by Eden Finley
Chapter Nine
OLLIE
While this is not an actual date, it totally feels like one. I assume. I’ve never had a date because Ash and I went from childhood friends to living together in about five minutes flat.
I buy us drinks while Lennon swoops in to grab an emptying table as we walk in. Jet’s already on stage doing his thing, and I convince myself that getting the drinks is what friends do.
Which is what we are now. Apparently.
Because I’m a dumbass.
I can’t be friends with Lennon Hawkins.
He reaches for his scotch as I go to hand it over, and our fingers brush against each other. The glass slips out of my hand, but his is right there to catch it.
Yup, being friends with him is going to damn near kill me.
I distract myself by taking my seat and turning my attention to Jet on stage. His natural presence is indescribable, but whatever it is about him that makes him charismatic, it’s amplified when he’s singing. He’s gonna make it big one day.
Lennon leans in, his breath warm next to my ear. “He’s impressive, huh?”
I nod, my mouth too dry to make words work.
A couple near the front of the stage catch my eye. They’re off to the side, practically being hidden by a massive speaker, but I still notice them.
It’s two guys, both with meticulously slicked hair and trendy clothes. One has his back against the taller guy’s front, and the one in front is leaning back enough for their mouths to come together.
To do that here, in public, the pang of jealousy hits me like when I see Matt and Noah in the tabloids together.
I must stare longingly a little too long, because Lennon leans in again.
“This might not be a gay bar, but at least it’s a safe space. We can go if you’re uncomf—”
“Will you dance with me?” The question flies out of me without much thought.
This place is obviously accepting, and I’ve never been somewhere it was safe to touch another guy without ridicule or risk of being recognized.
Ash used to try to get me to go out to these kinds of places, but I never had the guts. Lennon got me here without even trying. And now I’m asking him to dance when I shouldn’t be.
Lennon laughs. “As fun as dancing sounds, that would be a no. Like, hell no.”
I turn my head to speak in his ear. “Should my ego be offended again?”
He shakes his head. “Not at all. You should be flattered I won’t subject you to my dancing. I’m, like, the worst, and I just got you to respect me again, so I’m not gonna screw that up by showing you my shocking moves.”
As disappointed as I am, it’s probably for the best anyway. They might be accepting here, but the bouncer did recognize me. Anyone else could.
At that thought, I shuffle my stool farther away from Lennon and paranoia sets in. The switch flips that easy.
It was a constant problem in my relationship with Ash. He’s an affectionate guy and comfortable in his skin. The only place outside of our home where he could show that affection was at our parents’ houses.
I’d like to not think about appearances in public and how I’m “supposed” to act, but it’s always in the back of my mind. In all the time I was with Ash, I didn’t like having to control my actions and be careful all the time but thought it was necessary. Now, all I can think is how much I hate it and don’t want to have to do it anymore.
Chapter Ten
LENNON
I feel sorry for Ollie as he takes to the ice to face off his old team. Game one of Boston versus New York is a disaster for the Dragons and ends in a fucking shutout.
By the time I finish my notes to write up later and make it to the team’s hotel bar, where they’re drowning their sorrows, I can’t find Ollie anywhere. I don’t know why I’ve come looking for him in the first place other than to say sorry about the game—something he probably doesn’t want to hear anyway. The excuse to search him out seems thin now I’m here.
Deciding to abort my mission, I turn on my heel, but on the way back through the lobby, I run into Tommy.
“Hey, reporter dude.”
“Hockey dude.”
Tommy seems amused that I won’t take his shit. “Looking for Strömberg?”
“Umm …”
His lips quirk, and he quickly glances around. “What, you don’t think he tells me everything? I had to listen to him whine over your stupid articles for weeks before he was traded. Then after the benefit? All I can say is I’m lucky to still have my balls.”
“I … uh …” What am I supposed to say to that?
“But I also know you have some sort of truce or whatever. He’s in room nineteen oh three if you want him.”
I do want him, but probably not in the way he means, and my confusion must show.
“If you want to see him,” Tommy clarifies.
“Right … uh … okay, thanks.” I nervously push my glasses back up my nose. “It was nothing. I was going to give my commiserations on the loss.”
“He might want to hear that from you. Definitely wasn’t interested in hearing it from me.” His smugness isn’t lost on me.
“Well, with you grinning like that, I can’t really blame him.”
“Have you guys been spending more time together than he let on? You sound just like him.” With a laugh, he wanders into the bar, no doubt planning to give Ollie’s teammates hell.
I stand still, debating whether or not to go up to Ollie’s room. It’s to give sympathy, nothing important, and if he has a roommate, it could get awkward.
Ollie doesn’t seem like the type of closet case to pretend he doesn’t know any queer guys, but that might be different if one turns up outside his hotel room.
The smart thing would be to leave—go back to my own hotel a block away. But even though I tested at a higher than average intelligence as a child, I never said I did smart things.
I take the elevators up to the nineteenth floor and hesitate again outside his room. Straining to listen, I put one ear against the door to try to hear how many voices are in there, but I can’t hear anything. Either he’s alone or the walls are too thick. Or he and his roommate are asleep. Although, I doubt that.
Before I get the chance to pull away, Ollie opens the door without warning, and I fall into his impressively large chest. He’s already out of his suit and only wearing sweats and a tight T-shirt, and I can feel every hard muscle against my face.
“There’s an interesting way to greet me.”
I pull back, but my gaze gets stuck on something. Is that … I narrow my eyes and assess the small bump underneath his shirt. A pierced nipple?
Ollie clears his throat.
My gaze flicks up to his. “Sorry. I … I—” I cannot find words.
“You …”
“I came to say sorry about the loss.”
