Chapter Five

HEY NORTH going 2 Tombstone tonight. You in?

Shane stared down at the message from Xavier Matthews. Did he want to meet up with a few of the guys for a drink? Shane’s immediate inclination was to decline—he was too old to drink with a bunch of guys in their twenties, wasn’t he?—but he made himself think about it as he fixed something with vegetables and protein for dinner. What the hell. Why not show up and bond for a bit? It was good the guys were hanging out outside of practice and games, especially since they’d been forbidden from doing that before. And they were pretty good guys. Shane enjoyed getting to know them once the miasma of despair lifted from the locker room. Who knew all it would take was some Bieber?

Shane texted back that he’d join them there, and he went to find something to wear that wasn’t running shorts and a sleeveless shirt. He put on a pair of nice jeans and a button-down and tried to do something with his hair other than scowl at it in the mirror. Finally he gave up and grabbed his car keys to head out. If he were in San Diego, he’d still have the top down, but here he was, messing with the heat. Shane was from North Dakota, but all those years in California had screwed up his tolerance for the cold. Even relatively temperate cold, like Asheville.

Shane saw his teammates right away. They were dressed similarly, in dark-washed denim and trendy shirts, and there were about six of them at the table with a couple of girls who were likely girlfriends. It was a lively bunch, and Shane was glad he decided to come out instead of just falling asleep watching Netflix. Or jacking off thinking about Callahan fucking his mouth, which…. Yeah, he had to stop or his jeans were going to get a little tight.

“Yo, North.” On every team Shane had ever played for, his nickname was never anything more than his surname—no er or ie added on the end. He gave a half-hearted wave, slid into an empty chair next to Xavier, and was introduced to the three girls at the table. They were nice girls, friendly and chatty. Certainly pretty, which Shane could appreciate even if he wasn’t interested.

“I’m glad you decided to come,” Xavier said to him after Shane ordered a Bonesaw IPA. Shane liked high-gravity beers, which was probably why he didn’t go out much during the season. Light beer tasted like piss to him. Shane noticed that Xavier was checking something on his phone. He recognized it as the Grindr app, but pretended he didn’t.

“Yeah. Thanks for inviting me.” Shane lifted his beer and said, “This is way better than anything I have in my fridge.” He considered ordering himself an appetizer, so he didn’t drink the strong beer on a stomach full of lean meat and vegetables. What was the point of it being his last season if he couldn’t order some pretzel sticks?

“Hey, North, do you really get like, first-class food in the NHL, on planes and shit?” Cory Martin asked as he leaned around Evan Snyder.

Shane’s memories of his NHL career were more about being a disappointment on the ice than about the food, but he nodded. “It was pretty good. Yeah. Team dinners were just about the same, though. Pasta, bread. Carb overload.” But he could barely remember that. Sixteen years earlier he’d been a rookie on the Ducks—wide-eyed and thinking that catered meals and airplanes would be his life from then on. How young he’d been.

“Can you imagine not having to be on a bus for a million hours?” Evan sighed. “That’d be fucking great.”

“At least this year we can talk on the bus,” Cory reminded. “I can’t believe that asshole St. Savoy wouldn’t let us. Fucking douchebag.”

“Sorry for his terrible language, ladies,” said Xavier.

Shane stared at his captain in disbelief and then reminded himself that Xavier was a southerner and they said shit like that.

“We can handle it,” said Cory Martin’s girlfriend Steph. She made a face. “Your old coach creeped me out. One time he told me how thin the girls who married hockey players were when he saw me drinking a Coke and eating some Cheez-Its.”

“What?” Cory’s eyes narrowed. He was a cheerful guy for the most part, but he looked pissed at hearing that. “You never told me that.”

Steph waved a hand. “Why would I? Welcome to being a girl, Cory. We get spoken to like that by asshole guys all the time. I think he was just jealous since he was ugly as fuck.” She smiled at Xavier. “Sorry for my language, Matty.”

That Steph used Xavier’s hockey nickname told Shane she’d been around long enough to become familiar with the team. Xavier pretended to flip her off and offered a syrupy faux apology, which made her laugh.

