Page 16 of Hockey Bois
Brady, who could outskate all of them, would pass even to the players who would lose the puck right after he sent it to them. Brady, who would go out of his way to include all the players on the ice. Brady, who calmly stepped between a newer player and the asshole who started chewing him out for missing a back-door chance and stopped them from actually fighting.
Brady fucking Jensen, leading by example and solidifying his place as Nick’s latest crush.
“Cheers,” Brady said in the locker room and handed him a can of beer. As if to make matters worse, he was wearing nothing but his hockey pants, showing off toned skin and a sinful happy trail.
Nick accepted the can automatically. “Huh?”
“You said I owed you a beer for coming out tonight.” He popped open a second can, pulled from God-knew-where, and tapped it against Nick’s before chugging half of it.
Nick didnotwatch his Adam’s apple bob as he drank.
“Oh, right.” He carefully sipped his own beer. His head was already rushing, endorphins making him feel buzzed; the last thing he needed was alcohol making it worse.
It was warm and suspiciously devoid of any condensation. He looked at the can of PBR and couldn’t help but wonderwhyexactly Brady was late. It couldn’t have been to pick up beer for a joking demand Nick had made.
Right?
“How do you know that guy? Simon? The one who runs this?” Nick blurted out in an attempt to derail his train of thought. Not that it helped to bring up theonlyperson he’d ever heard use Brady’s actual name instead of his hockey ones. Nope, not jealous at all about whatever was going on there.
Brady gave him a bewildered look. “I know him from here… from this pick-up…”
Duh, how else would you know someone?he seemed to say.How do I knowyou?
“Riiight.” Nick felt like an idiot, inserting a storyline and drama where there was none. He needed to remember that Brady was as straightforward as he seemed. He liked hockey, he liked people who liked hockey, and he was nice despite being quiet and kind of a grump. The rest was Nick projecting. “Sorry, thought there was more of a backstory there.”
Brady polished off the rest of his beer and tossed the can in the trash. “This pick-up is word-of-mouth only. I stumbled on it by accident when I first moved here, been coming since then. Simon’s got two kids and travels for work, so he only does it like seven weeks in the whole year. I keep in touch so I don’t miss it. I probably bug the fuck out of him, but this is my favorite pick-up.”
Yeah, that sounded very Brady.
Oh, you have hockey? I like hockey. I will text you to bug you about hockey to make sure I get more hockey. Hockey hockey hockey.
Disappointment burned through Nick, and he took a long gulp of his beer, then carefully set it down so he could finish getting undressed.
“Well, lemme know the next time he’s doing one.”
“Yeah?” Brady perked up. “You had fun?”
The smile he pasted on was fake even if the sentiments behind the words were genuine. “Not half as scary as I thought.”
“Good. They run some up in Reisterstown…”
He let Brady go on as he ranked every rink in a fifty-mile radius in terms of ice, pick-up opportunities, and locker room quality. It was cute, which was part of the problem. Toward the end, with his hockey gear safely tucked away in his bag, Nick started to block it out.
Hockey with Brady was fun, but he needed to put some distance between them and make sure itstayedas “hockey with his friend Brady” and not “hopelessly crushing after the straight guy on his team who had never shown any interest in anything not explicitly hockey related.”
So far, that wasn’t going so well.
But hey, there was always tomorrow.
*
Nick jerked his hand and tried to twist so he could work his thumb over Terry’s. Terry swung both their arms up, nearly knocked over a movie display, but avoided Nick’s attempt to pin him. Nick’s free hand itched to reach over and grab Terry’s wrist to hold the bastard in place. He hadneverlost a thumb war to Terry, not since they were old enough to understand how to play, and like hell he’d break his streak now.
Of course, he had neverwonone, either. They usually ended up tripping each other or wrestling rather than concede defeat.
Yes, they were idiots and too old to be acting like this, but Nick couldn’t help himself. That was half the fun of hanging out with his cousins: they reminded him he didn’t have to perform the role of “adult who has his shit together” all the time. He could fake his way through work and bills and small talk with his neighbors; and with them he could unwind and goof off.
“Hey, twerps!”
