Thank God for one-stoplight towns. Beau Hopper coasted through stop signs and intersections on the outskirts of town, tapping his unreliable brakes as little as possible. Glancing at the map app on his phone, he quickly checked the distance he had left. Two minutes until the shop. Okay, good. He could make it without stopping to throw in some more brake fluid. To be fair, Hidden Creek had more than one stoplight, but still, it was small. If he couldn’t exaggerate in his head, where could he?

Hopefully, no animal or small child would choose to dart out in front of Lady Gaga in the next two minutes. With that enchanting image in mind, he pressed the brakes on the red Town & Country minivan. The pedal immediately sunk to the floorboard. Fuck.

Turn right in one hundred feet the Google Maps app calmly ordered him, obviously unaware of his impending vehicular disaster. Pumping the brakes, he dropped the van into low gear. He took the turn, not giving the stop sign a second’s consideration, and coasted into the garage’s parking lot. Thanks to whoever had designed it, the driveway had just enough of an incline to slow the van to a stop right before it crashed into the cement wall of the building.

Beau breathed a sigh of relief and put the van into park. It had better only be the master cylinder. Yeah, he should have brought it in a week ago when he’d started having to add brake fluid every other day, but he’d been busy. Usually, he treated her better. They’d been together a long time; he’d bought the van after he’d graduated from college nine years ago. She was the only thing he really cared about.

Peggy’s Auto Palace didn’t look like much. At one time, the green paint on the garage doors and around the top of the building had been fresh, but those days were long gone. The sign had been replaced fairly recently, but Beau could clearly see the outline where the old one had been. A three-bay garage with a dirt lot packed tightly with cars in varying conditions, the shop had that comforting look of a place that would try to get their customers parts from a salvage yard rather than trying to convince them to go with original parts.

Beau hopped out of the van and went to go find someone to help.

One of the bay doors was closed, another had a brand new Tacoma up on the lift, and the last had an older Honda Civic parked in it. No people anywhere that Beau could see. There was a glassed-in office at one end of the building, so he headed in that direction.

“Hello?” he called, walking into the small room. The ancient window air conditioner grumbled loudly as it tried to fight the late-afternoon heat. It wasn’t that hot temperature-wise, but the inevitable afternoon thunderstorm came complete with a smothering blanket of humidity. At least it would be gorgeous after the storm passed.

“Yeah?” A tall, thin woman with short hair answered him. Beau barely registered her presence, being totally distracted by the hot guy leaning against the doorframe, eating his lunch like he had no idea how sexy it was. The white sleeveless T-shirt he wore displayed his bulging biceps to great effect. The guy had been kind enough to tie the arms of his unzipped coveralls around his waist so Beau could get a great look as he entire torso. Surely Beau had seen at least one porno that started with this same scenario.

The guy raised his eyebrow at Beau’s silent staring. “Can we help you with something?” he asked.

There were so many things the guy could help him with, but only one he would ask for at this moment in time. “Um, yeah. I need my van looked at?”

Brilliant, Beau. Damn it. Why did that guy have to be here? Beau never had been able to think around really hot guys. Heat crept up the back of his’s neck. “It’s the brakes. They’re sinking to the floor. I’m thinking it’s the master cylinder, or leaky hydraulics, or both.”

“Okay,” the woman said. “If you want to leave it, we can take a look at it tomorrow. It’s kind of late now.” She stood up, and the hot guy took another bite of his sandwich and wiped his hand on his coveralls.

“I figured. It’s not a problem. One of my teammates is coming to pick me up.” He hoped. Technically, Shotsky hadn’t called him back yet. But he would; Beau was ninety percent sure.

“Teammates?” Hot Guy asked.

“Yeah, I play with the Tornadoes?” Why was everything he said coming out as a question?

Hot Guy shook his head. “Don’t know them.”

Beau got that reaction a lot. “Local ECHL team. We’re a development team for the Seattle Thunder.”

Peggy—at least he assumed the woman was the eponymous Peggy—wiped her hands on her jumpsuit and walked outside, Hot Guy right behind her.

He looked at Beau as he passed and gave him a jerk of his chin. “Hey.” His eyes dropped quickly down and back up Beau’s body.

Beau smiled. Oh, yes. In places like Hidden Creek, Texas, it paid to be subtle. Hot Guy was a pro at subtle. Beau gave him a return smile and a quick nod. Yeah, I see you, that nod said.

“Not seen you around before. You new?” Peggy asked, shoving her hands deep into her pockets.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I moved here a few months ago.”

Peggy gave him an appraising glance, pausing at his hair. “Most hockey players I know don’t have blue hair.”

“How many hockey players do you know?”

She paused. “Good point. Most hockey players I’ve seen on TV don’t have blue hair.”

They made their way to the front of the shop. The guy scowled at Beau’s van, kicking the tires. Beau didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone do that in real life.