“You have a problem with cussing?” the girl next to Xavier, whose name was Rachel, asked with a flirtatious smile. “If I had to play hockey, I’d probably swear up a storm, ladylike or not.”

“Matty’s just polite ’cause he’s a local,” said Cory. “That’s why he drinks his tea with all that shit in it.”

“It’s sugar, Marty. Not shit.”

“Marty and Matty?” Rachel was clearly trying to get Xavier’s attention. “That must be confusing, y’all having the same name like that.”

“Sometimes, yeah,” Xavier said with a smile. “It’s Matty for Matthews, and Marty for Martin. The coaches call us by our actual last names, so at least there’s that.”

“You could have a way cooler nickname for Xavier, though,” Rachel teased.

“I had a friend who calls me X. Or he used to.” Xavier’s easy smile slipped a bit. Shane wondered who that friend was and knew the word didn’t just mean buddy.

Shane kept an eye on Xavier as the evening wore on, because Rachel was clearly determined to make a good impression, and who could blame her? Xavier was hot, polite, smart, and the captain of a professional hockey team. But Xavier wasn’t into girls, so there was no way it could end but badly. Shane knew that one for a fact. He’d been in that situation a few times. Xavier’s teammates knew he was gay, but they’d probably just make things worse.

Xavier was the kind of guy who apologized for crude language, and it was clear he didn’t know how to extricate himself. Maybe St. Savoy’s rigid rules about not hanging out after games had been easier for Xavier than some of the others, since it kept situations like that from happening.

Or maybe Shane was projecting and should just mind his own business.

He finished up his beer, handed over his credit card to the waitress, and made up his mind to lend a hand. “Hey, Matty, you think you could give me a ride? That beer went right to my head. Last thing I need is to get in trouble driving while buzzed.”

Xavier blinked and then cleared his throat and said, “Yeah, sure. No problem.” He gave his would-be date a smile. “Sorry, Rachel. Captain’s duties and all that.”

“Aren’t you like, thirtysomething?” Evan asked suspiciously as Xavier explained why he was taking off. “Seriously, North, what the fuck?”

“I wasn’t drinking piss water,” Shane responded pertly. He gave the girls a slight grin and signed his credit card slip with a flourish. “Sorry for my language, ladies.”

Xavier snorted next to him, and Cory laughed. The guys at the end of the table lifted their beers in salute.

The second they were out in the cool evening air, Xavier said quietly, “Thank you. I don’t know why I can’t just… ugh.”

“No worries. It’s cool.” Shane knew there was something up with Xavier, who seemed so comfortable being out in the locker room but nowhere else. “You seemed like you wanted to go and didn’t want to be an ass about it.” He gave a nonchalant shrug. “And I was ready to leave anyway. But, hey, Matty. Don’t worry about it. When it’s the right time to tell people other than the team, you’ll know.”

Xavier didn’t look too convinced. “It won’t be that time as long as I’m living here.” Before Shane could decide if he should ask, Xavier said, “You really need a ride? Because I’ll give you one.”

If I were less sober and in the mood for self-destruction and fucking up the team, I’d give you a ride, kid. Would he, though? Xavier was good-looking enough to keep a man entertained in the shower with his imagination and his right hand, but Shane wasn’t sure he could get drunk enough to ignore all the reasons why it’d be a bad idea to take him home.

Still, that didn’t mean hooking up with someone was a bad idea. It was a trendy district. Shouldn’t there be a queer bar or two somewhere nearby? And besides, if Xavier—logically the only person on the team who’d be likely to catch him at one—was safely out of the way, then Shane wouldn’t have to worry about anyone noticing him. Perfect.

“Nah. I’m good. Thanks, though.”

“Sure.” Xavier stopped by his bright yellow Nissan Xterra, which was probably a lot more practical for the climate and terrain than Shane’s Rabbit. “Thanks for the rescue and the pep talk, North.” He held his hand out, and Shane took it—so he could pull Xavier in and gave him the bro shoulder-clap hug.

