve recreated a proper carbonara.”
“It is super close to my mom’s! But don’t tell her. She would worry about the eggs being too raw.”
Luca gave up. Breezy was smiling and happy. Authentic Italian cuisine didn’t matter in comparison.
If his siblings could hear him now, the mockery would never end.
They ate their dinner in companionable silence, sharing a plate stacked high with salad leaves, tomatoes, and cucumber slices between them. Luca finished well before Breezy, which was no surprise. The portion size it took to keep a man as big as him on his feet never failed to astonish.
Luca wished he could be underneath him, to have all that strength and size pushing him down.
Breezy would be nice about it, he was sure—he didn’t know how to be anything but nice—but maybe if Luca were annoying enough, Breezy would grab him by the wrists and press him into the nearest flat surface and—
He clamped down on the thought viciously.
Having feelings for a teammate was bad enough. He didn’t have to lust after him so intensely it verified every nasty thing Hayes and Vanderbilt thought about him.