“I wouldn’t expect a hockey player to be driving a soccer mom mobile,” he said.

“Hey. Don’t hate. Appreciate.” Beau smiled.

The guy laughed, his entire face lighting up. Underneath the grime and sweat, he looked a few years younger than Beau—almost boyish. Beau wanted to see that smile again.

“I’m Connor,” the guy said. “Connor Casey.”

“Beau Hopper. Pleased to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you.” They shook hands, holding on a few more beats than necessary. Another part of the game. Connor’s palm was warm and calloused from work. What would it feel like on Beau’s waist? On other more intimate places? God, he needed to get laid. It had been too long.

“So, Beau Hopper, tell me why you drive a minivan,” Connor said.

“I think the real question you have to ask yourself, Connor Casey, is why don’t you drive a minivan?” He liked the way Connor’s name felt on his tongue. “But to answer your question, this is not just any minivan. This is Lady Gaga,” Beau said, waving his hand with a dramatic flourish.

“Lady Gaga?”

Crossing his arms, Beau turned back to Connor. “Well, what else was I supposed to name her? She has style. Panache. Presence. She’s not some common Dodge. I had to give her a name that matched her flair.”

Connor held his hands up in apology. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to impugn your van.”

“Oh, great word.” Beau placed his hand dramatically over his heart. “Sadly, it is not just the van you have wronged, it’s Lady Gaga herself you have besmirched.”

“Besmirched?” Connor bit back a smile.

“Be. Smirched. Now you have to swear on Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta and Madonna Louise Ciccone that you won’t do it again.”

Connor shook his head. “Who are those people?”

Beau gasped. “You really don’t know?” It was on the tip of Beau’s tongue to ask how Connor could call himself a gay man if he didn’t know those two crucial bits of information. But Connor hadn’t called himself that yet in front of Beau. It could just be wishful thinking on Beau’s part, no matter what signals he was getting.

“I’m just screwing with you,” Connor said with a laugh.

“Thank God. I was starting to rethink my decision to leave her with you.” He really wasn't. There was no way he was driving her again until the brakes were fixed. “Real answer why I love her? She has everything I need, including a ton of storage room, even before you count the box on top.” Connor looked up and frowned as if he had just noticed the giant black plastic storage container on the top of the roof. “Do you have any idea how much space hockey gear takes up?”

Connor shook his head.

“A lot.” Beau walked around to the back of the van, where numerous bumper stickers vied for space on the big tailgate, decorating it like a gold-painted pasta on a kid’s picture frame.

Besides a decal for each hockey team he’d played on, there were others he’d accumulated over his years of traveling across the United States. Route 66, Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas, and Colorful Colorado. Something from every state. The Oklahoma state decal blended in with the rest, just another pin on the map.

“Holy shit. You’ve got quite the collection,” Connor said.

“I pick one up every place I live. Every team I’ve played on has a space.”

“You’re from Oklahoma?” Peggy asked, noticing the plates.

“Yes, ma’am. Originally. I’ve moved around quite a bit.” That was putting it mildly. If you added up all the time he’d spent on the ranch, it would come out to something less than ten, eleven years.

“There’s not a lot of hockey in Oklahoma.”

Beau grinned. “That’s why I’ve moved around.”

“Okay, so it has plenty of space for your bumper stickers. What else does it have?” Connor asked.

“I’m glad you asked.” He lifted the hatch to show off the interior. The passenger’s side of the vehicle was occupied by a small but complete kitchen setup, with a single-burner electric stove, a small fridge, and cabinets. A mattress on a raised storage platform took up the other side. The bed was made up with a set of mismatched sheets and a fluffy comforter. Four pillows lay at the head. A small flat screen television hung from the ceiling.

Connor raised his eyes appreciatively, running a hand over the wooden cabinetry. “Nice woodwork.”

“Thanks. I did it myself.”

“Are you a builder?” Peggy asked, throwing a quick look at Connor.

“I do a lot of construction over the summers.” With a push of the key fob, the side door slid open automatically. “Check this out.” He lifted the end of the bed platform, demonstrating how it was hinged in the middle. “It’s all removable. And she’s got stow-and-go seats that fold into the floor, so I don’t even have to take them out. If I need seating, I just roll up the mattress et voila.”

“Do you have power in here?” Connor asked, climbing in the back for a closer look.

“Yes. There’s a second storage battery under that box with a power inverter to change the D/C from the battery to A/C for my computer.” He pointed to the small box at the foot of the bed.

“Sweet,” Connor said. “Must be great for camping.”

“It really is.”

“Do you live in the van?” Peggy asked, eyebrows drawn together.

“I have before. Might again, if I can’t find another place,” Beau said with a laugh.

“What happened to your old place?” Connor asked.

“Nothing. It’s just not really working out for me. I’ve been staying at the house the team puts all the single guys up in instead of giving them a housing allowance. Think Animal House, but smellier.”