“Like I said. It’s cool.” That was, what, the third opportunity to tell Xavier he was gay? At some point maybe Shane would admit the universe was sending him a hint. Just not right then.

After Xavier took off, Shane ducked into the doorway of a closed cupcake boutique and pulled out his phone. There was a gay bar a few blocks from there, according to Google, so he took a quick look at the map and started to walk. It wasn’t like he expected to get lucky, but it might not hurt to see if he could. It was better than fantasizing about the Ravens’ irascible head coach. Right?

The bar was called Contacts, and it had a small rainbow flag sticker on the window as well as one flying from the doorway. Shane paid his cover and went to the bar, where he ordered a Coke. He wasn’t in the mood to drink anything else, but being at a bar without a drink felt rude. The Coke came with a straw and a cherry inside and was delivered to him by an adorable twink bartender with a sly smile. The bartender winked at him saucily. “Here you go, sweetie.”

Shane snapped the cherry between his teeth and winked back. “Thanks.”

“You butch boys,” said the bartender as he fanned himself. Dressed in tiny short shorts and a tank top, he was tall and lean with bright blond hair and dark purple lipstick. He looked like one of those guys who did makeup tutorials on YouTube—pretty and perfectly put together. Shane felt like a slouch. “You a sober driver, honey? If so, those are on the house.”

“I am, but it’s cool. I’ll pay.”

Shane handed over the cash and wondered why he was so much more at home talking to the guy flaunting his slim body and wide eyes for all it was worth than his teammates. Sure, the bartender wasn’t his type—well, that wasn’t entirely true. He was really cute, and his ass looked great in those shorts, but Shane still felt so much less tense than he had at the brewery with his teammates.

Because you don’t have to lie about who you are here, a voice in his mind said. It sounded a bit like Alani, and Shane put that out of his mind and turned around to get a good look at the crowd. There were a lot of people, from cute hipster boys to older guys, and there were girls with short hair and girls with long hair, some in corsets and some in jeans. Two girls and a guy were making out at a table in the corner. Shane wondered if Xavier ever came in, because he had a feeling the bartender would probably fall over and swoon the second he saw him.

The thought made Shane grin, and for a moment, he thought about texting Xavier and just saying something like “You should meet me at Contacts, lots of cute guys” and letting the rest of it happen as it would. Maybe Alani was right. Maybe it was dumb to stay in the closet when he didn’t need to, when his career was coming gently to a close and there was no reason for him to care what anyone thought.

But he put his phone back in his pocket, leaned against the bar, sipped his Coke, and didn’t do much of anything but look.

He’d just turned to put his empty glass on the bar when he heard, “Get you another one of those, North?”

When Shane turned his head, he met a pair of very familiar light blue eyes.

Of course. Troy Callahan was the other person on the team Shane might run into at a gay bar. Had he conveniently forgotten that, or is that what he wanted all along? Shane had no idea. “Sure. But it’s just a Coke.”

Callahan stared at him with an unreadable expression, but he turned to the cute bartender and said, “One bourbon and Coke, and one Coke, please.”

“Sure, sweetie,” the bartender said and whisked Shane’s empty glass away.

“You didn’t really have to order me a drink, you know,” Shane told him.

“I don’t have to do anything,” said Callahan, like they were twelve and arguing over a video game.

Shane had never seen Callahan in anything but his suit or the clothes he wore at practice. His casual wear wasn’t booty shorts and tank tops, but was instead a pair of jeans and a lightweight blue sweater that went nicely with his pale eyes and the touch of gray in his hair. The widow’s peak suited him, Shane realized. It made his hair as pointy as the rest of him.

They were both silent as the bartender returned with two drinks—Shane’s Coke had two cherries that time—and took Callahan’s bill with an air kiss when Callahan told him gruffly to keep the change.

“So this at least answers my question.”

Shane lasted approximately three seconds and one cherry before he asked, “What question?”

Callahan waved a hand to indicate the bar. “If there was anything under all that posturing of yours.”

