Page 11 of Game Changer
Scott’s seatmate, and one of his assistant captains, Carter Vaughan, was particularly excited about their upcoming stop in Los Angeles. He had been seeing Gloria Grey, a very famous and extremely attractive television actress, for a few months now. “Nothing serious,” Carter had insisted the last time Scott asked him about her. “Just two beautiful, chill people enjoying each other’s company whenever we’re in the same city.”
Scott thought it might be more than that, but he didn’t say anything. He was the last person who should be nosey about other people’s love lives.
Carter had his headphones on already. Since there was nothing to look at outside the window, Scott pulled out his book. It was a dumb spy novel, but it was something to pass the time with.
Scott tried to read, but his mind kept wandering. It kept conjuring the image of a charming smoothie shop clerk with stunning hazel eyes and the cutest smile...
He turned his head so Carter wouldn’t notice his goofy grin.
He had come to the game last night. Kip. Scott had nodded at him, but Kip hadn’t done anything in return. Maybe he hadn’t seen. Maybe he’d thought Scott was weird.
Either way, it had made Scott absurdly happy to see him sitting in that arena. Happier still to see that he had brought afemalefriend with him, because Kip had implied that he was attracted to men. At least, Scott was pretty sure that was what had happened. He was hopelessly clueless about flirting.
He frowned. Kip might be bisexual. Maybe that woman he had been withwashis girlfriend. She had certainly looked pretty enough.
Scott was not bisexual. What the world didn’t know was that he wasn’t straight either.He’dknown he was gay for a long time. Since he’d played junior, actually. He’d had a terrible crush on a teammate then, one he’d been sure was unrequited. Even if it hadn’t been, he’d known Jacob would never act on it. Would never admit it. Making a move on him would only have gotten Scott a black eye, or worse. It could have cost Scott his career if word had gotten out. Because hockey players weren’t gay. No NHL player wasevergay.
Scott knew, now that he was older and wiser, that there was no way that was true. But it didn’t change the fact that no one in the league had ever been openly gay, or even openly bisexual. NHL players married young, had a bunch of kids, and took the family to the cottage in the summer. NHL players golfed and drank and played poker and ate steak and went to strip clubs and slept with puck bunnies and used words likefagandqueerliberally.
So Scott kept his love life to himself. Or lack thereof.
It was hard enough to be discreet when you were just an average anybody. It was infinitely harder when you were a superstar athlete. Scott couldn’t go online and hook up with random men; he would always be scared one of them would talk to the press. He felt the same way about sex workers. He avoided gay bars and clubs, not that he would necessarily be into that sort of thing anyway. He was a terrible dancer.
Most of his sexual encounters happened during the summers. He would go away to exotic places where people didn’t know a damn thing about hockey. Italy, Spain, Brazil, Greece. Places where he was just one of many young, fit men looking for one thing.
Summer had been a long damn time ago.
What Scott didn’t do—what he never,everdid—was flirt with shop clerks in Manhattan. Because that would be stupid and careless and not at all worth the risk. He would certainly never give them a hint that he was interested in men. Scott had gotten good at concealing that fact; he’d had years of practice, after all.
But there was something about Kip.
Scott couldn’t even name it. Obviously he was good-looking (he’s fucking gorgeous, Scott, come on), with those dimples and those eyes. At the game last night, Scott had finally gotten a glimpse of Kip when he wasn’t wearing a ball cap and apron. He’d like to get a much closer look sometime.
Jesus.
So, yes, he was attractive. Lots of men in New York were attractive. Hell, lots of men on Scott’steamwere attractive. So that wasn’t the entire reason why Scott couldn’t stop thinking about him.
There was just something about him. Scott wanted to talk to him for hours, and find out everything about him. Show him everything.Givehim everything.
His reason for returning to the shop on game days wasn’t a ruse. He sincerely felt that it was important to stick to routines when his game was going well. He had been playing the worst hockey of his career before he’d walked into that shop and Kip had served him that smoothie, and he’d been on fire ever since.
In more ways than one, if he was being honest.
* * *
“Hey, stranger.”
“Hey, Dad,” Kip said as he went to the cupboard to grab the cereal box. It was Kip’s day off, which meant a rare morning at home.
“I never asked you how the game was the other night,” his dad said.
“It was awesome.” Kip grinned to himself as he said it. “Really.”
Dad sipped his coffee and looked at Kip from where he sat at the little kitchen table. “It was awfully nice of Scott Hunter to give you those tickets.”
“It was.”
“I don’t think there’s a person in Brooklyn your mother hasn’t told about that.”
