Chapter Seven

 

The scent of sizzling bacon woke me the next morning, filtering up my nose and mixing with the dream I was having about being at the top of the Eiffel Tower, taking photographs of purple dragons flying past me.

I slipped out of bed, dragged on my boxers and jeans and, after using the lavish en suite, padded barefoot into Todd’s kitchen area.

“Mornin’,” Todd said, turning from the frying bacon he was poking with a spatula. He wore only a pair of loose gray sweats.

“What time is it?”

He nodded at the digital clock on the oven. “Nine. I hope you didn’t have to be someplace early.”

“No. I’ve got studio time this afternoon, but that’s it.”

“So you’re free this evening?” He scooped the bacon onto several slices of buttered bread.

“I guess.”

“We face the Capitals later. Puck drops at seven. Wanna come?”

“Sure.” I took the bacon sandwich he offered my way.

“Cool.” He licked his lips. “I have carbs for breakfast if I have an evening game.”

“The trouble is, I’m not going to be burning quite as many calories as you,” I said, wondering if I could squeeze in a visit to the gym.

“You burned some last night.”

“Yeah, I did.” I grinned, bit into the sandwich and watched him do the same. A shard of light was arrowing through one of the high windows and slicing down the side of his face, highlighting the golden streaks in his hair to almost white-blond and whispering over the paler top hairs on his eyebrows. The sunshine flashed into his right eye and he narrowed it slightly, creasing the skin at the outer edge. I wished I had my camera. It would have been a beautiful, naturally lit shot of my most favorite subject of late.

“I have to get going after this. My agent Max is in town, we have a meeting,” Todd said.

“Okay.”

“I’m going to tell him about you.”

“You are.” I widened my eyes in surprise.

“Yeah, if, or more likely, when I stick my neck out, he’ll take flack on the front line. So I may as well prepare him.”

“Are you sure you want to do that today?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, start telling people.”

“Abso-fucking-lutely. I told you last night, this, you, is what I want. What I’ve waited for. I’m not going to run from it, that’s not the sort of guy I am. I’ll face it head-on and if anyone has a problem I’ll deal with them. Besides, it’s not like I’m racing off to see a journalist, this is my agent, he has my interests at heart. Well, in his paycheck at least.” Todd shrugged. “He’s been around for years helping me out, he’s cool and I trust him totally. If something did get out and it was the first he was hearing of it, that wouldn’t be fair to him, not by a long shot.”

He shifted his head and the wedge of light now angled over his cheek, nose and mouth, emphasizing the tight set of his jaw and the straight, determined line of his lips. I could tell he wouldn’t be swayed in this. There was no point in me trying.

“And later,” he said, “after the game, use this.” He stepped out of the ray of sunlight and reached into a drawer. Tossed a credit-card-size piece of plastic my way.

“What is it?” It had Rangers Guest written on it in red letters along with their logo in the corner.

“It’s an all-access pass. Come up to the players’ lounge. Frank, one of the coaches, he’s been there forever. It’s his seventy-first birthday. The guys are hanging around afterward, you know, for a bit of a celebration.”

“And you want me there?” I couldn’t hide my astonishment.

He filled two mugs with coffee and passed one my way.
“Sure, everyone will have friends and family there. Why not you?”

I took a sip. “I’m not family and we have gone way past the normal boundary of friends.” A little knot of lust tightened in my groin as I thought of last night. “And don’t you think it will be a bit obvious if everyone else has wives and girlfriends with them and you have…well, me?”

He grinned, flashing those perfect white teeth of his that had somehow managed to avoid stray pucks over the years. “Yeah, I’ll have you and I reckon we’re well into boyfriend territory now, don’t you?”

Boyfriend.

“That’s a nice thought.” I moved next to him, traced my finger over his collarbone and down to his right nipple.

His breath hitched and his chest lifted a fraction. “But I can’t think straight when you touch me. So, if I wanna get to my meeting with Max, I need to shower and shift my ass.” He reached for my hand, pressed a kiss to the center of my palm then stepped away.

“If you want me there then I will be,” I said, tightening my hand and keeping his kiss trapped. “As long as you’re sure. Because it’s not the quiet, keeping our relationship low-key that we talked about.”

He grabbed his keys and a t-shirt and jacket. “Sure I want you there. And if people make assumptions we’ll face it. I’m not sneaking around and pretending to be invisible, or worse, that you are.” He threw his keys in the air, caught them with a snap of his hand. “Fuck ’em. We have a right to be us.”

I shook my head. “Damn, I can see why you’re such a good player. You just go for it, don’t you?”

“Always have, always will.”

 

*****

 

My afternoon shoot went surprisingly well. It was with a group of up-and-coming musicians who needed shots for their websites. They were fun and laughed a lot. Made the job easy and the time fly.

