Page 13 of Common Goal
Eric did remember. A nightclub had been holding a Scott Hunter Night to celebrate Scott publicly coming out. The party had been the same night as the NHL Awards, after the ceremony. Scott had extended the invitation to the entire audience at the awards, but other than the handful of Scott’s teammates who had been in town, Rozanov was the only one who’d shown up. Eric had been as surprised as Scott had been to see Rozanov—a man who had gleefully taunted Scott as often as possible for years, who had a well-earned reputation as a ladies man, who was a famous hockey player fromRussia, for fuck’s sake—calmly approaching them in a gay nightclub. To this day Eric couldn’t wrap his head around it.
“So he’s in New York City, home of some of the best nightlife in the world, and he wants to hang out with you?”
“Yeah. Because I’m very cool and fun now. Haven’t you heard?” Scott nudged him playfully. Eric forced a smile, but having Rozanov there would...complicate things. Eric wasn’t quite ready to tellScotthis true reason for joining him tonight, let alone Ilya Rozanov. Eric wanted to come out to Scott—he thought he might want to come out toeveryone—but he didn’t like to do anything until he had all of his ducks in a row. For whatever reason, it made sense to Eric to try out flirting with a man first. Maybe going on a date or two, or kissing a man; anything that might make his bisexuality seemreal. If he did that, he might be able to tell his best friend, with confidence, that he was bisexual.
The ridiculous thing was that he could hear Scott’s voice in his head, scolding him for believing he needed to prove his own sexuality to himself. But still, Eric wanted to be sure, and he didn’t want Scott to guess that Eric was at the bar to ogle Kyle. Unfortunately, Rozanov seemed a lot more observant. A lot more into giving people shit too.
The car pulled in front of the bar, and Scott and Eric thanked the driver as they slid out of luxurious leather seats and into the bracing cold of late November. They hurried inside, with backpacks crammed full of their discarded clothing slung over their shoulders.
The Kingfisher was, as always, warm and lively, despite being noticeably rough around the edges. Most of the chairs and tables had patches where the wood stain had worn off. The wallpaper was torn and peeling in places. The speakers in the corners that pumped pop music into the bar were in desperate need of dusting. The large television in one corner showing a West Coast NBA game was an older model. It was a bit of a dump, but there was something comforting and inviting about the place.
Most of the tables were full, but Kip dashed over as soon as he spotted Scott and gestured to an empty table near the bar. It had a little reserved sign on it, which Eric was sure was only ever used for Scott’s visits.
Kip greeted Scott with a kiss, which went on long enough that Eric had to look away.
“You were amazing tonight, sweetheart,” Kip said, his arms still looped around Scott’s neck. “We had the game on in here. You were awesome too, Eric.”
“Thanks.” Eric scanned the room and spotted a familiar trim body in faded jeans and a form-fitting white T-shirt. He was at a table across the room, standing with his back to Eric, but Eric had no problem recognizing him.
“Have a seat,” Kip said cheerfully. “I’ll bring you boys a lager and a soda water with lime?” He glanced at Eric with raised eyebrows, silently checking to make sure he’d remembered Eric’s usual correctly.
“Soda with lime, yes. Thank you.”
Kip left to get their drinks, and Scott never took his eyes off him. Eric carefully turned his gaze on Kyle, letting his eyes linger for a few seconds, and then looking away. Kyle was smiling at an attractive young man who was standing at the bar in the same space Eric had been standing the other night. The wicked glint in Kyle’s eyes as he talked to the man now was the same glint that had been there when he’d been flirting with Eric that night.
A hot stab of jealousy bloomed absurdly in Eric’s chest. This was Kyle’sjob. He flirted with countless men like this all the time. Eric had just been one of them. He wasn’t special.
But then Kyle’s gaze met Eric’s, and Kyle’s eyes went wide as the smile fell from his lips. It was only for a second, and then Kyle snapped out of it and turned his attention back to his customer, lips turned up in a seductive smile once again.
Oh no. What washedoing here again?
Kyle could accept that Eric Bennett was here at the Kingfisher to keep his friend company. It probably had nothing to do with Kyle. But that would mean ignoring the way Eric’s gaze kept landing on Kyle as he worked. The way he frowned when Kyle flirted with other customers, even as Eric fiddled with his fucking wedding ring.
Kyle was all too familiar with men like Eric. Men who liked to spend their evenings away from their wives so they could scratch an itch they would never dare speak a word about to any of the people in their lives who actually mattered to them. Men who were happy to get off with Kyle, men who maybe even claimed to want more than secret hookups with him, someday. But those men were all the same. As soon as there was even a chance the secret might get out, that their desire for men might be known by anyone important to them, they bolted.
Fuck men like that. Kyle had wasted too much of his life—of his heart—on them. Eric could ogle him all he liked with those gorgeous dark eyes. Kyle wasn’t biting.
“I hate it when Scott comes here,” Aram grumbled as he filled a couple of pint glasses. “All eyes are on him until he leaves.”
“Aw,” Kyle said. “I think at least one pair of eyes is on you, babe.” He nodded at a tall, muscular man who was definitely trying to get Aram’s attention for reasons beyond wanting to order a drink.
Aram perked up. “Well, hello. Let me go see what he’s thirsty for.” Kyle laughed. Aram finished loading his tray with full pints, then winked at him. “Hey, I see Scott brought his hot dad tonight.”
Kyle followed Aram’s gaze to where Eric was sitting. As soon as Kyle’s eyes landed on him, Eric turned his head quickly away. Busted. “Oh, you mean Husband of the Year over there? No thank you.”
Aram wrinkled his nose. “Right. I forgot. Ick.”
He left with his tray of drinks, and Kyle took a cute, chubby bearded guy’s order.
“That’s Scott Hunter, right?” the man asked as Kyle prepared his gin and tonic.
“The one and only.”
“He’s even more gorgeous in person. Damn.”
“Oh I know.”
“The guy who’s sitting with him is hot too, in a sexy professor kind of way.”
