Page 57 of Unrivaled

“This is the good stuff,” he promised as he handed Grady a rocks glass with a slice of orange. “Cheers.”

What the hell, right? “Cheers.”

They didn’t head back to the press box right away. Grady figured Baller didn’t want an audience, and he couldn’t blame him. They sat across from each other at a high-top in an otherwise deserted lounge. Grady raised the glass to his lips. At some point Baller had acquired good taste in tequila, at least.

Grady rolled the bottom of his glass against the tabletop, considering. “Can I ask you something?”

Baller spread his hands. “I’m an open book.”

Grady snorted. “I’ve heard that.” He sipped his tequila. “You ever sleep with someone from another team? Before you and Gabe, I mean.”

Baller gave him a wry look. “Bro, I didn’t even realize I was bi before Gabe.” Then he raised an eyebrow. “Why do you ask?”

No point being cagey about it. There was only one reason Grady would need to know. “I was hoping you had advice on how to keep it from getting weird.”

“Not unless you’re looking to put a ring on it.”

Grady imagined it for a second and then immediately washed the thought down with tequila. “Uh, no.”

Baller grinned at him. “Hey, don’t knock it ’til you try it.” He leaned forward in his seat. “So, another team, you say? Is itactuallyweird, or is it just super competitive and hot? Anyone I know?”

“I plead the Fifth.” There weren’t that many out guys in the league. Baller didn’t need any more information, even if Grady trusted him not to blab.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes to all.’” He finished his drink and set the empty glass on the table. “How’s it getting weird?”

Now that, Grady actually wanted to answer, but he struggled to put his thoughts into words. He could barely put his finger on it, even in his head. “I don’t know. It’s…. We’re not dating, and we’re not friends. But we’re sleeping together, and sometimes we talk.” He paused. “We went out for dinner once.”I slept over at his house. I’ve met his dog.

Baller’s brow creased. For a moment he didn’t say anything. That was strange—when they first met at the US men’s team development camp, holding his tongue had not been his strong point.

Finally he shook his head and said, “Hate to tell you, bud, but you’re friends.” He looked like he was going to laugh.

“Shit.”

Grady was right—he did laugh. The sound echoed in the strangely empty lounge. “You didn’t answer my question, though. Why’s it weird? Like… I don’t know, you start sleeping with somebody and your relationship changes. That’s normal. By definition, the opposite of weird.” Then he paused again and considered. “Well. Unless the relationship changesbeforeyou start sleeping together, but we can’t all do things backwards.”

Grady grimaced. “I don’twantthings to change.”

“I think you picked the wrong Dekes captain for this conversation.” Dante shook his head. “Look, you don’t need my advice. I’m not older or wiser or more experienced or whatever. Any tips I could give you on maintaining a casual, uh, acquaintances-with-benefits situation would be outdated. But everything changes. I mean, you asked for a trade. Change is coming.”

Grady’s shoulders slumped under the weight of that truth. In a few weeks or months he might not have to worry about this. The Firebirds wouldn’t trade him within their division. They’d ship him halfway across the country into the Midwest or Florida or something—or even to Canada—and he could stop wondering whether he had the energy to make the hour-long drive to Newark for sex, because it wouldn’t be an hour-long drive. It’d be two, or four, or twelve.

Why didn’t that make him feel better?

Before he could worry about it, the goal horn echoed from the ice. Baller glanced up at the TV screen above the bar and grinned. “Aw, look at that—it’s your turn to buy a round.”

MAX’S TEAMwas not having a good game. In the middle of the second, they were down 3–1 to the Orcas. From a puck-possession standpoint, it felt more like 30–1, thanks to Max’s teammates, who seemed determined to spend the period in the penalty box.

They finally got a breather at a commercial stoppage, and Max skated over to the bench for the ritual scolding.

Instead he got a call to arms.

“We need to break their momentum,” Coach said. “Three penalties back-to-back killed us. We need a chance to get back on top, put some shots on goal, get the crowd going for us.” He looked at Max. “Think you can draw a penalty?”

Max considered the options. Kirschbaum had an even keel, but Max might be able to goad White into doing something if he laid a big enough hit on his boyfriend.

A month ago he wouldn’t have thought twice about it. Now he had a voice in his head—one that sounded annoyingly like Grady—pointing out that Max could get what he needed without hitting below the belt. So to speak.

“Put me on against Nordstrom.” The guy had a habit of escalating. If Max could sneak in a couple digs, he’d eventually retaliate with something the refs would have to call.

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