Sweet Neil Patrick Harris, I’m fucked.

Ollie looks like he’s going to throw up, and I’m kicking myself for not recognizing him sooner. I should’ve known he was a jock with the way I immediately wanted to climb him like a tree. If he really was waiting in the bathroom for a hookup, I wouldn’t have hesitated. Closeted meatheads are my kryptonite, and apparently, I don’t even need to know that fact anymore before being drawn to them.

Maybe I have some sort of beacon or tracking system for them now.

What’s worse is I’m a sports journalist who didn’t recognize Ollie Strömberg immediately. Although, in my defense, I mainly cover football and baseball. Kevin does hockey.

While I don’t know much about the sport, I do know Ollie and his teammate Tommy Novak are an unstoppable force, but Novak gets all the credit for it, because he’s usually the one sealing the deal and getting the puck in the net.

If Ollie had any idea who I was, he wouldn’t only be nauseated but in full-on freak-out mode. He outed himself to me, and no fucking way would I ever run that story, but he doesn’t know that. I work with the bloodsucking journalists we’re notorious for being, but I’m not like that … most of the time. The one time I tried being sneaky to get a story, it blew up in spectacular fashion when Matt Jackson’s boyfriend tried to punch me out.

That was intentional. This whole situation has been brought on by some twisted turn of fate.

What am I supposed to do here?

“Can’t believe you’re dating a football fan,” Ollie’s dad says. “I’ve never been more disappointed in you, son.”

At his serious tone, I blink at him, wondering if he really said that to his kid. His face is stoic, giving away nothing. When Ollie laughs, his dad finally breaks and cracks a wide smile.

“Please don’t scare him off with your horribly dry humor where people can’t tell if you’re joking or not.” Ollie turns to me. “Which he totally is. Dad played college football back in the day. Like, you know, when they used to wear those leather helmets.”

“Watch it, boy. I’m not that old.”

There’s a round of sarcastic “Mmmhmms” from all the sons at the table, and there’s a lot of them.

Four boys. Four.

Not to mention the fucking genes in this family. Their hair ranges from light blond to strawberry, and Ollie was blessed with the darkest shade out of all of them, but even his ashy blond hair is still blond. His dad is gray, but I’d bet my left nut he used to be blond too.

I wasn’t joking when I said they all looked like Norse gods. As soon as I walked into the restaurant, the group of tall and wide—not to mention hot—guys by the bar caught my eye. Two of them, twins by their resemblance, look like John Cena on steroids.

The other is the polar opposite. He’s tall and lanky.

“Take a seat,” Ollie’s mom says, and it occurs to me what a bad idea this was.

Faking a relationship for a dinner didn’t seem like a daunting task, but now I realize we know nothing about each other.

Under the scrutiny of so many people, I begin to think Ollie’s family could be secret spies or something because their burning gazes make me want to break down and confess everything.

And all they’ve done is looked at me and cracked a joke.

Intimidating much?

I blow out a loud breath. No backing out now.

I. Can. Do. This.

Ollie and I take a seat next to each other after bringing an empty chair from the other end of the table.

“How did you meet Ollie?” Ollie’s mom asks.

Hmm, in a bathroom is probably not the best answer here.

“Mutual friend,” I say vaguely.

“Ollie has friends?” the smartass brother says—the one who caught us in the bathroom.

Ollie leans closer to me. “If you haven’t worked it out yet, I’m the one they pick on because I’m younger, half their size, and earn about ten times as much as all of them combined.”

Simultaneously, three middle fingers face our direction.

“I’m going to call my mother tonight and tell her she shouldn’t complain about me and my sister anymore,” I say.

The woman at the other end bounces a sleeping baby in her arms and wipes a toddler’s face. “Don’t worry. You get used to their antics pretty fast.”

One of the twins—the non-smartassed one—stands and takes the baby from her and gives the woman a kiss on the forehead. “Antics. Pfft. No antics here. We were always good boys growing up.”

Ollie’s mother lets out a loud “Ha!”

The conversation breaks into normal family ribbing, and it gives me a false sense of security, because as soon as I start to relax, everything turns back to the topic of me.

