Page 87 of Drop the Gloves
“Sure,” Lawson said with a shrug.“But only one of them is named Riley Barczyk.”
Dalton shared a worried look with Evan.“Think he likes mini-golf?”Dalton asked with a weak smile.
“Not enough for it to help,” Evan said.The only thing he could offer Riley was orgasms, and that hadn’t helped either.
It might’ve been making it worse.
* * *
They didn’t talk much over their stay in Pittsburgh—two home games plus practices—because Riley seemed to need the space.Evan had to admit, he needed it too.After talking to Amy, he’d acknowledged that he was gay in a way that made it settle inside him like a fact instead of a hypothetical.This thing with Riley wasn’t some random glitch in his system; it was just the first attraction strong enough for him to recognize it for what it was.
So what exactly did that mean?Was he using Riley as a very willing but oblivious experiment?Did he have feelings for Riley that were more than sexual?Did he want to pursue those feelings?
Evan couldn’t settle on answers.He’d think he understood things when he was alone at his condo or hanging out with Dalty or the guys...and then he’d lock eyes with Riley at practice or on the bench, and his stomach would flipflop and his heart would yearn for something he didn’t want to think about too hard.
The only exception to giving Riley space came in the form of their pre-game ritual.Obviously, they had to talk and work well together during games or they were fucked.For a second, it looked like Riley was coming over for their butt taps, but he skated right by Evan.The next time he came by for a lap, Evan stepped into his path so quickly his choices were collide or stop.
Thankfully, he picked stop.
“You owe me like ten whacks,” Evan said.
Riley stared at him blankly.“Abs”—Evan was starting to hate his own last name—“that was just for shits and giggles.It doesn’t help us play any better.”
“Sure,” he said, because Evan knew it didn’t manifest any actual luck.Sometimes it wasn’t about the superstition but the routine, the way it could ground you before a game.It wasn’t to give you something to blame or credit; it was about getting yourself to switch gears into game mode.Evan thought they both could use that.“But we lost 5-1 and you took a bajillion penalties last time when we didn’t do it properly.”
Riley’s jaw dropped.“Abajillionis stretching it,” he said.
“Half a jillion?Sorry, I can’t count that high.Must’ve lost track.”He savored Riley’s indignant scowl and the dimple that meant he was trying very hard not to smile.“My point is, we gotta clear out the bad mojo and bring back the good mojo.So...”He lifted his stick like a baseball bat.“Turn the fuck around, Barzy.”
“You used to be such a nice guy,” Riley grumbled but he turned around.
“I know,” Evan agreed.“Someone must be a bad influence.”Then he swung.
* * *
By the end of their homestand, Riley was back to his old self: loud, obnoxious, and full of energy.
Evan had really missed that.Funny how things changed.
“Albuquerque and Nevada in December,” Riley said the day before they headed out.“Best time of year for that trip.”
“What, you not enjoying Pittsburgh winters?”Woodward teased.
Riley rolled his eyes.“I played in Vermont for two seasons, Woodsy.I grew up in fucking Massachusetts.I can handle the cold.I just like not freezing my ass off when I walk to my car.”
It was good to have him back.
“Hey, Abs.”
Evan froze at the sound of Riley’s voice directed at him.He’d been on his way out of the training facility, but he’d gladly wait in the frigid parking lot if it meant Riley was talking to him outside of hockey.
“What’s up?”he asked in a terrible impression of a normal human being.
“Should be pretty nice out west,” Riley said, withfar more calm than Evan had managed.His words steamed in the air.“You should bring some clothes besides suits and workout clothes.Something nice.In case you wanted to go somewhere besides the hotel and the rink.”He knocked Evan with his shoulder as he walked by, heading for his car at the opposite end of the lot.
Evan stared after him long after he’d disappeared around a corner, wondering what that was about...and what qualified as ‘something nice.’
* * *