It took Shane a minute to realize that Callahan was indicating the bar to reference Shane being gay. Had he honestly thought Shane’s flirtatious behavior was some kind of cruel joke? Shane leaned back against the counter. “Is that what you think I was doing, posturing?”

“Maybe.” Callahan’s expression gave nothing away, but he was standing very close and it made Shane dizzy. His cologne had a faint citrus bite, which couldn’t have suited him any better. It also made Shane want to lick him. “I can’t imagine what else you thought you were doing.”

Shane would be goddamned if Callahan thought he was some mind-game-playing jerk. He was attracted to Callahan, and if Callahan thought Shane wouldn’t admit it… well, he was wrong. “You’re an asshole, but I think you’re hot. So no, it wasn’t posturing. Is that going to be a problem?”

“Absolutely,” said Troy without hesitation. “It already is.” His face was flushed, Shane noticed, and he didn’t think it was the liquor. “I appreciate it, and I think it’s obvious I feel the same. Doesn’t mean it’s not a problem.”

Goddamn. The air practically sparked between them. Shane wanted to do nothing more than light a metaphorical match and let it burn. He had the same flush on his face as Callahan. He could tell. His mouth was dry, and his dick was already half-hard. Shane couldn’t remember ever responding to someone so strongly. “Why? We’re adults. Flirting in the locker room isn’t fucking, Callahan.”

“For fuck’s sake, call me Troy.” Troy leaned in and effectively trapped Shane against the bar. Shane sucked in a breath at the sudden closeness, but didn’t move a muscle. “I didn’t think you liked me very much, Shane.”

It was such an unCallahan thing to say, it was almost cute. “I don’t really need to like you to want you to fuck me, do I?”

Troy’s pale eyes flashed. “Goddammit.”

They stared at each other, the music a low throb in the bar, lights dancing merrily on the slick floor. “I could like you just fine,” Shane murmured and then deliberately dropped his gaze to Troy’s belt. “If you just showed a little effort, Coach.”

Shane knew the “coach” thing would piss Troy off—what didn’t?—but he had a hunch that wasn’t all it would do. He stood up very slowly and angled so they faced each other in the small space between the barstools. Troy was taller than Shane by a few inches, though leaner and lanky like a runner. They weren’t quite touching, but it reminded Shane of those games where you lined up across from a guy for the face-off and just knew you were going to throw the gloves off as soon as the whistle blew.

All they needed was someone to blow the whistle. God.

“We’re not doing this,” said Troy. They were separated by only a half-inch of space and a rapidly dwindling sense of professionalism. “No matter how much I want my cock in that smart mouth of yours.”

Jesus. Shane’s skin prickled with goose bumps beneath the material of his shirt and heat curled low in his stomach. Just the thought of sliding to his knees—fuck, right then and there—was making it hard to catch his breath. The air conditioner kicked on somewhere above him, and Shane’s senses were so heightened that the brush of cool air made him shiver visibly.

“I’m good at it. Really good at it.” Shane wanted to reach out and rub his hand over Troy’s dick, but he held still and let this play out as it would. The waiting was torture—worse than his first NHL game when he trembled with nerves on the bench as he waited for his shift.

“I bet you are.” Troy reached out and touched two fingers to Shane’s mouth. The contact made Shane hiss in a breath, his cock so hard it was painful. He had to put a hand out to brace himself against the edge of the bar to keep from falling. Who knew weak-kneed was a real thing?

“But you’re here to play hockey, not suck my dick.” Troy tapped his fingers twice against Shane’s bottom lip.

Shane might have groaned. He wasn’t sure. He couldn’t hear over the pulse of his blood in his ears. It drowned out the music, drowned out everything that wasn’t Troy. “Why can’t I do both?”

Troy dropped his fingers a second too fast for Shane to catch them in his mouth like he wanted and rested his hand on Shane’s chest. He didn’t push Shane away, because there was nowhere for Shane to go, but the stay back was clear. “Because I said so.”

Shane raised his eyebrows, even though the slight pressure of Troy’s hand on his chest was enough to send sparks of need straight to his already painfully hard dick. “That’s what you’re going with? Because you said so?”