“So, what do you do for a living?” his dad asks. Let the interrogation begin!

“Uhh, you know, business.” That’s the lie we came up with in the bathroom, so I’m sticking to it.

“What type?” his dad asks.

“Uh, you know. Acquisitions. Accounts. Tax. Mutual funds. Dividends.” Great, now I’m just saying words that sound businesslike. “It’s super boring. What do all of you do?” A good boyfriend always asks questions—especially when he doesn’t want to answer their questions that have no answers.

“Leo coaches basketball,” Ollie says, and the tall, lanky brother nods. “The twins, Nic and Vic, are personal trainers for MMA fighters.”

“Nic and Vic?” I ask.

“Nicklas and Victor,” Ollie says and points to each of them. They’re obviously not identical, but it’s still hard to tell them apart. “I don’t think my parents chose rhyming names on purpose …” He looks at his parents. “Right?”

“We thought it was cute,” his mom says.

“Yeah. Super cute,” Vic grumbles.

“Didn’t cause teasing in school or nothin’,” Nic adds.

“Where do you think we got the idea to learn MMA?” Vic says to their parents.

“Anyway,” Ollie says, “Max is a tattoo artist.”

I balk. “Wait, there’s more of you?”

Everyone at the table laughs.

“There’s five of us,” Ollie says.

“All boys?” I squeak and give his parents the most sympathetic look I can pull off.

Ollie’s mom puts her napkin in her lap and smiles demurely. “God blessed us with all boys because He wouldn’t give me anything I couldn’t handle.”

Leo laughs. “If I remember correctly, you used to threaten military school on us if we acted up.”

Nic chimes in. “And when that didn’t work, you’d cry about God testing you.”

Ollie leans in and whispers, “By the way, we’re barely religious.”

I snort.

“Whatever,” Ollie’s mom says, sounding more like the age of her sons than the late fifties she’d have to be. “We all survived.”

“Just,” Vic mutters.

Waiters and waitresses come out with plates full of food, and my stomach rumbles. My first stop after the bathroom was supposed to be the bar where I could order something fast. Guess fast isn’t part of the deal now. I still have a family grilling to endure. Karma better pay me back with something awesome. Like hot, naked men fawning over me. Actually, things have been so slow lately, I’d settle for just a man. Singular. See, Karma? This is me not being greedy. Then again, doing someone a favor in hopes of good karma defeats the purpose.

When they finish dishing the appetizers out, Ollie has three plates in front of him.

“You want?” he asks, gesturing to the food.

“Were you psychic and knew I’d be here or …” Looking around the table, I realize everyone has at least two plates in front of them. “Did you guys not order mains?”

Ollie laughs, but it has a nervous edge to it. “Come on, you should be used to my appetite by now.”

Right. Athletes and their insane amount of food intake. Another thing I should know. I think Ollie makes me stupid, because I’m usually smarter than this.

Wouldn’t be the first time my brain has jumped ship over a cute boy with muscles.

I turn to Ollie’s parents. “I’m guessing food in your household costs more than rent?”

“We were able to retire once all the boys had flown the coop,” his dad says. “No longer had to feed them all.”

There are muffled grumbles from Ollie and his brothers, but they’re too busy shoving food in their mouths. I’d laugh if it wasn’t frighteningly eerie watching them eat. It’s like watching a nature program showing a pack of lions ripping into a poor animal.

I eat a bacon-wrapped shrimp from Ollie’s plate and a couple of pieces of calamari before the dishes are empty because Ollie scarfs all the ribs before I get a chance to try them.

When the mains come out, I shouldn’t be shocked that Ollie’s ordered two. He grabs the waitress’s attention but then quickly turns to me. “Which one do you want to eat?”

“I’m good with either,” I say.

“Pick one.”

“The salmon looks good.”

Ollie passes over the plate and then orders another salmon.

“You seriously could eat half of this,” I say.

“I’ll probably take you up on that too.”

Damn, if his appetite is this ravenous, I wonder what else he’s insatiable for.

Nope, won’t be thinking about that.

