Page 59 of Hockey Bois
“It looks like a toaster box.”
“It’s not a toaster.”
Brady gave another skeptical look to the box. “If you say so.”
“It’snot. Why would it be a toaster?”
“People bring weird shit to Yankee Swaps. A toaster would actually be pretty tame.”
“Guess you’ll have to wait and see.” He tucked his gift under his arm, drinking in the sight of Brady. Backward cap. Socks and sandals. Hoodie. The shorts were gone, though, traded out for joggers that showed off his hockey thighs and ass in a whole new way.
Nice, very nice.
“I was actually surprised when you said you were in for this,” Nick said conversationally and started to walk toward the nearest row of houses. Best way to get his mind and eyes off those fine legs. “Figured you’d be out of town for a few more days.”
Brady shrugged and fell into step beside him. “I wasn’t going to be in town, but I came back for this.”
Nick stopped short. “Wait, what? You came back forthis? Instead of hanging out with your family?”
Eyebrow raised, Brady also stopped. “Couldn’t we all be hanging out with family right now? I got work tomorrow anyway. What’s it matter if I came back this morning or tonight?”
“You—you drove inthis morning?!” Nick sputtered. He’d been dicking around his house all day to pass the time, and here was Brady probably fresh off a four-hour drive.
…he reallydidwant to be here, didn’t he?
“Yeah?” Brady shrugged. “It’s not like I could drive in at night; people drive like shit on New Year’s Eve. Had beer with some old friends, slept, woke up, and drove. I mean, what’d you do this morning?”
Tossed and turned thinking about seeing you in person again, got up early so I could try to work off some nervous energy, and here I am, as exhausted as you are but without anything like a 350 mile drive to show for it.
“I took a shower?” he offered because that was about the safest thing he could say.
Brady’s eyes flickered up to check his hair, still damp, and then he licked his lips.
“See? Not much different,” Brady said.
“What!? It’s completely different—”
“Nicki, Jensie!”
They both startled at the sound of Benns’s voice. He was on a porch a few houses down, waving enthusiastically to them.
“Glad you could make it! Come on in, we’re getting set up downstairs!”
Brady and Nick stared at each other like they were taking a last gulp of fresh air before plunging into some forced group bonding. Nick rolled his eyes and set off first. He liked having Brady to himself, but this would be fun too.
Benns waved them in. “Good to see you, boys. I trust you had a good holiday. Listen, I’ve got some hot chocolate on the stove so why don’t you head down when you’re ready, ’kay? Meet you in the basement in a bit.”
And then he left them in the entryway.
“Uhh…” Nick asked as they stared down at the neat line of shoes next to the door. “Shoes on or off?”
“Is Benns the type of guy who takes his shoes off?” Brady asked. He looked like he was mentally doing some math to figure out how many Jagr Bombs were accounted for. “These could be Guy’s shoes. He’s Canadian, right? That’s a thing there, isn’t it? Take off your shoes when you’re at a house?”
“Doesn’t help us know if we should takeoursoff,” Nick pointed out. “Better safe than sorry?”
“…sure.”
They walked down in their socks—Nick’s red and green stripes with candy canes on the heel because, duh, it’s the holidays; Brady’s boring and white with only a light gray toe to give them the semblance of personality—and were greeted by most of the team already lounging on the sofas, recliners, and the comically large bean bag chair in the corner.
