Page 34 of The Trade Deadline
“Of course not. One beer at Rangoons and any crab-related food you think I need to try as a Marylander.”
Ryan snorted. “I’ve been here a couple years and I can’t claim I know anything about crabs. But they’ve got good crab cakes, so maybe we start with that.”
They shared crab cakes and beers at Rangoons while recounting their favorite parts of the practice. It had been fun, just like Lars said, but this…shoulders bumping and knees knocking together under the bar and leaning in to laugh in each other’s space…this was the best part of Ryan’s day.
Chapter11
Lars
Beer with Ryanwas a bad idea.
Not because anything happened or Lars did anything stupid, but because Ryan was really cute when he was relaxed. Clearly a lightweight, he’d been happily chatty after only a few sips. If Lars was looking to overcome a crush on him, seeing him waving his hands animatedly talking about his volunteer work with children was not the way to do it.
But hewastrying to be friends with him, so the outing had been a success on that front. Now they had their own text chat.
thanks for the beer.
anytime you need another player to help, let me know
but my price might go up to two beers
as long as I don't have to drink any of them
lassie
Lasse
Lasse??
so not like the dog
no.
He’d left it at that, satisfied that he’d opened things up and even gotten Ryan to call him Lasse. Granted, he would’ve preferred to hear it in Ryan’s alcohol-warmed voice, but he wasn’t complaining.
When the Mites team posted pictures of the practice and tagged them, Lars saved the one of him and Ryan talking at center ice. Ryan looked confident and content; Lars looked completely smitten.
* * *
His shoulder hurt. It wasn’t an actual injury (he hoped). Some bruising from an awkward fall after a hit. He’d have to sleep on his left side for a bit. The real trouble was that it made it harder to shoot. He winced on every follow through, the pain enough that he hesitated with every shot, opting to pass even when it was the worse play.
Lars’s struggles weren’t isolated: the whole team was struggling tonight. A few mistakes early in the game quickly spiraled into sloppy play after sloppy play. The game was a disaster, already a 1-5 loss that hopefully wouldn’t get worse.
It did get worse. With less than a minute left in the game, Pavel the defenseman lost an edge when he dove to keep the puck in the zone. It led to a 2-on-0 that, despite an inhuman effort from Vorny, resulted in another goal. It didn’t help that they were playing New York, a divisional matchup that they’d probably regret come April. There were a lot of slumped shoulders and downcast gazes as they marched back to the locker room, Lars included.
“Tja, det sög,” he muttered under his breath. By the time he finished changing and got home, he was sure the loss wouldn’t sting, but he hadn’t much enjoyed it.
“What’s that?” Jake asked as he took a seat next to him.
“That sucked,” Lars clarified.
“I thought New York was at the bottom of the league,” someone muttered. Bad timing, because that was when Coach Thompkins stormed in, looking like he wanted to murder someone. Possibly all of them.
“Theyarebottom of the league,” Coach Thompkins gritted out. He wasn’t yelling, his tone perfectly controlled yet sharp as a knife; no, there wouldn’t be any yelling, but he wasn’t going to be gentle as he dressed them down, either. “So what does that make us, huh?”
Everyone awkwardly looked anywhere but at Thompkins. Lars personally hated when coaches did this. They all knew they fucked up, and no doubt each of them could name at least one way they personally had contributed to the loss. Shaming them all after the game was over wouldn’t help rally them and help them get a win next time. In his experience, it only served to let the coach vent his frustrations. To actually help the team, talking to them one-on-one or drafting drills to work on their weaknesses was more effective.
Not that Lars would ever say that out loud. He wasn’t willing to get reamed for his opinion in addition to his poor play.