Had he been anyone but Ollie Strömberg, I’d allow myself to think of those things. But jocks and nerdy Lennon have never played well together.

After we settle in, dinner becomes a quiet affair, probably because it’s feeding time at Jurassic Park.

I begin to think Ollie’s family isn’t as bad as he makes them sound, but then his mother finishes her meal and turns to me.

“Did he ever tell you the story of how he came out?”

Ollie almost chokes on his food. “Here we go.” He turns to me. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please still like me after you hear this story.”

“Well, now, I need to hear this story.”

The brothers snigger. Ollie groans.

“So, when he was fifteen,” his mom says, the green in her hazel eyes sparkling. “He brought home his very first girlfriend.”

I try not to smile but fail miserably.

“I knew they didn’t like her immediately,” Ollie says. “One thing you should know about us is if we’re silent something is seriously wrong. I think that was the quietest dinner we’d ever had.”

“Oh, honey, we didn’t hate her. We were just so confused.” His mom continues, “After she left to go home, we sent the other boys to their rooms.”

Ollie shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “I thought they were about to give me the sex talk. I was kinda hoping the world would open up and swallow me whole.”

“We were not so delusional that you didn’t already know everything,” his dad says. “You had four older brothers.”

“So, Mom’s there, telling me how if I’m straight she’ll accept me and love me anyway.” Ollie shakes his head.

My hand flies to my mouth as I try to stifle a laugh.

“Granted, I had some idea, but until that moment, I didn’t realize how ridiculous it all was. My parents were there telling me they’ll love me no matter what but they couldn’t help thinking my girlfriend was a phase.”

My gaze flies to theirs. “But … why? I mean … how …”

Ollie’s mom smiles. “Telling us at four years old that he likes boys was the biggest tip-off, but there was no one certain thing he did or said. He didn’t have much interest in girls at all. Like, the other boys all came home at one point during elementary school talking about some girl or another. Ollie never did. It was just a hunch, so the girlfriend was a shock.”

Ollie turns to me. “That’s when they decided it was time to give me the gay sex talk. Seriously scarred me for life.”

His brothers snigger, and I can’t help joining in. “Better you than me,” I say.

Ollie’s brothers tell me how they heard the whole thing from the top of the stairs while trying to keep their laughter at bay—not at Ollie being gay but about having to endure a more than awkward sex lesson from their parents, including the lecture about still needing protection even if you can’t get your partner pregnant.

My eyes tear up from laughing so hard when a brown-haired guy covered in tats walks in and takes the last spare seat at the table. “Hey, sorry I’m late.”

“Honey, we thought you couldn’t make it,” Ollie’s mom says.

Ollie stiffens. “Max.”

Ah, the other brother. And the odd one out with his brown hair. Interesting.

Max settles in his seat and glares at Ollie. “Oliver.” Then his eyes meet mine and he freezes. “Who are you?”

“Umm … C-Clark.” Because I’m Clark now. Apparently.

Ollie warned me that when the Strömbergs are quiet you know something’s wrong, and right now, dead silence falls. It must freak out Ollie’s nephew or something, because he starts wailing.

The sister-in-law goes back to bouncing him and settling him with shushing sounds.

Ollie, Max, and I are in some sort of three-way stare-off.

“I don’t get what the big problem is,” Vic says out of nowhere. “It’s not like Ash isn’t moving on with as many guys as possible. Ollie’s allowed to have a boyfriend.” The remaining two brothers glare at Vic, and Ollie’s silverware clatters on his plate as it falls from his hands.

Max’s eyes narrow. “Boyfriend? Really …”

Ollie ignores Max and instead stares at Vic. “Ash is doing what?”

“You have a boyfriend.” Vic throws his arms up in the air in defeat.

“And that’s why I’m the married twin.” Nic slaps his brother over the back of his head. “Because this one doesn’t understand shit about relationships.”

Vic looks like he’s going to defend himself, but then he gives up. “Yeah, okay, that’s true. I just didn’t think Ollie or Ash would care. Like, they’re both living separate lives now.”

Just because their relationship’s over doesn’t mean they’re over it I want to say, but it’s not my place.