“You are here for reasons that I respect.” Troy continued to stare at Shane like he was a hockey play he was determined to run. It was as hot as the faint growl in Troy’s voice and the way his breathing was as unsteady as Shane’s. “And I think it’s best if you pay attention to those.”

“Do you?” Shane’s heart was racing, and he knew Troy could feel it beneath his palm. He wanted to reach down and tug on Troy’s wrist, bring his hand lower, and press it against his dick. Jesus, he was so turned on he might come just from that. “Who says you get to decide that for me, huh?”

“I’m your coach, Shane,” said Troy, and oh God. Shane almost moaned out loud at how that affected him, the hotness, and the wrongness of it. Especially in public, which was apparently working him up almost as much as Troy’s closeness, his roughened voice, and the scent of his cologne. “And that’s really all that matters here.”

With that, Troy dropped his hand, grabbed his drink from the bar, and tossed back the remains of his whiskey and Coke. Shane watched the way Troy’s throat worked as he swallowed, and was both relieved and annoyed when Troy stepped away to give them both some space.

“You need another one of those?” The adorable-looking bartender was back. He stared at them with a knowing grin. “Or would that be, ah, a detriment to the rest of your night?”

I wish.

“Are you even old enough to drink?” Troy’s voice was a good approximation of his usual coach growl, but not quite there. “Because you don’t look a day over twenty.”

“Oh my God. Your next one is on the house,” the bartender said as he beamed at Troy with delight. “I’m thirty. I have good genes.”

“They look great in those shorts.” Shane toasted him with his glass.

The bartender clapped. “I like you two. Whatever is going on here”—he gestured at the two of them—“is confusing but hot. And you both tip well. My name’s River, by the way.”

“Shane,” Shane introduced himself. He wondered if it was obvious he’d been half a second from sucking cock at the bar. Maybe. Probably.

Troy looked cranky, and his face was still flushed, but he held out a hand. “I’m Troy. Nice to meet you. What the hell kind of a name is River?”

“Don’t mind him,” Shane assured River. “He’s like this with everyone.”

River flashed a smile, teeth very white against the purple lipstick. “I know the type, believe me. You boys need anything else?”

“Some common sense,” Troy muttered. “And I’m way too old for you to call me a boy.”

Shane was still restless, turned-on, and pissed that there was a cold draft of air where Troy’s infuriating warm body heat had been just moments before. “I think we’re good, River. Thanks, though.”

“Anytime,” River breezed. Then he winked and moved gracefully off to the other end of the bar, where a big, burly guy with a thousand facial piercings, neck tattoos, and a kilt was hunkered over a beer.

“I’m not going to say anything,” Troy said softly.

Shane’s attention jerked back to him. “About what? How you want me to suck you off? How I’d do it in the bathroom if you—”

“About you being queer,” Troy said. He had a faraway expression on his face, and his eyes were fixed somewhere over Shane’s shoulder. “Gay, bi, whatever. I wouldn’t do that.”

“Gay. And it never occurred to me that you would,” Shane admitted. “You’re an asshole, but other than that, you’re a pretty stand-up guy.” Shane glance pointedly down at Troy’s crotch and then back up again.

To his surprise, Troy laughed. “You’re a piece of fucking work, North.”

“Yeah, well. I’d say you have no idea, but I think you have some idea.” Shane wasn’t sure why it was so easy to fall into this stupid banter with Troy. “You sure you don’t want to go somewhere and find out?”

“You know I do,” Troy said, those intense eyes pinning Shane’s. “And you know I’m not going to.” He tapped the bar with the same two fingers he’d put over Shane’s mouth—the same two Shane had wanted so badly to suck and tease. “See you at practice, North. Don’t be late.”

Shane watched him go, tossed a few dollars on the bar, and gave River—now sitting in the tattooed, bearded, kilt-guy’s lap—a wave on his way out the door. He could see Troy’s lone figure heading down the block, presumably to his car. Shane thought about catching up with him, dragging him into an alley, and kissing away Troy’s resistance.

Instead he got back in his car, put the top down and the air conditioner on, and drove home.