Sebastian stood next to the glass in the Philips Arena, arms crossed over his chest and staring out at the ice. R.J. stood next to him, drinking an overpriced beer and grinning.
“This is so cool,” he said, for what had to be the sixth time. “And, somehow, that still makes you glare. Are you nervous, Sebastian?”
He wasn’t trying to glare—at least, until R.J. said that thing about being nervous. “Why would I be nervous?”
“Your boyfriend is going to play hockey?” R.J. smiled. Luckily, Tristan had been fine with R.J. knowing that he was gay, understanding that R.J. was a trusted friend who would never out him to anyone.
“Yes, but again, why would that make me nervous?” Sebastian glanced at R.J., who—of course—was wearing a Venom T-shirt. Sebastian owned no hockey-themed clothing at all, except for a shirt of Tristan’s that Tristan had left in his apartment. It was too big on Sebastian and it was from Tristan’s college team, not his professional one. At some point, Sebastian thought, he should buy something supportive. Like the shirts he saw with players’ names and numbers on them, though the thought of wearing Tristan’s name on his back was vaguely ridiculous.
Though it was sort of hot too.
They were at the arena for the Venom’s opening night game, and Tristan had given Sebastian a couple of tickets. He’d of course asked R.J. to come with him, and they were waiting for the team to come out on the ice for a warm-up skate (R.J. had been the one to tell him to show up early for that, and Sebastian had to admit he was curious to see Tristan on the ice in all that gear of his), and were joined by a few other fans. All of whom were wearing Venom shirts and jerseys—though there were a few for the Marauders, the hockey team from Memphis that had taken the Venom out of the playoffs last year. Some young women were there with their phones and a few signs too.
The whole thing was decidedly out of his comfort zone, but the sociologist in him was fascinated. Sebastian had never been immersed in sports culture, and if nothing else, this would be an excellent observation opportunity. The buzzer sounded before he could mention that to R.J., who’d struck up a conversation with a couple of children. Sebastian never had any idea what to say to children younger than his college students. Somehow they took one look at him and decided he wasn’t the kind of grown-up you talked to. Sebastian couldn’t say he was sad about that.
There was a cheer from those assembled along the glass as the skaters came out, and Sebastian’s eyebrows went up as he saw how tall and imposing Tristan’s team looked on their skates. Fascinated, he leaned closer and watched as they began skating laps around the rink. He couldn’t remember if he’d ever been on a pair of ice skates. Probably not. Roller skates a time or two as a kid, maybe, but he’d not been very good at it.
R.J. nudged him. “Hey, there’s your . . . Tristan,” he amended quickly, now that they had a bit more of a crowd.
Sebastian frowned. Was Tristan his boyfriend? That title always seemed a bit juvenile to Sebastian, regardless of how old he—or his partner—was. He and Tristan were dating, certainly, and it was admittedly a bit more serious than casual. But partner seemed a bit too formal—not to mention, Sebastian would never be comfortable using that for someone who was closeted—and yet there was no other word to use. He put it out of his mind, vaguely chagrined that R.J. had spotted Tristan before he had, and focused on his . . . fine, his boyfriend skating by.
Sebastian smiled as some of the kids pounded on the glass to get the players’ attention. He wouldn’t be able to stand that if he were out there.
As if reading his mind, R.J. said, “I’m imagining you stopping and lecturing those kids about ruining your pregame concentration.” He grinned.
Sebastian rolled his eyes, but a smile touched the corners of his mouth. “You’re probably right.” He watched as Tristan flew by in a green-and-gold rush, moving fast and looking even broader than usual in all that gear.
As he skated by for the third time, Tristan met his eyes through the glass. Sebastian raised his hand from his crossed-armed position to give a bit of a wave, though he had no idea if Tristan saw it or not, given how fast Tristan was going. But on his next pass, Tristan tapped the glass with his hockey stick right where Sebastian was standing.
Something warm flared up in Sebastian’s blood and blossomed in his chest. It wasn’t lust, though he couldn’t lie and say that Tristan didn’t look hot as fuck in that uniform. That little stick tap, the acknowledgment that he’d seen Sebastian . . .
“Oh my God, the look on your face, dude,” R.J. murmured, a laugh caught in his low voice.
“Shut up or I’ll scalp your ticket,” said Sebastian, but he was smiling.
“We’re already here. You can’t scalp the ticket.”