“Sounds like it could be fun,” Connor said.

Beau shrugged. “Too many parties, and I can’t open a bathroom door without finding some strange girl in the shower. I’m too old for that anymore. It’s not really my scene.” That was the short answer. The long answer was more involved, but Beau was taking care of it. He’d find somewhere else to live for a few months and avoid having to deal with the situation anymore.

Peggy cocked her head to the side. “Which part ain’t your scene? The sleeping around or the girls?”

She was fishing, but his gaydar was telling him he would be safe with these two. “Both,” he answered, bracing for the inevitable follow-up question.

“You gay?” she asked.

Beau held her gaze. “Yes, ma’am, I am.”

Connor cleared his throat, and Beau glanced over at him. His skin had developed a sheen of sweat in the short time they’d been outside, making him look even sexier. Beau winked at Connor and was relieved by the grin he got in return. Question asked and answered. He was sure they were playing on the same team.

“Can’t be easy, being a gay hockey player,” Peggy said, leaning against the side of his van.

He shrugged. “Can’t be easy being a woman auto mechanic in Texas, either.”

Peggy laughed. “I like you, hockey boy.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Connor looked at him, head cocked. “Do the other guys know?”

Beau rocked his hand in a ‘maybe yes, maybe no’ gesture. “Some of them. I don’t lie if people ask, but I don’t announce either. I’m not the only gay guy in the league by a long shot. Actually, that’s one of the reasons I was glad to get on the Tornadoes. Makes it easier.”

He’d enjoyed every team he’d played on until now, but the Tornadoes held a special place in his heart since they were affiliated with the Thunder. Like many young hockey players, he’d worshiped their former team captain, power-forward Bryce Lowery. When Bryce came out last Thanksgiving, right before retiring, it had been a complete surprise to everyone. But the team was one hundred percent behind him, and so far the fans had handled it well.

“I don’t get it. What makes the Tornadoes different?” Connor asked. “Sorry, I don’t really know much about hockey.”

“The Tornadoes and Thunder are affiliated.”

Connor spread his hands. “And?”

“Do you not follow sports?” Beau asked rolling his eyes.

“Yeah. Football. A real sport.” Connor had a glint in his eye, daring Beau to argue against football deep in the heart of Texas, where the game was everything.

Game on. Beau narrowed his eyes at Connor. “How many games does a professional NFL team play during a regular season, not counting preseason or playoffs?”

“Sixteen,” Connor answered.

“In a seventeen-week season, right?” Connor nodded.

“Do you know how long hockey season is?”

Peggy looked up like she was adding in her head. “Twenty-four?”

“Close. Twenty-six during the regular season. And how many games do you think each team plays in a season?” He poked Connor in the chest, and the other man’s eyebrows shot up. “How many?”

“I don’t know. I’m gonna guess it’s not twenty-six.”

“Eighty-two.”

Connor gave a low whistle of appreciation. “Day-um. That is a lot of hockey.”

“Damn straight it is.” He gave Connor a blatant look up and down his body. “Come on down to the rink one night and see for yourself. I’ll get you a ticket.”

Connor smiled.

“Get a room, boys,” Peggy joked, pushing off from the van. “So, I think I heard something about that team, the Thunder. Couple of their boys came out just recently, right? Pretty publicly, if I recall correctly.”

“How do you know that?” Connor asked her, surprised.

“I like to keep up on what’s going on in the community, Con.” The implication that he might want to as well hung in the air.

“Fine. Tell me about it.” He turned to Beau.

“Two guys on the team are dating. It was a huge deal when they came out a few weeks ago. You really didn’t hear anything about it?”

Connor shrugged apologetically.

Beau shook his head. “You should look them up. And not just because they’re both really hot. But they were really brave, too. They risked some seriously lucrative positions by going public.”

“I bet they gained some positions they liked even better.” Connor raked his eyes up and down Beau’s body. “I’ll check them out.”

“You can come watch at our place,” Peggy butted in. “I’ve told you before. It’d be fun.” She turned to Beau. “My wife Val and I try to catch the hockey games when we can.”

Beau smiled. “Glad to hear we have fans.”

“I never said we watched the Tornadoes,” she said with a wink.

Smacking him lightly on the shoulder, she turned back toward the office. “Hang out here for a few minutes, I need to talk to Connor. We’ll be right back.”

“No problem.” Beau walked to the back of the van and sat down on the floor next to the bed. He loved his van, but he really didn’t want to have to sleep in her for the next few months if he didn’t have to. It was hard to keep it cool overnight.

Rental property was scarcer than hen’s teeth in these parts, but he thought he’d seen a halfway decent hotel on the strip. Maybe he could stay there for a few months. Or maybe he’d just buy one of the little ranch houses in town, fix it up while he was here, and flip it for a profit when it was time to go. That might be fun. Whatever. Something would work out. It always did.