Page 48 of Hockey Bois
“Did youusethe showers? Damn, you’re either really dumb or really brave.” Gail gave him a once over. “Or both.”
“Healthy mix of both, for sure,” he laughed. “I’m running late, and that’s the only reason I’m willing to risk foot fungus.”
“Want a beer?” Gail offered as if in consolation for Nick’s shower.
Though tempted, he shook his head and sprayed water everywhere. “Nah, no time.”
He pulled out the suit bag from behind his jacket and carefully started to take it out and get dressed. He only had about forty-five minutes to get to Baltimore; there was no time to get a spare suit from home if he stained this one with warm beer.
“Whoa,” Young Greg said. “That a suit?”
All the stragglers still hanging out turned to look; Nick was halfway into his dress shirt with his towel wrapped tightly around his waist.
“You got a hot date or something?” Lexi asked.
Lexi, by pure random chance, was on the bench right next to Brady. This meant that when Nick turned toward Lexi, he got a great view of Brady tensing up. Not just a slight-crick-in-his-neck tense, not oncoming-charley-horse tense. It was more like…
More like when the Douche Brothers called him BJ.
Huh.
“Kind of,” Nick said with a half-shrug, all he could spare as he set to work on his tie. “My grandma’s in town, and my cousins and I are taking her out to this nice place in Harbor East. Can’t exactly show up for a fancy dinner smelling like a locker room.”
“Your grandma would still love you even if you did,” Donno pointed out. “Best thing about grandmas.”
“True story,” Gail agreed. “My parents would get all pissy about my bad grades. Grandmas don’t mind.”
Answering them made Nick take his eyes off Brady, but he tried to keep him in his peripheral vision. Even so, he couldn’t besurethat Brady had relaxed. He was probably imagining things. Wishful thinking and all that.
“Maybe true…” Nick pulled up his suit pants, wiggled them up his still-damp thighs, and stuffed his shirt in. “ButIlove my grandma enough not to make her endure gross hockey smells. Also, the restaurant might kick me out.”
“Yikes, called out,” Gail said. “I feel like I gotta call Nana when I get home to apologize for being a shit kid in middle school.” A pause. “And a less-than-optimal adult now.”
Nick laughed. “I’m sure she’ll be happy for the call. All right, I gotta book it. Good game, here’s to making the playoffs, and I’ll see y’all next week.”
Gail, Lexi, and Donno waved and chimed in their goodbyes. Brady shoved the last of his gear in his bag and popped right up.
“I’ll walk you out.” And then he grabbed Nick’s bag and shouldered it. He looked absolutely ridiculous balancing both bags like some sort of hockey sasquatch myth, and Nick’s heart in no way leapt into his throat.
“What are you doing?” Nick asked dumbly. As if it weren’t obvious.
“Don’t want your suit to get wrinkled,” Brady said nonchalantly. “You gotta carry the sticks, though.”
It took a moment of staring, jaw comically agape at the chivalrous offer, before Nick could move. “Er, right. Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.”
He held the door open for Brady—he could be a gentleman, too—and grabbed his lone stick and both of Brady’s. He also held the doors out of the rink and tried not to walktooslowly as he dragged out this moment.
Brady was so damn sweet, on top of everything else that drew Nick in, and he desperately wished Brady werehis. Not his teammate, not his new bar buddy, not his go-to guy for hockey practice.Hisin a far more meaningful sense, more possessive and demanding but also softer and more intimate. He wanted movie nights when one of them would hog the blanket, or bumping into each other in the kitchen while they made dinner, or reading quietly with their legs pressed together. He wanted them enjoying each other’s company without needing to say a word.
He let out a sigh that clouded the air and then dissipated with his longing. Things were good. Things were (possibly?) moving in the right direction. There was no reason to push. Slow and steady was the way forward, if he ever got the nerve to go forward, and walking together to their cars was a piece of that.
And sometimes, enjoying the crush stage was fun.
He opened up his trunk and insisted that Brady let him put his own damn bag and stick in.
“Thanks, man,” Nick said, and winced slightly. He was an idiot.
Hey, buddy. Friend. Pal. Man. Bro.