“I didn’t mention that Tristan said I could have two for every home game?” Sebastian gave R.J. an innocent look. “Mea culpa.”
“No, you did not mention that, so yeah, tua culpa.” R.J. hit him lightly on the shoulder, and they watched as Tristan—after skating up and shooting pucks at the goalie—came over to the glass again.
This time he flipped a puck up and over the glass, sending the kids scrambling for it. He met Sebastian’s eyes and grinned, then nodded hello at R.J. Sebastian was ridiculously pleased Tristan didn’t do the stick-tap thing for anyone but him.
Boyfriend, indeed.
Sebastian watched the warm-ups until the buzzer sounded, then he obediently followed R.J. up to their seats. Tristan had already explained that the seats were in the so-called “WAGs” section—which apparently stood for “wives and girlfriends”—and they were seated next to a young woman wearing a Bellamy shirt.
“That’s the captain,” R.J. whispered.
“Shouldn’t she be on the ice?” Sebastian whispered back. He ignored the jab R.J. gave him and focused instead on the pregame ceremony. It involved a lot of loud music, flashing lights, and a bombastic announcer. It was a heady atmosphere, and Sebastian found himself enjoying it—especially when they announced the starting players and Tristan’s face flashed up on the jumbotron.
He looked like such a jock. Sebastian smiled to himself, remembering how he’d completely misjudged Tristan back at the beginning of the summer. He was hot, but there was a brain to go along with that taut body and those pretty blue eyes.
“Who are you here for?” asked the woman next to him, the one in the Bellamy shirt. She was pretty—all the women in the section were pretty, whether they were younger or closer to Sebastian’s age—with auburn hair and warm dark eyes.
His breath caught and a zing of panic raced up his spine. Sebastian had to work to keep the glower off his face. He knew exactly how unapproachable it made him look, but it’d been a long time since he’d felt that moment of fear at being discovered for being gay.
Calm down. People give tickets to their friends. There are other men in this section. “Tristan Holt is a friend of mine.”
“This guy,” R.J. broke in, smoothly, “has never seen a hockey game, can you believe that? Tristan was kind enough to get us tickets.”
Technically true, but it bothered Sebastian to have his relationship cast in such a light. He wasn’t sure that was fair of him, though, because he and Tristan . . . well. It wasn’t time to think about that, now. But it was obvious by the woman’s shirt and the rock on her finger she was married to one of the players—probably the captain, Bellamy—and Sebastian couldn’t help the flare of irritation that his own relationship had to be so carefully hidden.
Then again, he could be misjudging the situation and making assumptions. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d had his perceptions challenged, he thought wryly. “Yes. He was a student of mine this summer, and wrote some really thoughtful papers on life as a pro athlete.”
“Oh, he’s such a sweetheart,” the woman agreed. “My name’s Tabby Bellamy—my husband, Daniel, is the captain.” There was a little one next to her, peering up at Sebastian with her mother’s pretty dark eyes. Next to her was a slightly older boy, who must have taken after his father, with his curly brown hair and blue eyes. “This is my daughter, Gretchen, and my son, Nate.”
“Hello,” said Sebastian, giving a somewhat awkward wave. “I’m Sebastian, and this is R.J.”
“They’re friends of Holtzy’s,” Tabby told her children, who shyly peeked at him and then went back to watching the ice.
“Daddy!” The little girl pointed happily. “Look, Mama.”
“I think they could recognize Daniel’s number before they knew his first name wasn’t ‘Daddy,’” Tabby joked.
Sebastian’s tension eased at Tabby’s friendliness, and he answered a few questions about his job as a professor; agreed that, yes, Tristan was a smart kid; and ignored the grin he could feel R.J. aiming in his general direction whenever he talked about Tristan.
The game seemed to be taking forever to start, with more announcements and some sort of ceremony before the puck dropped involving a community leader and both captains from the team. Then they had to stand for the singing of the anthem, the inclusion of which in sporting events Sebastian didn’t quite understand, and finally—finally—it was game time.
As fast as the sport moved on television, it was nothing compared to watching it live. Sebastian had to orient himself and focus for a moment when he realized there was no announcer to provide a play-by-play (he’d maybe been watching hockey games on the NHL Network), but he saw Tristan immediately. He was on the ice a lot, and watching him play in person was really different than watching him play on the television.