As I headed back to my apartment for a quick change before the game, Joel called. “Hey, buddy, what are you doing?”

“Just finished work.”

“You wanna come to ours? We’ve taken the evening off. Raymond is coming ’round and we’re gonna pick some new color schemes for Breezy View.”

Breezy View was Joel and Gareth’s second home in Cape Cod, a fabulous wooden two-story house that boasted one hundred steps down to the beach and was painted pale-blue. We’d all spent many happy times there over the last few years in all seasons.

“Thanks, but not tonight.”

“You can choose the takeout.”

I laughed. “Sweet, but no, I’m busy.”

There was a moment of silence. “You got a date with the delectable Mr. Pretty?”

“Don’t call him that.”

“Sorry.”

I sighed. “Actually, I am seeing Todd, sort of. He’s got a home game and he’s given me a guest pass so I can have a drink with him in the players’ lounge afterward.”

“You lucky bastard. Can I come? You know I love the Rangers. You’re a damn Penguins fan. How come you get to meet them all? You don’t even rate them.”

“I’m not a Penguins fan anymore.”

“Does that mean you’re gonna stop swooning over Gatsby?”

“I do not swoon over Gatsby.”

“Oh, you do. You’ve been wearing his jersey for years.”

“Not anymore.”

Joel laughed. “No, and I can’t blame you. If I was dating a hockey player I wouldn’t piss him off by wearing one of his rival’s jerseys, either.”

A sudden vivid memory of Todd wrestling my Gatsby top off came to mind. My dick swelled at the remembered sensation of his fists clutching the material and skimming over my skin. The sheer determination in his eyes and the way his breaths had quickened in our struggle had been sexy as hell.

“Matthew.”

“Er, yeah, what?”

“I said, have a great time and you know, be careful.”

“Why be careful?”

“I dunno, just be careful. He’s a hot guy and all, but there’s going to be a lot of baggage coming with that if the press find out he’s seeing you and not shacking up with Playgirls.”

“Yeah, I know, but I think I’m more worried about it than he is. He’s like a pit bull with his bring-it-on attitude.”

“I can imagine, I’ve seen him play.” There was a pause, then, “Well, we’ve got your back, Matthew, you know where we are, and if it is leaked, it certainly won’t be from us. Stay cool, okay?”

“Sure, thanks, Joel. See you soon.”

 

*****

 

The ticket Todd left at guest services sent me to a different area of the arena from last time. I took my seat right near the tunnel, rubbed my hands together and turned up my collar. It was bloody freezing.

A guy dressed in a teddy-bear suit wearing the team uniform was helping kids hit pucks from a strip of carpet in the center of the ice. His big head wobbled and he punched the air each time a puck hit home.

Eventually the kids cleared and the Zamboni machine came on for a final sweep of the ice. Welcome to the Jungle blasted from loudspeakers and when the surface shone like glass the Capitals shot out.

The crowd hissed and booed, stamped their feet and shook their fists. The Capitals didn’t care. They got to it, whizzing around, taking their places, only looking up at their fans, who were mostly clustered together in one small section of the crowd.

My heart was beating fast at the thought of seeing Todd. Okay, so I had to share him with thousands, but still. I couldn’t wait to see him. I adored watching him put his skill and speed into action. And knowing how divine all those muscles were beneath the layers and the padding, how they felt when I ran my hands over them, was enough to keep me warm right down to my toes.

The Rangers’ captain, Marco Paul, was first onto the ice. Stick raised, face grim—he knew it was going to be a tough game. Then came Todd, to a roof-raising bellow and a whole trumpet of horns. Pride swelled within me. That man of mine. My gorgeous boyfriend had taken the Rangers to within spitting distance of the top spot in the league within a record-breaking stretch of time.

“Go get ’em, Pretty,” a guy behind me yelled.

I turned with a frown.

“What’s your problem?” he growled with a grimace. His top two front teeth were missing and his neck was wider than his jawline.

I turned away. Not worth the effort.

The goalie, Sinclair, fully padded and with a caged mask, was last onto the ice and received another wild round of applause.

After some skating around and the national anthem, the puck dropped and I shifted to the edge of my seat, eager to enjoy every moment.

 

*****

 

At the end of the game I sat for ten minutes, sending texts and waiting for Todd to shower and change. Then I found a security guard and showed him my pass. He gave me a glance over, a nod, and ordered me to follow him.

We walked several minutes in the opposite direction of the departing crowd then he used a security code to let us into a carpeted lobby. I glanced around as we strode through. The walls were strung with brightly lit hockey photographs. The carpet was blue and red and the air smelled of polish.

“Up there,” he said, indicating a set of wide stairs. “Have fun.”

“Thanks.”

As I neared the top I could hear voices, deep, raucous voices mixed with higher, female chatter.

