Page 125 of Hockey Bois
Bars meant beer. Beers meant lowered inhibitions. Last time they drank together, they spent the night on Nick’s couch. Thank fuck nothing had happened, or he wasn’t sure how he’d ever look at his damn couch the same. This would be at a friggin’hotel, a place practically made for randomly hooking up with people.
Especiallybecausethey already had a room ready to go…
“I promised Young Greg I’d have another beer with him, mostly because I don’t want him drinking alone when he’s still learning his limits. Think Mags is coming, so he’ll probably bring Lexi. I know you’re at the Hilton, but I saw it on the drive here—it’s not far.”
“Oh.” Nick breathed out a mix of relief and disappointment. “Yeah, a beer might be nice. Which conspiracy theory should I ask Young Greg about first?”
“Definitely Flat Earthers. He was so done by that point, it wasn’t super coherent, but it was both informative and hilarious.”
“…he’snot a Flat Earther, is he?”
Brady snorted. “You should definitely open with that, that’s perfect.”
Nick laughed. “All right, then. Lead the way.”
An hour, a shower, and a quick drive found Nick scoping out the lobby at the Marriott.
The hotel bar was crowded with other hockey players from the tournament, some of whom Nick recognized from the rink and others that gave off that “hockey player vibe.” Didhehave that now? It also gave him a strange sense of déjà vu, one that took him back to a dive bar in PA and gave him heartburn.
“Bro!” Young Greg said, and then physically lifted Nick into a hug.
“Holy shit.” Nick tried to resist the urge to clutch Young Greg, trusting him not to drop him. “You getting a head start on the drinks?”
“Mags got me a shot of tequila!” Young Greg mercifully put him down. His cheeks were rosy, and he leaned in to “whisper,” “It tastedawful.”
“You want me to buy you a beer?” Nick offered in sympathy. He wasn’t usually a hard-liquor drinker, and he certainly hadn’t been when he’d started drinking.
Young Greg slung an arm around his shoulder and patted his cheek. “You flirting with me, bro? Because I’m flattered but spoken for.”
Nick couldn’t help snorting. “Don’t worry, you’re safe. Just offering a beer. I’ll find you something better than tequila.”
“Everything’s better than tequila,” Young Greg said with the confidence of a new drinker, “or at least, nothing’sworse.”
He was pleasantly surprised to see most of the Jagr Bombs gathered around a strange sculpture that probably wasn’t meant to be used as a table, but it was the only free space in the bar area.
“I found Nicki!” Young Greg proclaimed proudly. “He’s gonna get me a beer!”
“Don’t overdo it, bro,” Donno warned. “You ain’t used to it.”
“I did fine last night!” Young Greg whined. “Ask Jens! I can handle it!”
Brady and Gail had taken over a spot by the windows; the light from the parking lot through the frosted glass gave them the illusion of halos. Nick was tempted to take a picture; Terry would enjoy it.
“How much you had already?” Brady asked.
“Shot of tequila.” Young Greg put his hand up to shield his lips from Mags’s view before loudly saying, “It was gross.”
Gail choked on her drink and bit her lip to keep from laughing. “Oh God, he’s like a puppy. Mags, why would you give a puppy tequila?”
“You can have one beer,” Brady said, like he was channeling Benns and being his best captain/hockey-dad self.
“I had three yesterday,” he whined, but he dragged Nick to the bar like he was worried he’d only lose ground by arguing. “What we drinking, bro?”
“Something light,” Nick said with a laugh. He kinda looked forward to Young Greg’s twenty-first birthday if this was what they’d get to see more of. It might even be good for him to get some practice here with the team watching out for him so he wouldn’t overdo it back home. “And something Canadian, apparently. I don’t know half these beers, so we’re getting Molson.”
Young Greg nodded with a little too much emphasis on the movement. “Itisthe official beer of the NHL. Good thinking.”
While they waited for the bartender, Nick tapped his wallet on the bar and considered carefully. Had Brady been pulling his leg? It wasn’t until he had a beer in hand that he decided, fuck it, he had to know. “So…” he said while watching Young Greg sip at his beer skeptically. “How about that Flat Earth?”