It was also incredibly hot. Sebastian had never thought of himself as a man who particularly went for the athletic type, but he couldn’t deny how attractive he found the intensity, focus, and sheer physicality of Tristan’s sport. And Tristan playing it.
“Um,” R.J. whispered, leaning in at one point and nudging Sebastian in the side. “You’re drooling, dude.”
“Can you blame me?” Sebastian whispered back.
“No, actually,” R.J. said, in a normal voice, and clapped when the Venom’s goalie made a fantastic save at the other end of the ice.
R.J. and Tabby hit it off like a house on fire, and between the two of them—literally, as that was where he was sitting—Sebastian found he could easily follow the game and ask questions when he needed. Tabby’s hockey knowledge was off the charts, and she also dropped some interesting tidbits about the other players and generally kept them entertained when there were stoppages.
Sebastian had to admit it was fun to see the Venom score a goal, as the whole arena went nuts and jumped up to cheer. It was also Daniel Bellamy who put up the first goal of the Venom’s new season, and it was cute to watch Bellamy’s kids clapping so enthusiastically for their dad.
“They used to cry when we lost games,” Tabby said, in an aside to Sebastian. She giggled. “Daniel always said he didn’t mind, because he had to do press interviews about what went wrong, so it’s like the kids were doing it for him. They did cry after the Venom lost in the playoffs. Hell, so did Daniel. So did I.”
Sebastian had grown up in a culture that said men shouldn’t cry about anything, but he certainly didn’t hold to such an outdated belief of masculinity. He just wasn’t sure he could care enough about a sporting event to cry over the outcome, though admittedly that was before he met Tristan. Maybe, if they were to stay together . . .
Not the time to think about that. Sebastian turned his attention back to the game, though at some point he had to admit he was mainly watching Tristan to the exclusion of everyone else. And Tristan, as a defenseman, spent a lot of minutes on the ice. During the first intermission, Sebastian and R.J. went to get a beer and wander around the stadium a bit.
R.J. went to buy a Venom hat, and tried to talk Sebastian into buying a Holt jersey, of which there were more than a few. “I guess you could get him to give you one.”
“I’m not sure I want one he’s worn while playing,” Sebastian said, as they waited in line. “Besides, it would be too big on me.”
“Aw.” R.J. grinned at him. “That’s cute, Seb.”
Sebastian ignored him, and they went back to their seats with fresh beers and a hot pretzel, R.J.’s new hat perched on his head. Sebastian wondered if he should have gotten a shirt like Tabby’s with Tristan’s name and number, thinking to himself how funny it was to see a bunch of straight men walking around with other men’s names on their backs. It made him grin to think about, and he settled into his chair and sipped his beer as the second period started.
The game moved fast, and Sebastian enjoyed the second period the most, since Tristan was active defending the Venom’s goal. A few times Tristan checked a player into the glass and got a resounding cheer from the fans, Sebastian among them. There was something sexy about watching Tristan do that—muscle his way in and take the puck, knock other players away from it and use his stick to mess up their plays. Tristan was aggressive in a way that Sebastian wasn’t used to, at least when it came to sex, and it made a lot of sense why Tristan liked Sebastian to take control in the bedroom.
By the time the game ended in a Venom win, Sebastian wanted nothing more than to throw Tristan down and fuck him—hell, he wouldn’t even have to take off the uniform. Or maybe he would; Sebastian wasn’t exactly sure how that worked, but he knew he’d be more than happy to find out. He stood and clapped with the others as the Venom players all skated to center ice and saluted their fans with their sticks. Sebastian and R.J. stuck around long enough to hear the “three stars” of the game, and then they made their way toward the exit.
“That was great,” R.J. enthused, as they moved along with the crowd. “Feel free to keep bringing me along, okay?”
“Maybe everyone will think we’re dating,” Sebastian pointed out, politely stepping back to let an elderly woman walk ahead of him.
“Dude, I don’t care about that and you know it.” He grinned. “I bet you could find more than a few guys who wouldn’t care, either, if it meant they could score those seats every game.”
Sebastian rolled his eyes at his friend, checking his phone as they emerged into the night air. It was October, but that meant the days were still warm in Atlanta, a contrast to the chilly arena. Sebastian got a text message from Tristan as he was walking toward his car, which read, Hope you could follow along :)
Smiling, Sebastian texted back, I had some help but thanks. Good game.
