Page 53 of The Blame Game

“It was more fun than I expected though,” he admitted.

“You went with friends?”

“Yeah. A few guys I know.”

“Oh nice. How’s Audra doing?” she asked. It was an innocent enough question but there was a certain lilt to her voice that he recognized. “Have you spent much time together lately?”

“Mom, we’re not dating!” he reminded her.

“I know, I know, but maybe you should.”

“She’s a good friend, that’s all.”

And sure, for a short while in undergrad he’d thought about it, but she’d made it abundantly clear that she was only interested in friendship. And, frankly, he was convinced that even if they did date, she’d eat him alive.

Which was not what he was going for in a relationship. No, he preferred the grumpy, emotionally constipated type, apparently.

Shea rolled his eyes at himself and stuffed a dishwashing pod into the little compartment as if it would somehow wash away that thought.

“I’m not trying to pressure you,” she said. “I just wondered if you were dating anyone.”

“Just focused on work right now.”

‘Bro dates’ with Dom were not dating. Although, they’d enjoyed the comedy show more than either of them had expected.

It had been the type of humor Shea liked, clever observational stuff delivered with a dry, deadpan tone and none of the jokes so many comedians relied on that were lazy, punching-down cracks about minorities and women.

Shea had never seen Dom laugh so much. Look so relaxed.

The axe throwing had been surprisingly fun as well. Shea and Dom had gotten competitive about it and Shea was convinced that if they hadn’t agreed that it was too risky being seen going home together, it would have led to some explosive sex after.

As it was, Ethan had wound up beating them both in the end. Dom had been a little huffy, though gracious as he shook Ethan’s hand.

“Shea? Your father wants to talk to you.”

“Um, sure,” he said, pressing Start on the dishwasher and wandering over to the living area where it would be quieter.

“Since when are you calling yourself Sawyer?” his dad asked.

“Uhh, what?” Shea managed.

“Someone I work with sent me some links talking about you hanging out with Olson. I know you have friends on various pro teams but they kept calling you Sawyer. The first time, I told him it must be a misprint but then it happened again.”

“Right. No, it’s not a misprint,” Shea managed. “You know I worked as a stylist to put myself through school.”

His dad grunted.

He’d made it abundantly clear how little he thought of Shea’s choices but between what his parents had invested in his hockey and being seen by various specialists who weren’t covered by the national health plan, they’d been struggling for money by the time Shea had called it quits on his hockey career.

He’d needed to pay for his schooling somehow.

“Sawyer is the name I used for that line of work,” he explained. “There was a Shay—with a y—working there when I started and I wanted to keep things simple.”

Though everything was the absolute opposite of simple at the moment as his two worlds kept slowly creeping closer and closer together.

“Huh,” his dad said. “Well, I wasn’t sure. These sites never get their facts right. Olson’s no more gay than you are.”

Shea tensed. “Well, we all know they don’t care what info they put out into the world,” he said tightly.

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