Holding the banister, I hesitated and stared at the large glass doors before me. One was propped open—the smell of beer, colognes and perfumes drifted toward me. I had a sudden urge to run away. The sight of all those large, hard bodies and familiar hockey-star faces zapped my confidence. It wasn’t that I was starstruck or even worried about walking into a room not knowing anyone. It was the fact that I was going to be with Todd.

Because it was Todd I was nervous for, not myself. He was going to be in there with me as his guest, his partner. Hell, I wasn’t bothered about being seen with a guy. That was who I was. But this was big for Todd and I wasn’t sure he realized how big.

“Hey, there you are.” Todd suddenly appeared at the door. “Come get a drink.”

His hair was damp and roughly pushed back over his head and he wore jeans and a black t-shirt. I adjusted my roll-neck sweater, making sure it covered the fading hickey.

“Come in, don’t be shy,” he said with a grin.

“Congratulations on the win,” I said.

“Thanks. It was a tough game.”

I stepped through the door and suddenly felt warm. Heat pricked the center of my back and my cheeks burned. I shrugged out of my jacket.

“Here, I’ll hang it up.” Todd took my jacket and shoved it on a hook. “You wanna a beer or something else?”

“Beer is good.” I glanced around.

Several faces turned my way, a couple of players, a few wives or girlfriends, I didn’t know which, but the hum of conversation stayed the same. My entrance wasn’t that interesting.

Todd wandered to the bar and I walked a few steps behind him, hands in my pockets, gnawing at the inside of my cheek.

Todd signaled for two beers. “Thanks, Stan,” he said to the barman. He turned to me. “Here’s to winning, my favorite way to end a game.” He clinked his bottle to mine and grinned.

I took a slug of the icy liquid, wishing it didn’t feel like tiny droplets of perspiration were forming on my brow and top lip. Not a good look.

“Too fucking right, Carty.” A tall, long-faced guy whom I recognized as Marco Paul curled his fingers over Todd’s shoulder. “You keep getting them in like that and the Penguins will have to kiss our sweet asses next week.” He spoke with an accent. I seemed to remember reading that he was Canadian.

Todd laughed. “Nothing would please me more.”

Marco turned my way. “You enjoy the game?” he asked.

“Yeah, it was great. I thought Hemming should have been given a penalty for the way he rammed you, though.”

He shrugged. “Some calls are good, some not.” He glanced at Todd.

“Matthew,” Todd said, tipping the mouth of his bottle toward me. “He’s a photographer. We met when I was doing those advertising shots.”

Marco nodded. “Oh yeah, you did some here, didn’t you, on the ice?”

“Yeah, they came out better than the ones on the Empire State Building.” Todd laughed again. “They were fucking bizarre.”

Another player, whose name I couldn’t recall, stepped up. “I gotta say it again, Carty, fucking awesome last shot. Can’t think of any other forward in the league who could have made that.”

“Shut up, you’ll give me a big head.” Todd laughed. “Jake, this is Matthew.”

Ah, Jake Randall, of course.

“Matthew, pleased to meet you.” He offered his hand, which I shook. “You a friend of Todd’s?”

“Yes.”

Todd touched my forearm, very lightly, with his fingertips. “Matthew lives around the corner from me. We’ve been hanging out since I moved to New York. Going to the movies, out for dinner, that sort of thing.” He spoke with deliberation behind the words, as though they’d been well thought about, as though he’d rehearsed them.

I sipped my beer and glanced at the row of bottles behind the bar. My heart was pounding and now I knew there were little patches of perspiration on my brow. I hadn’t expected Todd to be quite so blatant.

Neither Marco nor Jake said anything.

“So where’s the birthday boy?” Todd asked, stepping slightly closer to me.

Our upper arms connected firmly and stayed that way. This too felt like a very calculated move.

“Um, over there I think,” Jake said, vaguely waving his hand to the left.

I glanced at him. He was studying me intently. I knew what he was thinking. I’d seen the look often enough. He was thinking I didn’t look gay—as if there was a certain way a gay guy had to look.

He switched his attention to Todd, the same puzzled expression on his face.

I looked at Marco. He was a fraction taller than me, a little older, too.

He was staring straight at me, his lips parted.

A ball of heat grew in my stomach. My arm was on fire where Todd and I had connected and I felt color bloom on my cheeks. I hadn’t expected any public displays of affection and letting our arms touch at a busy bar was hardly a full-on snog. But there was something about it, combined with the words Todd had just spoken, that screamed intimacy, fog-horned togetherness.

Marco raised his thick black eyebrows. “Movies and dinner?”

“Yep,” Todd said quickly. “Movies and dinner.”