And if anything, I totally see where the ex is coming from. Dating someone who’s closeted? Not fun. I should know.

Max stands. “I knew I shouldn’t have come here.” He storms away.

In perfect timing, Ollie’s salmon is delivered to the table, but as it’s placed in front of him and his other plate is removed, all he does is stare at the new dish with no intention of eating it anymore. “I’m … I’m gonna go find Max.”

He pushes away from the table and chases after his brother.

And when I think it’s safe to keep eating my food, his mom needs to have her say.

“Ash, Ollie’s ex, is Max’s best friend. They grew up together, so Max is … defensive. We all thought they were going to get married, but with hockey and his unwillingness to come out—”

Unwillingness? Like he’s being stubborn about it?

“While I appreciate you trying to explain to me, you don’t need to. Like Ollie said, we’re new, and I know the score. I’m well aware of the industry he’s in.”

I’m only in sports journalism, and the amount of shit I get from coworkers annoys the crap out of me. Like them saying I should be writing fashion instead of sports because, you know, the fashion and gay gene are one and the same. It’s mainly said in jest, but they don’t understand how it’s insensitive and inappropriate—probably because they’ve never had to deal with being put in a box and told that’s where they belong.

“But—”

“Ma!” Leo, the tall, lanky, basketball coach snaps. “Just … let it go, okay? You hover over Ollie’s life enough as it is. Don’t scare his new boyfriend away.”

“She wasn’t—” I start, but then I get more glimpses of the family Ollie was hiding from.

“You don’t have to take on that tone,” his dad says to Leo.

“I didn’t mean anything by it, but come on—”

Nic and Vic join in, and the table is surrounded by so many strong Boston accents, I end up not knowing what the hell they’re talking about.

I’m thankful when my phone vibrates in my pocket, and I don’t even have to fake an incoming phone call. I don’t hesitate when I see my editor’s name on screen.

“Sorry, I have to take this,” I say, but I don’t think they can hear me.

I leave my laptop bag but make my way to a quieter corner of the restaurant. By the time I reach somewhere I can hear, Harry has hung up. But a few seconds later, a message pops up.

The Pat’s IR list got updated. Get your ass to the stadium ASAP. They’re holding a conference. They lost Johnson.

I quickly type back: On my way.

Their star quarterback, who was recruited to replace Marcus Talon at the beginning of the season, is on the injured reserve list. What the hell happened?

Part of me wonders if the coach is up to old tricks. He’s known for updating the IR list close to games to throw off the opposing team’s strategies. Still, it can’t be ignored. If Johnson really is injured, that could mean the defending Super Bowl champs are done for the season.

Rushing back to the table, I grab my bag, and the bickering between the family members stops.

“Oh no, sweetie, you don’t have to leave,” Ollie’s mom says.

“Thanks, but there’s been an emergency at work, and I’ve got to go.”

I’m not sure they believe me, but I can’t stay to reassure them. Won’t matter anyway because after the game I’m flying back to Chicago, where I live, and I’ll never see the Strömbergs again.

I tell myself this is a clean break. I don’t have to tell Ollie who I am, and I don’t cover hockey, so I won’t be running into him anytime soon. I don’t know if this little charade has done him any favors or created more family drama, but I hope I’ve at least achieved them getting off his case about the ex. Or maybe with the way Max stormed out of here, we’ve made things worse.

“Uh, if I don’t see Ollie on the way out, can you tell him work called? Thanks.”

We say our quick goodbyes, and I make my way out of the private room. The Honey Bee is one of Boston’s underground hangouts, and as I make my way upstairs, Max passes me the other way, “accidentally” bumping his shoulder with mine.

It’s like I’m back in high school being picked on by everyone who was bigger than me, which was, well, everyone. I hit my growth spurt so late I thought I was going to stay five eight forever. The last few inches came a year too late—my freshman year of college.

Ollie appears at the top of the stairs. He smiles down at me and comes to meet me halfway in the middle of the stairwell. “I’m sorry about Max. He’s … uh …”

“A dick? I figured that one out on my own. Thanks.” Then I realize how harsh that sounds. “Sorry, I probably shouldn’t say that about your brother.”

