Page 64 of Hockey Bois
meet @8 at krazy dan’s?
Jensie from Hockey (3:04 p.m.)
are you implying that we need three hours to eat dinner??
Nick (3:11 p.m.)
a.) the service is slooooow so yeah that is entirely possible
b.) we’ll have to leave with time to change etc so really it’s more like 2.5 hours
c.) driiiiinks (i owe you a pitcher remember?)
Jensie from Hockey (3:59 p.m.)
you make a valid argument
see you at eight
These non-dates were really a trip. There were plenty of times Nick had gone out with a group or a lone friend and not had an issue. There’d never been a situation where he was concerned about how romantic versus platonic every interaction was.
With Brady, he overanalyzedeverything.
He left Nick the good seat that didn’t wobble: gentlemanly for sure, but that seemed to be Brady’s default.
He ordered wings: definitely not romantic. There was nothing even remotely hot about watching someone dig into wings and get sauce all over the place.
He ordered drinks for both of them, the kind of display of dominance that a lot of guys thought was romantic or chivalrous or whatever. It was also kind of sweet that he’d paid enough attention to know what type of beer Nick liked.
From the vast array of five beers the place had on tap.
Brady spent part of dinner on his phone with an adorable frown on his face. Ignoring your date wasn’t great mannersit’s not a date it’s not a date, but he did make an effort to apologize about a “stupid work thing” that kept following him home.
Later, he sang along to “My Name is Jonas,” loud and offkey and completely uncaring. That wasn’t romantic or platonic, but damn if it didn’t give Nick goosebumps.
“You always serenade people before games?” Nick teased. It wasn’t like this was his favorite song or anything. And it certainly didn’t matter that, despite being an octave off, Brady’s voicedid thingsto him.
Brady snorted. “Only when it’s Weezer. Or maybe Queen.”
They entered the locker room, giggly despite their best efforts. They were, in fact, sober; Nick wouldn’t have let them drive if they weren’t, and Brady was too much of a stickler for the rules to let them attempt the two-mile trip if he’d felt impaired. Still, even without alcohol as an excuse, Nick couldn’t help himself. His cheeks were rosy, his mood far too good, and the buzz clouding his head was completely to do with the company and not the lingering alcohol.
“You guys look real chummy,” Mags said when they took the last free space in the locker room. “Grab a drink before the game?”
“Yeah, actually—” Nick started.
“I can tell,” he said with disapproval. “You better play top-notch, y’hear?”
“You can tell?” Brady mimicked. Nick’s and Mags’s jaws dropped at the uncharacteristic show of annoyance. Nick watched in awe as Brady gave Mags a withering glare. “We’re fine, dude. It’s a midnight game during the middle of the week, and you’re worried because we had a couple of beers with dinner? I don’t hear you checking to make sure everyone took a damn nap after work.”
To his credit, Mags only lookedslightlyintimidated.
“If we don’t make the playoffs ’cuz of y’all, I’m gonna be pissed,” Mags said, then looked Brady dead in the eye. They had a mini staring competition; Mags blinked first.
“Literally everyone makes the playoffs!” Brady shot back smugly. “It’s the seeding we have to worry about.”
Mags ignored him and left for the rink.
“You believe that shit?” Brady grumbled. He let his bag slip from his shoulder to the ground and angrily unzipped it. “Calling me out like I don’t get at least a point a game. He’s a minus five on the season, I’m fucking calling it.”