I sipped my beer then wiped the back of my hand over my lips to remove the froth. Kept my gaze connected with Marco’s. I’d said I’d be here for Todd and that was what I was doing. If his captain or teammate were going to question our relationship further or get all homophobic and shitty then I had to be ready.

There was a sudden kerfuffle at the other end of the bar and the first bars of Happy Birthday rang out. Marco broke eye contact, stepped back and was swallowed into the crowd.

Jake patted Todd’s shoulder. “That’s great. We all need friends to hang out with and it looks like Matthew’s a good one.”

“He is,” Todd said. “Thanks, Jake.”

“Nice to meet you, Matthew,” he said with a grin. “See you around. You know, when everyone gets together like this.”

“Yeah, you too.” I smiled at him. He seemed relaxed about me being with Todd. And I was pretty damn sure he’d read between the lines.

“You okay?” I asked Todd when the singing stopped.

His lips were a little tight and I could see a muscle flexing in the side of his cheek. “Yeah, you?”

“Sure, they’re nice guys.”

“I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, Matthew.”

“You haven’t. I’m here for you, don’t worry about me.”

His shoulders relaxed a fraction. “Thanks. And yeah, they are nice. Jake was great when I first got here. I like him a lot.”

“Yeah, he’s an awesome player, too.” I paused then nodded toward the end of the bar. “Is that Marco’s wife?”

“Yeah, Cheryl. She’s nice. They’ve got three kids.”

She was glamorous with shoulder-length brunette hair that held a soft wave, ruby-red lips and a super-tight black dress.

“And that’s Jake’s wife, Rachel. The one with the blonde hair,” Todd said. “She’s a doctor.”

I nodded and looked at the pretty girl Jake had slotted his arm around and pulled close. He touched his lips to her temple and she paused her conversation to smile up at him.

“You see,” Todd said, “most of the Rangers are pretty settled, married with kids and just earning a living. They’re not the party animals I had to put up with in Florida.”

“You loved that, though, be honest,” I said with a grin.

“It was good for a while, yeah. But it’s not what I want anymore.” He drained the last of his beer and set it on the bar. “But you know that already.”

I put my empty bottle next to his and watched him give an almighty yawn. “You wanna get out of here?” I asked, resisting the urge to give him a hug. He looked beat. Those rings were back beneath his eyes. I guessed battling it out on the rink had taken it out of him.

“Only if you want to,” he said.

“We’ve shown our faces here.”

“You’re right. Come on, let’s say goodbye to Frank and head off. I’ve got my car in the lot.”

Todd said a brief goodbye to Frank then we walked to the door. He reached for my jacket and held it open for me to shrug into.

As I slotted my arms in, I felt his breath by my ear and smelled his cologne. He straightened my jacket collar and pressed it down, his fingertip just brushing my jaw then lingering on my shoulder.

I glanced up. Three players, including Sinclair the goalie, were turned our way. Their huddled conversation had paused. Sinclair had his glass half lifted to his mouth.

Tilting my chin, I smiled at Todd as he pushed the door wide and held it open for me. I wouldn’t let their stares rile me.

“See you tomorrow,” Todd called, giving a brief wave in their direction. “Gotta kick the Penguins’ asses, don’t we?”

There was a tense pause, then, “Er, yeah,” Sinclair said. “And you know, awesome play tonight.”

“Yeah, fucking mad shots,” the player standing to his left said.

“Thanks,” Todd said with an easy grin. “Night, Zhirov.”

Zhirov, the remaining one of the three players, taller than the others and with hair as shorn as mine, narrowed his eyes and tilted his head.

A knot of apprehension coiled in my belly. I was aware of Todd tensing. His smile dropped and he pulled in a deep breath. Zhirov was a new addition to the team last season. He was known for playing dirty and spent plenty of time in the penalty box, mainly for throwing his fists around and for shouting abuse in Russian at the referee.

Zhirov raised his bottle to his lips, took a sip then lowered it without blinking. An all too familiar wave of disgust and hostility rolled off him and I braced for it to hit me like a revolting smell.

Todd ignored Zhirov’s lack of verbal response, let the door shut and we walked to the top of the staircase. With each step I took, my heart swelled with pride. One thing was for sure, my boyfriend was a cool customer whether he was skating his hot ass off and scoring points or showing a room full of tough and rough guys exactly who he was.

He’d handled the situation in the players’ lounge the same way he would have approached a problem on the ice. With guts, determination and well-rehearsed precision to every move, word and gesture. He didn’t make a scene when faced with an opponent, just carried on with what he was doing, his mind on the result.

I glanced at him and saw that muscle still twitching in his cheek. His fists were clenched and his bulk looked primed—ready for fight rather than flight.

His teammates had been right not to push him even though Zhirov looked as though he was about to. Something told me if they had, Todd might just have shown a not-so-gentle side of himself.