“Dude,” R.J. said. “You seriously are smitten, Cruz. I didn’t even know you could smile like that.”
Sebastian was horrified to feel his face heat and hoped the parking lot lighting was too dark for R.J. to notice his flush. “Maybe that was my mom.”
“It totally wasn’t your mom. Hey, you know, it’s cool that you like him so much.” R.J. tugged on the brim of his cap. “And not because it means I get free hockey tickets. It’s good to see you have things to do other than scowl and run marathons.”
“If you want any more of those free tickets, stop talking,” said Sebastian, and he bid R.J. farewell as he found his car. After the cursory inspection to make sure there were no dints or dings on his precious GTO, Sebastian got in and patiently maneuvered his way out of the postgame traffic.
As he waited to merge onto the highway, his phone notified him of an incoming message from Tristan: I’m done here in a few. You want some company?
Sebastian texted back, I want you on your back as soon as possible, to which Tristan responded with a winking-face emoticon.
On the way home, Sebastian cranked up the music and did his best not to dwell on the things he didn’t want to think about—namely, how he hated pretending Tristan was just his “friend” even though he wasn’t sure he had the right to think of Tristan as anything else—and instead replayed all those checks Tristan threw, how fierce he’d played, and okay, fine, that stick tap before the game started. By the time he got home, he was half-hard and ready to do exactly as he’d said and put Tristan on his back—or against the door.
Tristan showed up about twenty minutes after Sebastian got home, and when Sebastian opened the door, his mouth went dry. Tristan wasn’t wearing his uniform—obviously—but he wasn’t wearing the sweatpants and T-shirt Sebastian had expected. Instead, he was in a suit tailored to his muscular frame, the tie undone and the shirt unbuttoned at the collar.
“Jesus,” Sebastian muttered, pulling him in and shutting the door by pushing Tristan back against it. “I was not prepared for you in a suit.”
“Surprise?” Tristan’s face was flushed, pupils dilated, and he seemed to have no problem with the way Sebastian was shoving him around and getting up in his space.
“It drives me crazy how you make everything look good.” Sebastian kissed him hotly, hands running over Tristan’s chest and the firm muscles of his abdomen beneath the dress shirt.
“You—ah—you liked the game, then?” Tristan panted against Sebastian’s mouth, trying to shrug out of his suit jacket and kiss Sebastian at the same time.
Sebastian didn’t answer, only reached down to get Tristan’s belt undone. He’d show Tristan just how much he’d enjoyed the game. They could talk about it later.
Later became the next morning. Sebastian woke up way too early for how late they’d been up, gave up trying to fall back asleep—Tristan took up way too much of the bed, and had the same heat setting as a blast furnace—and decided to go for an early-morning run. He’d already showered and was making breakfast when Tristan ambled out of the bedroom, wearing nothing but his boxer briefs.
That was distracting, but Sebastian had come to the realization while on his run that they were going to need to talk.
“Morning.” Tristan yawned, stretching. “Sorry I slept so late.”
“You were up late,” Sebastian reminded him, pouring some egg whites into a skillet.
“So were you,” Tristan pointed out, taking a seat at the island on one of the barstools. “And you’re up and making breakfast. And you went running, huh? Don’t lie.”
“I did. But I also didn’t play an exhausting game of hockey for sixty minutes.” Sebastian went to get a bottle of water from the fridge. “And I’m older than you.”
“Mmm. But you did fuck me like you were playing hockey.” Tristan smiled crookedly, taking the bottle of water Sebastian handed him and downing it. “Thanks. What’s for breakfast?”
“Egg-white omelet, some wheat toast, and juice. There’s coffee if you want some.” Sebastian gestured to the Keurig.
“Water’s fine,” said Tristan. “And that sounds good. I usually have a protein shake.”
Sebastian made a face. “There’s barely anything with nutrients in that,” he chastised gently, sliding the omelet on a plate. He slid it over to Tristan, who was done with it before Sebastian even had the bread in the toaster.
“Sorry, hey, you make a good disgustingly healthy omelet,” Tristan said, grinning at him. “I wouldn’t say no to another one.”
Sebastian made the toast and made another—more substantial—omelet for Tristan, with whole eggs instead of only the egg whites. Sebastian’s own light breakfast was probably nowhere near enough calories for someone who’d engaged in the level of physical activity as Tristan did.