“He’s not that bad. He, uh, well, he’s my ex’s best friend. He’s still mad over the breakup.”

“It doesn’t sound like it was your fault though. Situations like yours …”

“Well, it wasn’t Ash’s fault. He went back into the closet for me for four years.”

My eyes widen. “Four years? That’s like ten times the longest relationship I’ve ever had.”

“I think that says more about you than me.”

I laugh. “That’s probably true. Like, really true.”

“Were you looking for me, or—” Ollie’s gaze goes to my bag.

“I got an emergency call from work, and I have to go.”

His downcast hazel eyes make me want to quit my job, but I also can’t be sure what I’m seeing is actual disappointment or if I’m hoping it is. Plus, in the past, I’ve been known to read into things, thanks to the Jefferson High football team for fucking with me and making social cues so much harder to trust.

The stairwell is narrow, so we’re practically pushed up against each other, and I really wish I didn’t have to go.

Stupid closeted jock magnet.

Ollie shuffles from one foot to the other, and he’s so freaking adorable with his hands in his pockets. This giant, muscled hockey player is shy and a little bit awkward, and I can’t help loving it.

I take a step closer, which makes him raise his head.

His brow scrunches. “What are you—”

“Shh. I’m seizing an opportunity.” I don’t know where my courage or the idea to do this comes from, because it’s backfired so many times in the past, but I lean in and kiss his mouth gently. It’s quick and chaste but well worth it. “Mmm, I’ve always wanted to kiss a jock. Lifelong fantasy. Guess I can cross that off my bucket list.”

Technically, I’ve been there, done that, and have the scars to prove it, but maybe once I’d like for it not to end badly.

I wait for the situation to turn, but it doesn’t.

Instead, Ollie looks left and right to make sure no one’s coming and then steps closer. “Well, in that case, better make it worth it.” He grabs me around my waist and brings me fully against him and then pushes his tongue into my mouth.

None of my teenage athlete fantasies live up to the reality of Ollie Strömberg running his hands up my back to cup my face and dive in deeper.

His tongue tangles with mine, and we stumble until Ollie’s pushed against the handrail of the staircase.

It’s hard to tell which one of us groans, but it breaks something in Ollie, and he pulls back, hitting his head against the wall.

“Damn, I wish things were different,” he whispers. “I’d love to take you on an actual date.”

“I live in Chicago.”

Ollie pulls back. “What?”

“I’m only in town for a few days for work.”

“Oh.” That’s definite disappointment I hear, and I shouldn’t like it as much as I do.

“Besides, you’re getting over your ex and can’t come out because of hockey, and I’m, well, me. I’d love to go on a date with you too, but that sounds like a whole lot of nope.”

“About the hockey thing—”

“Yeah. About that.” Tell him who you are. Promise you won’t print anything. “You should probably know …” Don’t tell him. Why ruin this and make him paranoid when you’ll never see him again and you don’t report on hockey anyway? Don’t ruin your perfect kiss with reality.

“Know what?”

“I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”

He lets out a relieved breath. “Thank you. You did me this huge favor today and put up with my family, and then I basically ask you to shut your mouth.”

I lean in for another kiss: a slow, soft kiss. “I understand one hundred percent. Probably more than you know. I hope everything works out with your family. At least they won’t be talking in your ear about Ash anymore, right?”

“Here’s hoping.”

“Sorry I couldn’t stay.” My phone vibrates again. “I have to go before I get fired.” Or someone else beats me to the scoop.

As I get to the top of the stairs, Ollie calls out, “Wait …”

When I turn, I hope he asks for my name, which I shouldn’t give, or my phone number, which I really shouldn’t give.

Instead, he puts his hands in his pockets and whispers, “How did you know? In the bathroom, I mean. How did you know I was gay?”

I smile wide. “Totally wishful thinking on my part.”

I turn and leave before I do something we’ll both regret, but that doesn’t stop me from online stalking him as soon as I get home. Or from reading and watching his career highlights and games. Or from perhaps building an unhealthy obsession with a hockey player I’ll never see again.