Page 11 of Common Goal
It was, in all honesty, ridiculous for Eric to have an entire four-story townhouse to himself. He had considered an apartment—maybe a penthouse like Scott’s—but this house had been for sale at the right time and Eric hadn’t been able to resist it. He’d worked with a designer to create a home that exuded serenity and comfort, while also providing a complementary backdrop for his art collection. The final result was, Eric had to admit, stunning. But he hadn’t been prepared for how lonely it would feel to only have art and designer furniture for company.
His phone lit up where it rested on his kitchen counter. Eric set his empty quinoa jar next to the sink and picked up the phone. It was a message from Jeanette, his friend and art dealer. She had a collection of paintings by a new artist that she thought he would be interested in.
Well. Maybethiswould be the painting that would make his life feel whole.
Eric:When can I see them?
They planned for Eric to come to the gallery on Tuesday—his day off. As always, Jeanette didn’t send a photo of any of the paintings. She insisted his first impression of the art be the one he got when he viewed it in person. She was never wrong about what Eric would like, though, so he was excited to see what she had.
Kyle was studying art history, which was something that Eric couldn’t stop thinking about. He had made the fatal mistake oflearningabout the man. He wished he could go back to the time that he didn’t know Kyle was studying ancient history and art, or that he loved mythology and was just generally brilliant and fascinating.
It was one thing to be flirted with by a cute bartender, but when it was a cute bartender who was smart and shared Eric’s interests...
Well. It had been a nice surprise.
He could, he thought, attempt to flirt with Kyle the next time he happened to see him. Kyle seemed naturally flirtatious and would probably be able to provide Eric with some much-needed practice. It would be harmless, and Eric could use whatever he learned from it whenever he attempted in earnest to date again.
Practice was all he needed, he decided as he jogged up the two flights of stairs to his bedroom. It was something that he understood, as an athlete. Practicing something over and over would eventually yield results. He could improve his ability to flirt the same way he had improved his rebound control on the ice. He would practice flirting, practice dating, practice being intimate with another person.
With a man.
Maybe.
But first, flirting.
Chapter Four
If Ilya Rozanov didn’t get his ass out of Eric’s face right fucking now, Eric was going to chop his legs off.
Eric pushed him hard in the back with his blocker pad. “Fuck off, Rozanov.”
But Rozanov—an all-star center who had been a thorn in the side of Eric and every other NHL goaltender for nearly a decade—held his ground.
“I swear to fuck, Rozanov,” Eric growled as he stretched his neck to try to see over Rozanov’s shoulder.
“I heard Hunter’s getting married,” Rozanov said conversationally, as if they were having lunch together and not in the middle of a 1–1 hockey game.
“Looking for an invite?” Eric asked, shoving him again.
“To the most boring event of the century? No.”
Rozanov was a big guy, not easy to move. But Matti Jalo was bigger, and he finally came to Eric’s rescue.
“Took you long enough,” Eric grumbled, but Jalo was already gone, chasing after Rozanov. A few seconds later, Rozanov was racing toward the net with the puck. Instead of sinking back into the net, Eric moved to the top of the crease, fearless and challenging.Try me, motherfucker.
Rozanov let off a lightning-quick wrist shot that sailed toward the top corner of the net. The puck was fast, but Eric was faster, gloving it down with probably a little more flourish than was necessary. He only had so many chances left to make a highlight reel.
“Nice save,” Rozanov said calmly as he skated by.
“Plenty more where that came from.”
Rozanov turned back and grinned. “I doubt it. You are a hundred years old. I could hear your bones creak.”
“That’s not what your girlfriend said.” Eric was instantly embarrassed by his immature comeback. But Rozanov was laughing.
“I’ll have to ask her about it,” he said, then skated away, still laughing. Eric’s brow furrowed. He didn’t even know if Rozanovhada girlfriend.
The game ended with the Admirals beating Ottawa 3–1. Normally beating a team as low in the standings as Ottawa wouldn’t make Eric feel this good, but after his abysmal performance in the last game, winning felt incredible. When the siren sounded to end the game, he raised both arms over his head as first Jalo, and then the other defenseman on the ice, Brisebois, engulfed him in jubilant hugs.