They talked a bit about the game as Sebastian finished up cooking and they both ate breakfast, and Tristan went to clean up but Sebastian stopped him with a wave. “I have to talk to you about something, so let them be for a minute.”
Tristan’s easy, morning-after smile seemed to dim a little at that. “It’ll drive you crazy if they’re not done. I’ll make it quick, then we can talk.”
True. And Tristan knowing that about Sebastian was the reason they were going to have to talk. They finished the dishes in a relatively short time, and then Tristan sat back at the island with a cup of coffee and said, “Okay, what’s up?”
“I— Last night at the game,” Sebastian started, thinking about how to say what he wanted. He’d thought about it on his morning run, but it was harder with Tristan sitting here across from him, all wide blue eyes and open, honest expression. “Tabby Bellamy asked me who I was there to see, so I said you were a friend of mine.”
“Okay,” Tristan said, slowly.
“Is that what we are?” Sebastian asked, palms braced on the slick surface of the island.
Tristan’s hands were wrapped around the coffee mug, which seemed dwarfed by them. “Y-yeah? I mean, obviously you’re my friend.”
“Let me rephrase that.” Sebastian took a deep breath and waited for Tristan to meet his eyes. “Is that all we are? Because of course we’re friends, but Tristan, if that’s all you want from this, then I think I need to know that sooner rather than later.” He raked a hand through his hair. “I like you,” he said, simply. “And I don’t know what you want, but if you want this to be an exclusive relationship, I have to let you know, now, that I’m not sure how long I’m going to be comfortable saying that all we are is friends.”
Tristan stared down at his coffee, shoulders slightly hunched. He seemed to be thinking, so Sebastian remained quiet and let him. Eventually he raised his head and met Sebastian’s gaze. “In my mind, we’ve been dating. I don’t do casual, not really. I rarely hook up on the road, and I—I want to be with you. I like you too. A lot. And I know how you feel about that, but Sebastian, I’m . . . not ready to come out. It’s not that I don’t want to, exactly, it’s that . . . well, there’s no out gay player in the NHL, and I’m not sure I want to be the first one.”
Sebastian nodded. “I realize it’s not the same for you and that there’s more to consider. I’m not trying to pressure you, Tristan. But I’m not going to be comfortable being in the closet for anyone, especially if it’s a serious committed relationship.”
Tristan nodded. “I do get it. I just don’t know what to say. I want to see where this thing with us goes, Sebastian, but if you’re not . . . if it’s not something you can accept, I’ll understand.” His mouth twisted wryly. “I won’t like it, but I’ll understand.”
The smart thing to do would probably be to let Tristan finish his coffee, give him a kiss good-bye, and send him on his way with the T-shirt he’d left that was currently in Sebastian’s laundry basket. But he hated the idea of ending something before it’d barely gotten started, and besides, it wasn’t fair of him to pressure Tristan or ask for him to make such a monumental life decision based on the couple of months they’d been together. “I want to see where it goes too,” Sebastian said gruffly. “And I’m willing to accept that you are in a place where you can’t be out, but I also need you to know that if things get more serious, it means having this conversation again.”
Tristan pushed back from the island and stood up. “I hear you. I do. I know how much being out means to you and believe me, I admire you for it. I want to be, it’s just . . .”
“It’s not that easy,” Sebastian finished for him. “I know. I think we’re on the same page, and honestly, that’s why I brought this up.”
Tristan came around the island so they were standing face-to-face. “Thanks. For bringing it up. It’s good to know that you do that. Bring things up.” Tristan’s fair skin flushed. “Uh, sorry. I’m bad at talking about relationships. I think. I’ve never really had to do it before.”
“Don’t worry. I’m good at talking enough for the both of us.” Sebastian let his eyes run over Tristan’s body, finally focusing on how he was wearing a pair of boxer briefs and nothing else.
“I gotta bring something to this relationship besides the free hockey tickets,” Tristan joked, and leaned down to kiss him.
Sebastian drew his fingers along the cock slowly beginning to tent out Tristan’s briefs. “Oh, trust me, you bring a lot.”
Tristan huffed a laugh against his mouth. “More than you can handle, Professor?”
Sebastian bit his lower lip. “You wish. Let’s go work off those omelets.” He gave Tristan’s ass a smack, and smiled at Tristan’s sudden indrawn breath.
There might be a time when they needed to make some hard decisions, but it wasn’t now.