Page 33 of Drop the Gloves
“For sure,” Evan said.Barczyk said something that made Moreau laugh so hard beer was coming out his nose.“Miss all the shots you don’t take.”
Barczyk was drinking his own beer, Adam’s apple bobbing with each swallow.Evan’s fist tightened around his glass.
“Whoa,” Dalton said.“I didn’t know that applied to non-hockey stuff.”
“Yeah.Course.”Evan licked his lips.Barczyk was using the condensation from his glass to style his hair into his signature mohawk.His hair looked a grabbable length?—
“You’re right!”Dalton clapped him on the back.Evan jerked in surprise, the spell broken and his attention back on Dalton.“I’m gonna go ask her out.Thanks, bro.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, trying not to make it sound like a question.He had no idea what the heck he’d said, but he was glad to help.“Good luck.”
But then he was alone at the bar.He fisted his joggers in both hands, determined not to look over at Barczyk again and definitely not to get up.Nope.Evan had self-restraint, which was easy anyway because he had nothing to say to Riley Barczyk.
Luckily, he was rescued by Vassiliev and Winchester, who begged him to eat some of the appetizers they ordered.
“It said sampler,” Winchester whined.“They didn’t say it would be a fucking mountain of fried food.”
“It’s very good,” Vassiliev said.“But it’s too much.”
Evan dutifully took a few mozzarella sticks and made small talk about the MLB playoffs.He didn’t know anything about baseball, but he found he could get away with cheering for Toronto or Pittsburgh.Just mentioning either team satisfied people.Obviously, local support was preferable, but he could claim hometown loyalty (even if Toronto wasn’t technically his hometown).It also helped to be able to name specific teams to feign interest; if he admitted he hadn’t been to a Blue Jays game since he was three months old, it didn’t go over well.
But then someone yelled there were pool tables, and most of the guys flocked over to the back room.As Evan flagged down the bartender to order one last beer, he found Barczyk taking the empty seat next to him and leaning over the bar.
“So I know I’m a great teacher,” he said, the slightest of slurs in his voice giving away that he was two beers deeper than Evan.
“But?”Evan rasped, mouth dry.
“But I can’t say you’ve, like, graduated from the Riley Barczyk School of Hockey Fighting.”He held up his hands, one still curled around a bottle of light beer.“If you think you’ve learned enough, I respect it and would agree you’d do a million times better in a fight thanks to me.”
This time, Evan knew where he was going.When had he learned to follow Barczyk’s line of thought?“But you think I could use some more lessons.”
“There’s still a thing or two I could show you, yeah.”
As always, the smart thing to do would be to say thanks but no thanks.Barczyk had done way more than enough and shown Evan a few things he wished he could unsee (and unfeel and unthink).
But on the other hand, he wasn’t throwing the random boner in Evan’s face.Barczyk, despite being a total jackass on the ice, was pretty chill off it.
“Uhm.”Evan fidgeted on his bar stool.The bartender dropped off his beer, and he used it as a shield.He drank two large gulps while he processed what was going on.When he set it down and wiped his lips with the back of his arm, he saw Barczyk watching the gesture.“Sorry, that was gross?—”
“Abs.I spend most of my time with a bunch of grown men who act like teenagers.I’m not going to hold it against you that you don’t know how to use a fucking napkin, you heathen.”
Evan laughed in spite of himself.“Sorry.It won’t happen again.”
“You should be, and it better not.”Barczyk feigned disgust, but his hazel eyes shone with amusement.“Offer stands for more lessons.”He pushed away from the bar and started walking backwards.“If you think you need ‘em.”
“Okay.”It was the safest answer, acknowledging the offer without committing to it.Without exposing how he felt about it or how strung up he’d been only a few hours ago.“Where are you going?”he asked, realizing he was disappointed to see Barczyk go.
He hooked a thumb over his shoulder.“I've gotta show these bozos how to play pool.”
“You know how to play pool?”
“Oh please,” Barczyk scoffed.“I grew up playing pool in my church’s basement during youth group.Assuming this place keeps a nicer table than Father Matthew’s did, I’m gonna clean up.If I can run a rack on a crooked table with a bent cue, the sky’s the limit on a decent table.”He walked backward a few more steps before giving Evan a half-wave, half-salute, then he was gone.
And Evan wasn’t just lonely, but alone.
16
His libido was moreactive than usual.He could count how many times he usually jerked off during the season on one hand; lately that hand was too busy doing other things.It was like he was a teenager again, masturbating every morning to the echoes ofdreams he’d rather not try to chase down.
