Page 10 of Snapping the Ice
Next to him, Jett smiled, his dirty-blond hair parted at the side and falling past his green eyes and to his cheekbones.
We all wore similar outfits—button-down shirts and jeans.
I guessed I’d gotten the unspoken dress code correct. “Hey, guys.” As I approached, they both stood. I greeted them with side hugs and sat in the chair across from them. “This is nice.” I took in the bare-bulbed lights crisscrossing overhead and the plants on trellises against the fence.
“I’ll only take you to the best places.” Mason gave me a broad smile. Tall amber drinks sat on the table in front of them with pineapple slices hanging off the lip.
“What are you drinking? Mai tais?” I picked up a menu that was resting in front of me.
“Hell yeah. You should get one.” Mason glanced at Jett. “Or two, since you walked here.”
“Sure.” I chuckled. “Which one of you drove?” I perused the menu—a mixture of soups, noodles, and curries. With our crazy schedules, it was rare to have time to hang out with Mason and Jett, so I’d take him up on the two drinks.
“I did.” Jett gave Mason a knowing look. “I knew you two would want to catch up.” He sucked his drink through a straw.
“See how great my husband is?” Mason kissed him on the cheek.
“Yeah, yeah.” With a soft laugh, I set my menu down.
A server stopped by the table and I ordered my drink along with a few dishes for us all to share. I wanted to taste a bit of everything.
“So, how’s practice?” Mason tented his fingers on the table. “They’re starting you, right?”
“They are.” Damn, the last time we’d talked was during training camp. Sharing the ice with my brother was a blast, but I knew I’d play in the PHL this year.
The server set my drink down.
I sipped the Mai Tai, the fruity drink mingling with the rum as it slid over my tongue. “Fuck, that’s good.” I mixed it with the straw. Too much rum floated on the top. “I’m vibing well with Crosby. We’ll be unstoppable this year.” I offered a smirk. Yeah, I could be as cocky as my brother sometimes.
“No doubt. You two looked great. You even impressed my buddy Archer.” He sat back in his chair, looking me over. “I can’t believe you’re twenty-two. Damn.”
“Your baby brother is growing up.” Jett beamed at me. “And he’s as handsome as you, babe.”
Mason shifted forward, planting his forearms on the table. “How many puck bunnies are after you?”
With a snicker, I said, “None, yet. I don’t have time.” Ezra fluttered through my mind. Why was I thinking about him now? Shit, I should ask about what I saw. “Hey, did you guys hear about the calendar we’re doing for charity?”
“The one for Phoenix Children’s Hospital?” Jett narrowed his eyes.
“That’s the one. I did my photo shoot yesterday.” I stirred my drink and sipped it. “The photographer was gay and I uh…”
“You what?” Mason’s gaze widened, and the corner of hislip curled. “You telling me you’re queer? Did you get a hard on for him?”
“Jesus, Mason.” Jett scoffed and shook his head. “Let him speak. Not everyone is queer.”
Shit, I’d almost gotten a hard on. Because I’d mistaken him for a chick at first. Right? Tilting my head, I said, “His boyfriend came at the end of the shoot and was a real dick.”
“Oh, he has a boyfriend.” Mason twisted his lips. “What, did you argue with him?”
My gaze cut to Mason’s. “I did. He was a jealous prick. I think the boyfriend’s abusing the guy. Is there abuse, like physical abuse, in gay relationships?”
Jett pursed his lips and leaned forward. “Lucas, deep down we’re all people, prone to the same emotional manipulations, fears and insecurities, no matter our sexuality or gender. So, yes, there can be.”
With his lips parting, Mason swung his gaze to Jett. “Wow, babe. I guess you know abuse after dealing with Eleanor.”
“I do.” Gripping his drink, Jett shifted. “With abuse in a heterosexual relationship, it’s usually the man abusing the woman. But it can go both ways. My father was emotionally abused by his second wife for at least a decade.” He clenched his jaw. “He’s only now realizing it after a few years of therapy.”
“Damn.” What I’d seen at the studio was abuse for sure. “The photographer, Ezra is his name, well, barely smiled and when his boyfriend came in and accused him of, shit…” I blew out a breath, the scene replaying in my head. “The asshole accused him of—” I made air quotes. “—Looking at us.”
