Page 8 of The Trade Deadline
“Promos?” Ryan dramatically made a face and the other men laughed. The social media team was friendly enough, but they were incredibly dedicated to their jobs, which usually meant a lot of pictures and interviews. Before Baltimore, Ryan hadn’t been used to having a camera on him at all times. Hell, he wasn’t really used to it now, but at least he’d grown to expect it. They’d already snapped a few pics of him and some of the rookies in the gym, happily posting about each returning player’s appearance to fuel the fanbase’s excitement for the upcoming season.
“It’s not that bad,” Monroe said with a chuckle.
“It definitely is,” Thompkins countered. As GM, Monroe could escape most of the fanfare by hiding in his office. Thompkins had it almost as bad as the players. Since he had to show his face at games and practices, his every coaching decision was praised when the team did well and under intense scrutiny when they didn’t. Sometimes Ryan felt bad for him, since Ryan could usually get away with a smile and an apology that conveyed some degree oflol I’m just a dumb hockey player, don’t blame me.
Of course, Thompkins was also the one responsible for Ryan’s shift lengths, so he couldn’t feel too bad.
“I don’t know what RJ’s complaining about, though,” Thompkins continued. “The camera loves him. He gets more requests than anybody to participate in events, just for having a pretty face.”
Certainly not for his playing!seemed to be implied. Ryan laughed anyway. He could be offended when he had a new contract signed.
They chatted a little longer, Ryan’s heart not in it, before they let him go back to the gym. He felt he’d done a pretty admirable job of not freaking out as he finished an abbreviated version of his workout. He even managed not to sound constipated when he chatted with some of the other players who were there and told a joke to the training staff on his way out that got a few laughs. In all the ways that mattered, he resembled a fully functioning human being.
It was only once he locked himself in his car that the cracks started to show.
Lars Nilsson was going to be his teammate.
Lars Nilsson, NHL All Star and darling of Team Sweden would be playing with him. Here. In Baltimore.
Lars Nilsson, whose dick he’d had his hands on and whose lips he’d kissed and whose accent could still get him half hard if he listened to his interviews, was someone he would have to interact with on a daily basis in less than two weeks.
“Okay,” he said as he finally turned the car on. “I can do this. I cansodo this.”
Who was he kidding? He couldn’t do this.
This was going to be so awkward, right? They’d have to dance around the fact that they’d hooked up and seen each other naked. Then they’d have to have that painful talk where they both agreed it was way in the past and not a big deal, except it would be weird as fuck in the locker room. And on plane rides or bus rides if they had to sit next to each other. Oh god, or when the team went out to drink together. Ryan would have to stay away from strawberry daiquiris (a guilty pleasure since Juniors) and hope Lars did the same, or?—
Or what, Ryan?he scolded himself.Or nothing. You’re making a big deal out of this when it doesn’t have to be. It really is ancient history, even if he is still painfully hot. You can be professional. Youhaveto be professional. You want to stay on this team, remember? Don’t be a dummy.
“Don’t be a dummy,” he repeated out loud. He backed out of his spot and repeated the mantra over and over under his breath as he drove home. Maybe it’d sink in.
* * *
Spoiler: It didn’t sink in.
He was even more freaked out by the time he got home, the car ride doing nothing but giving him zero distractions from worst case scenarios. After he abandoned his car in the parking garage, instead of heading up to his fifth floor apartment, he made a beeline for the fourth floor and knocked on the door directly beneath his.
The door opened a crack, then swung open. Before he could get a word in, Ryan was enveloped in a bone crushing hug.
“Bro, what’s up?” Tanner let him go and pulled him into the apartment, slamming the door shut behind them. “How you been?”
“Good,” Ryan said automatically, then dropped his head. “Ugh, no, bad.”
Tanner nodded sagely, his shoulder length sandy hair bobbing with the movement. “Should’ve figured, if you were visiting me. Want some weed?”
“No, thanks.” He plopped down on the large leather sofa that took up half the living room, well away from the nest of blankets and the abandoned game controller in the middle.
Tanner gave him a disappointed look, as if Ryan hadevertaken him up on that offer. “Beer, then?”
“Can’t. It’s preseason. I gotta get back into shape.”
Tanner eyed him skeptically. “You have a six-pack.”
“Right now it’s more of a two-pack.”
“That’s still way more pack than most people. Besides, I thought preseason wasn’t until August,” he said with a pout.
“ItisAugust.”
