Page 8 of Common Goal
“No you don’t,” Eric said flatly.
Carter laughed. “No. I really don’t.”
“Goodnight, Carter.” Then, Eric turned to Kyle. “It was nice talking to you, Kyle.”
“Likewise.” The word slid out of Kyle’s mouth, rich and bordering on ridiculous. Eric was embarrassed by the heat that bloomed low in his belly in response. He turned and strode toward the exit before anyone noticed how flustered he was getting. He didn’t like to ever appear anything less than steady and unshakable at all times.
He stepped outside into a cold November drizzle and wished he’d worn something water-resistant instead of his wool Burberry coat. The frigid rain worked like an ice bath, though, easing the sparks that had been racing through Eric’s veins since he’d first laid eyes on Kyle tonight. The truth was, he’d been...awareof Kyle for some time. Eric had gone to the Kingfisher a handful of times over the past couple of years. He’d go if Kip was working, ostensibly keeping Scott company but in reality just sitting there while Scott watched his boyfriend serve people drinks.
The second time he’d agreed to go, Kyle had been working with Kip, and Eric had been drawn to him for reasons he still couldn’t explain.
Well. Hecouldat least partially explain it. Certainly it had something to do with Kyle’s winter-blue eyes, and his easy, seductive smiles. He seemed confident and fun in a completely different way from Eric’s teammates. It was alluring.
Eric noticed people. He always had. His ability to observe everything and everyone around him was an integral part of his goaltending career. Despite this, he wasn’t oftenattractedto other people. But he was definitely attracted to Kyle.
Even though it had been over a year since he’d last had sex, Eric hadn’t been missing it. His sexual needs, such as they were, had always been satisfied one way or another. But now a few flirtatious words and smiles from a beautiful young bartender and suddenly Eric’s libido was demanding attention.
There was a time when the fact that the bartender in question was amanwould have terrified Eric. For most of his life, he had chosen to ignore the part of him that was attracted to men. He’d been married to Holly, after all, so there’d been no reason to think about it. That was what he had told himself.
But since Scott Hunter had come out as gay, things had changed. Eric was lucky enough to have had a front-row seat to witness Scott’s happiness as he finally allowed himself to live and love the way he’d always been afraid to. He wasn’t like Scott. He had loved Holly once, and he’d never been forced to hide who he really was. Not in the same way. He’d just chosen not to reveal all of himself, because he’d never needed to.
But since his divorce, and now living in a brave new world where being attracted to men wasn’t an unthinkable thing for a hockey player, Eric had allowed himself to examine this thing that he’d buried so long ago. To poke it a little. It was something that he thought he might like to explore, now that he was able. Buthow? Where on earth did one start with that sort of thing?
With a flirty bartender?
No. Absolutely not. Kyle was much too young—barely older than the rookies on the team—so it was completely inappropriate. More than that, it would be humiliating. How much of a midlife crisis stereotype did Eric want to be? Dating a man who was almost half his age was not happening. There had to be a safer and more sensible option.
For the first time in Eric’s life, safe and sensible didn’t seem particularly appealing.
Chapter Three
The smell of coffee lured Kyle out of bed late the next morning. He’d been awake for about twenty minutes, contemplating the benefits of staying in bed forever. But then he’d smelled the coffee.
His roommate, Maria Villanueva, made great coffee. She’d been a barista at Starbucks for the past two years—part-time for the past year since she’d gone back to school—and Kyle was happy to benefit from her expert training.
“Sit,” Maria instructed, looking less than intimidating in her fluffy purple housecoat and panda bear slippers. Kyle obeyed her anyway. She plunked a steaming mug of coffee on their kitchen table and waited for him to take exactly one sip before she said, “How’s your heart holding up?”
He pushed fingers under his glasses to rub at his eyes. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Bullshit. You know exactly what I’m talking about. Do you want a bagel?”
“Only if they aren’t—”
“They aren’t the jalapeno kind, you baby. Are sesame seeds too spicy for you?”
“I like spicy food. Just not first thing in the morning. Do we have cinnamon raisin?”
“No, because those are disgusting. Do you want yours toasted?” She held up a sesame seed bagel.
“Are they fresh?”
She glared at him, then gestured at her outfit. “Do I look like I’ve left the apartment this morning?”
“Toast it, please.” He watched Maria as she prepared their breakfasts the same way she did everything: in quick, efficient movements, treating their tiny kitchen like a Starbucks at rush hour.
“So you’re fine?” she asked. “Because between the two of us, I’m the one who was drunk last night, but you’re the one who looks like shit.”
“Thanks.”
