Page 25 of Scoring Position

Ryan sat up carefully—slowly enough that Nico’s head just rolled gently against the side of Ryan’s seat instead of dropping suddenly—and stretched his neck. However long he’d been out in that awkward position, he hadn’t hurt himself.

“You talk to him?” Kitty kept his voice low this time, quiet enough that their teammates wouldn’t overhear and they didn’t risk disturbing Nico. “He’s better, I think.”

Ryan wasn’t going to mention sending Nico to Barb. That wasn’t Kitty’s business. But he could agree with the statement. “I think so too. Guess we’ll see tomorrow night.”

For a moment Kitty regarded him with some scrutiny, and Ryan did his best to keep a poker face. He didn’t have anything to hide. He hadn’t done anything wrong… and he wouldn’t.

“Is good he talked to you,” Kitty finally said. “You call me whenyouneed to talk, da?”

Oh yeah, sure. Absolutely. He’d deliver himself to a giant Russian defenseman to talk about his budding crush on their teammate, who said Russian treated like a beloved little brother. Right after Hell froze over.

Fuck.

He was saved from having to answer when the plane began its descent and Kitty ambled back to his seat. Only when he was sure no one was watching did Ryan relax enough to glance at Nico.

Cute, Kitty had said. Ryan could see that. Nico had smooth skin and kind of ridiculous hair and long eyelashes.

He was also built like a lean werewolf and could grow the facial hair to match. Then there were the full, pink—dare Ryan say it?—poutylips. They were barely parted while Nico slept.Cutewouldn’t have been Ryan’s first choice of descriptors. He’d skip right down to… words he should not be thinking about.

Too late for that.

That night at dinner, his absolutely-not-cute teammate maneuvered himself into the corner of a booth with Chenner.

The rookie looked stunned when Nico sat down. Ryan was too far away to eavesdrop, but judging by Nico’s stiff body and uncertain expression, he was very awkwardly trying to make nice. Despite his shock, it took Chenner less than a minute to recover and lean into the conversation.

Ryan watched with mixed pride and relief as Chenner hung on Nico’s every word and nodded enthusiastic agreement, all eager puppy.

Next to him, Yorkie chuckled. “That’s sweet.”

“Yup.” He took one last look at Chenner staring adoringly at Nico, who seemed almost relaxed. Then Ryan turned more fully toward his captain, because he was not going to spend his night watching Nico. “Though, weren’t you a baby rookie playing in the NHL at nineteen? I bet you were just the same.”

Yorkie laughed. “Oh God, I probably was. Come to think of it, might be why Banksy and Baller took such a shine to me.”

Ryan looked at Yorkie’s baby face and kind eyes, remembered him at sixteen when Ryan graduated, thought of the way he looked at Jenna like she hung the moon and insisted she was the better hockey player. “Yorkshire, Yorkshire, Yorkshire pudding. They probably wanted to wrap your twinky self in cotton wool and bring you home to Mom and Dad.”

Yorkie’s eyes sparkled. “Banksy brought meandmy girl home to his dad.”

All around, it was a good night.

The bubbly feeling of relief and success, which Ryan was not going to examine, followed him through the night and into the next morning. Vorhees was only about a one-point-five on the asshat scale, and all the boys seemed upbeat during lunch. The optimism carried them into the game. Ryan was practically bouncing on his toes as he waited to get onto the ice.

For once, their opponents lagged behind.

Early in the first, Mucker stripped the puck off a D-man and got it to Nico, who shot up the ice and fed it to Lefty, perfectly placed to bury it while the goalie was still covering Nico. Fucking beauty!

Even better than the play, though, was Nico colliding with Lefty and yelling. Lefty looked stunned by his sudden six-foot-two barnacle, but he accepted the celebration and yelled back. Mucker didn’t hesitate, simply skated into them and bopped them both on the helmet.

When Lefty skated down the line to fist-bump the boys, Nico followed, and Ryan wanted to hug him. He looked uncertain, but he was smiling, and no one rejected him the way he was probably fearing.

Then the shift changed and the bench shuffled, and suddenly Ryan found himself sitting next to Nico. He knocked their shoulders together. “Good job, kid. Proud of you,” he said with a grin.

Nico cleared his throat and looked down. “Thanks. But it was Lefty’s goal.”

Ryan had meant participating in the celly in the first place, but never mind. If he called too much attention to that, Nico would feel weird about it. “Sick pass, though,” he said lightly.

NICO’S BODYthrummed as they piled into the locker room. Two assists and a goal. He got two apples and a goal,and they won 4–2. He finally felt useful, part of a team.

He wanted to buzz out of his skin with happiness.

---