Page 51 of Scoring Zone
The crowd leans forward and hollers encouragement.
“I’m wearing a Trevor Fox original design.”
The air whooshes out of my lungs, and my head’s dizzy from holding my breath.
Crisis averted.
“Why are you matching?”
Our suits aren’t even the same color, so we turn to each other and notice the color of my tie and pocket square matches his shirt.
My mouth hangs open, and even media-savvy Austin is silent.
I turn to Finn to beg for help, but Trevor breezes up in a long luxurious coat like he’s ready for a runway show.
“It’s the designer’s choice.” He straightens my lapel and pats my chest. “I finally talked this shy, handsome man into one of my suits. And decided the roommates need to match. It’s a running joke on the team. Don’t scare him away”—Trevor waves a finger like they’re naughty children—“or we’ll shut down the team interviews.” His voice is light and teasing with a bite behind it as if warning them not to cross him.
I’m mute during the rest of the questions and rush into the hotel ballroom, straight to the bar. Servers are circulating with glasses of champagne, but I need something stronger.
Austin’s entrance creates a buzz, and he can’t follow me, which is a blessing because I need a minute.
There is no reason for me to be here.
I didn’t think this through. Yes, most people know we’re childhood friends, but the stakes for both of us will change if they find out we’re more. It’s the thing I’ve been ignoring, risking my job.
I’ve been dreaming of a life with Austin, my Tinny, not Ace Lapointe, the hockey player.
Reality crashes in, and the noise in my head is deafening.
I’m not Trevor or Leo. I can’t be the partner of a hockey player.
The team never puts me in the press room unless it’s critical. We all know I suck at it. Who am I to think I could handle going to events with Austin as his actual date.
I’d be a PR disaster. Finn would need to hire more staff, or I’d be fired. The choice for the team is easy—starting right winger or trainer. He wins every time, as he should.
The bartender brings me a shot, and I toss it back before he leaves and order another. My palate can’t discern between top shelf and well. I’m a basic bitch.
This will only work if we don’t tell people. I never imagined myself being the type of guy to hide in the closet, but I won’t embarrass Austin. It’s the only way to protect him.
Thankfully, he’s not ready to come out.
Maybe he’ll wait, and I’ll have my life with Tinny away from Ace and hockey fame.
The second shot goes down smoother than the first, and my chest loosens. I order a couple of beers for us but remain in the bar area. Austin will find me when he’s ready. He always does.
“Are you dancing with us tonight?” Lucky hip-checks me and sets his drink on my high-top table. He’s wearing a winter floral pattern suit, and Drake’s matches one of the more muted colors.
“I’m not much of a dancer.” I sip my beer, wondering why they’re wasting their time talking to me.
Drake doesn’t need to roll his eyes to express his disapproval.
“Hello, have you seen your roommate dance? Skill isn’t required, but you’ve got itandrhythm. Not as much as I do.” Lucky shimmies; his suit accentuates the movements. “I’m a bird of paradise with grace and body contortions. You’re a Japanese snow monkey, spinning and swaying for social bonding. Our captain…he’s more like a seal, clapping off beat.”
“Harsh.” Austin lifts his knee to the back of Lucky’s so it bends. He’s rough enough to get his point across but isn’t likely to do any damage. I hand him his beer. “Don’t be a keener.”
“Oh, cap, I didn’t see you there,” Lucky says, but no one believes him.
“A what?” Drake rumbles unsure if he should be insulted for Lucky.
