Page 12 of Broken Ice, Mended Hearts

After the server brought our drinks, Gagné held up his glass. “To a new friendship and good times.Santé.”

“Skål.” I touched my glass to his.

We made small talk, and the music and conversation around us faded into the background. After sipping our drinks, Gagné put on a charming smile, the wrinkles around his eyes enhancing his attractiveness. “I have a question. Why don’t you call me Gags? Everyone else in the world does.”

Heat pushed across the back of my neck. My dick twitched and grew into an interested semi as I imagined him gagging on my cock.

He laughed. “Judging from your pink ears and the way your mouth’s hanging open, there’s got to be a story there. Tell me.”

I was wearing an open-collared shirt, but I tugged at it anyway as I stammered. “It doesn’t… I can’t…” Inspiration hit when I paused to swallow. “Do you know any Swedish?”

He shook his head.

Thank Christ.I crossed my fingers under the table. “There’s a word in Swedish that sounds a lot like ‘gags.’ Not spelled the same,” I added in case he tried to look it up, “but it sounds similar. It means something like ‘asshole.’”

Snickering, he reached across the table and tapped my hand. “That’s it? For a D-man, some people would think asshole’s a compliment.”

I shrugged. “It has weird associations for me. Someone I used to know.”

“Okay.” He sat back and tilted his head. “I’ve had Swedish teammates before. Why did they never say anything about it?”

I screwed my mouth into a snide grin. “Did you get along with those guys? Maybe they thought it was an appropriate name.”

He held me under scrutiny for another few seconds before breaking into a laugh. “You’re full of shit, Holmer, but can we ditch the ‘Gagné’ thing? It makes you sound like a sportscaster.”

“What else should I call you? Pierre?”

The way his head snapped back told me what he thought of that. “No.”

“Well, I could use an idea, Brainiac.”

“Don’t call me that either. I take great pride in being a dumb jock.”

He was about as dumb as a professor at Harvard, but I went with it. “Fine. I don’t want to call you Gags, and you don’t like Pierre. Either tell me a nickname to use, or Brainiac it is.”

Our gazes locked, and the world faded away. His grin softened, the room noise melted into the background, and a peaceful stillness enveloped us as I lost myself in the depths of his gray eyes. They widened, and the glimmer of light reflected in his stare made them even more piercing. I couldn’t think, yet while he peered into my soul, I did my best to see into his.

After a while, he took a shallow breath and said, “Pip.”

I lifted an eyebrow.

“My family used to call me Pip. Why don’t you use it too?”

Our eyes remained locked, but I managed to say, “That’s a nice name.” Nodding, I silently rolled it around in my mouth. “Pip it is.”

“Another drink, gentlemen?”

Turning his head toward the voice, Pip seemed confused.

“Would you like another drink?” she asked, waving a hand at our glasses.

He told her to bring one for each of us, then looked at me when she walked away. “You think she’s cute?”

Maybe I’d misread everything. The way he turned his head to the side made me wonder if this was some kind of test, so I took my time answering. “I didn’t notice.” Swallowing hard, I asked, “You know I’m gay, right?”

“Sure. I just wondered if…”

The server returned with our drinks, giving Pip a reprieve. After she left, he took a long pull of beer before asking, “Do you have someone in your life, or are you playing the field?”

---