Page 134 of The Trade Deadline
As he reached into the cooler for another beer, Anders appeared at his side and took it. “How about I drive you home?” he didn’t so much as offer but ordered. Ryan’s head was too foggy to stop Anders from gently guiding him out the door.
There was a moment of panic when they started driving and Ryan realized where Anders was heading.
“Not my apartment,” he said quickly, then realized awkwardly he’d told Lars he’d meet him…at Anders’s house. “He doesn’t have a key,” he said and hoped the lame excuse might help Anders overlook Ryan inviting himself over.
Anders arched an eyebrow. “This is weird,” he said. “He’s never brought someone home, and I don’t think I ever expected it to be another player.”
“Not a teammate, I’ll bet.”
He nodded. “But it wouldn’t be Lars if he weren’t surprising me and causing trouble all at once.”
“Probably not,” Ryan agreed, and then enjoyed the warmth brought on byhe’s never brought someone home.
* * *
Lars’s rental car was in the driveway and Anders parked beside it, giving Ryan a meaningful look before he cut the engine.
“He’ll be in the guest house if he’s expecting you. You know the way?”
Ryan thought back to the party a month ago and sitting on Lars’s bed, missing him and wanting so badly to go back to the way things had been.
“Yeah,” he said.
The stone walkway leading to the guest house was lit with solar lights. The door was ajar but Ryan knocked anyway. There was no answer, so he let himself in and followed the dim glow to Lars’s bedroom. This time he didn’t knock, just slowly pushed the door open.
Lars was in a loose Crabs tee and boxers, hands tucked behind his head. He’d already shaved off his beard, which was doubly disappointing: it’d looked good on him, and it was a sad reminder that Lars’s season was over. He had his ankles crossed, drawing attention to his crew socks. Headphones and long golden hair bracketed his face, and he looked younger than Ryan could remember him. It was just like Geneva, honestly, except for the slight pinch between his eyebrows. His eyes were closed and one foot tapped along with some unknown beat.
He was absolutely adorable, and he was Ryan’s.
Still half-drunk, he didn’t take the adult approach of warning Lars of his presence. Instead he jumped onto the bed next to him, earning an indignant squawk as Lars tried to keep his phone from going flying while keeping himself from rolling off the bed.
“Wha—!?” He cut himself off when he noticed Ryan, then it was a mad scramble to get off his headphones. “You’re here,” was his only warning before Ryan’s lips were stolen in a heated kiss.
“I’ve been here before,” Ryan teased breathlessly.
“Yes, I got your note. Very rude of you to be in my bed without me.” They shared another long, deep kiss before Lars pulled away. “You taste like beer,” he accused. “Are you drunk?”
Ryan wanted to feign indignance, but he giggled and gave himself away. “A little,” he admitted. “There were beers in the locker room.”
Lars’s hand cupped Ryan’s cheek. He trailed a thumb through the beard and said, “I’m really proud of you. Congratulations.”
Heat rose in his cheeks. “I didn’t do much. They would’ve won without me?—”
Lars interrupted him with a kiss, then said, “You’re not allowed to say stuff like that. You helped. A lot. You should’ve heard the whining in our locker room. Everyone saw you were on fire.”
“Yeah?” Ryan didn’t usually like praise because he didn’t really trust it. Evidence always seemed to indicate otherwise. No long term contract. Years of struggling to stay on the third line. Reduced minutes. He fought for all of it, and all the assurances of “good shift” and “nice play” hadn’t meant much. But he liked praise from Lars because he knew Lars believed it. He’d believed it so much, he’d fought for Ryan with the coaches and media. It made it a little easier to accept it elsewhere, too. Hehaddone pretty well in this series. The stats showed it. “I played alright, I guess.”
“You were fantastic,” Lars said with such genuine admiration Ryan thought he might actually die. What had he ever done to deserve Lars Nilsson looking at him like that?
“I love you,” he said without thinking. “I’m so in love with you.”
And he leaned over to kiss Lars again and was startled when Lars pulled back and kept a hand on Ryan’s chest.
“What?” Then embarrassment started to seep into the moment. Oh, God, had he misread?—?
“I love you, too,” Lars said, and Ryan’s nerves settled immediately. “And I would love to fuck your brains out, but we should…” He sighed and looked regretful. “...talk about that?”
Oh, right.