Ollie cocks his head. “Was it your fault we sucked out there? Or did you write another article about me and you’ve come to give me a heads-up?”
“No, you jackass. I didn’t write another article. I’m being a friend here, because according to Jet, I have no idea how to be one, and friends commiserate or congratulate their friends when they win or lose a game.”
He folds his arms across his chest that’s stupid and hard. “And you couldn’t have sent a text?”
“Still don’t have your number.”
“Jet does.”
“I’m not Jet’s keeper.”
Instead of slinging more quips, Ollie smiles and steps back. “Coming in?”
“Were you on your way out? It’s cool if you were.” Despite my words, I enter the hotel room.
“Petrov left his hotel keycard next to his bed. He just left for the night, and I was gonna try to catch him because I didn’t want to be woken at fuck you o’clock to let his drunk ass in here, but he’ll be long gone by now thanks to this little detour.” He waves a hand between us.
“Not my fault. You could’ve left me standi
ng out here like a moron.”
“Could have if you weren’t pressed against me.”
Is that … flirting?
“Touché. Why aren’t you down at the bar with the rest of the guys, drowning your sorrows in alcohol?”
“I’d prefer not to be hungover for tomorrow. Coach is gonna ride our asses.”
“Sounds fun. Your coach is hot for an older guy.”
Ollie snorts. “Well, there’s that, but also I think we can both agree me and alcohol should never mix.”
“I dunno. I kind of like it when you’re drunk.”
Fuck, am I flirting back?
Rules. Boundaries. Remember them.
“Because, you know … you’re nicer to me when you are.”
Ollie takes the bait. “Your know-it-all, mouthy attitude isn’t as annoying when I have no inhibitions.”
“Hey, you never complained about my mouth the last time we were in Boston.”
Oh God, why did I bring that up?
Ollie laughs, deep and rich. “True.”
An iPad catches my eye on his bed, and I can’t see what hockey game’s playing on the screen, but I’d bet my left nut he’s watching tonight’s.
“Why are you torturing yourself?” I point at the bed.
“It’s not torturing. It’s working. My job doesn’t end just because we’re off the ice.”
“Then why are your teammates down at the bar and you’re not?”
Ollie runs a hand through his ashy hair. “Because they don’t have as much to prove as I do?”
There I go again, underestimating what Ollie has to go through. I saw a little of it with Matt, but I only met him and Noah at the brighter end of the tunnel. Ollie’s still in complete darkness, hoping to make it out the other side.
With a sigh, I pull my laptop out and dump my bag on the floor. “You mind if I watch too then? I need to finish up my article anyway.”
“Go for it. I think I’ve seen the same play about six times now and still can’t make sense of it.”
As I climb on the bed, I pull my laptop in my lap and leave his tablet propped up in the middle. “The one where Joseph and Novak passed the puck so many times it ended up in Crosby’s possession without anyone noticing? That was insane.”
“I think it’s official. Tommy has replaced me.” Ollie slumps down next to me.
“It was a fluke,” I lie. The truth is, Boston’s form was on point, but Ollie doesn’t need me psyching him out even more.
He pulls his tablet into his lap, and I have to inch a little closer to see the screen better. I try to focus on the game and not the giant hunk of man meat beside me.
“We played like shit tonight, and I’m trying to figure out where the hell it all went wrong.”
I open up the document with all my notes from the game. “You know, I don’t think it was your team’s fault. There wasn’t really anything wrong with how you played. Boston just played better.”
“Maybe,” he murmurs, but he’s studying the screen as if it holds all the answers.
“Here.” I pass him my notes. “If you can make sense out of what I wrote down in my shorthand typing, you’ll see I’m right. Your problems weren’t technical. It was that their goalie was on fire, and they got a few lucky calls. It happens.”
“So, you’re saying they’re just better than us? That doesn’t make me feel any better.”
I laugh. “No. They had a better night. That’s all.”
I can’t be sure, but I swear I see the moment he believes me. He turns back to the game but doesn’t appear as invested as he was twenty seconds ago.
When the game comes to a close, Ollie’s shoulders sink. “I was kinda hoping it would end differently being played back.”
I finish typing out my article and send it off without self-proofing. My editor will be pissed, but I should’ve already gotten it to him half an hour ago.
When I close my laptop and put it back in my bag, I go to stand, but Ollie’s voice stops me.
“You want to watch a movie or something?”
“A movie?” The bedside clock reads well past midnight, and I should go back to my hotel and get some sleep. Do I move to do that though? Of course not, because I always do questionable things around Ollie, starting with offering to be his fake boyfriend for a family dinner. “What about your roommate?”
“I’m allowed to have gay friends, Lennon.” His eyes seem uncertain, as if he doesn’t quite believe himself. “Or, I dunno, tell him you’re writing another article.”
This is walking a fine line, and I get the feeling if I stay shit’s gonna get messy, and we’ve just started getting along.
“I could stay for a movie.” Apparently, my mouth decides to send a big fuck you to the warnings running through my head. “What’ve you got?”
He taps away on his screen and pulls up a selection.
“Should’ve pegged you for an action, no brains needed, type of guy,” I say.
“Fine then.” He taps some more and pulls up a different folder filled with titles like Donnie Darko, Sin City, and Get Out.
“Ugh. Way too far the other way,” I complain.
“Are you the Goldilocks of movies? Here, look for whatever you want.” He passes me his tablet.
I scroll through the genres in his movie file, clicking on a few things but going back to the main folder seconds later. Ollie makes impatient noises, which makes me even pickier. He’s kind of hot when he’s snarky.
When I scroll down farther, a folder catches my eye. It’s labeled in capital letters: PORN. “Good to know you don’t even try to hide your stash.”
I jokingly go to click on it, but he must think I’m actually gonna do it. A large hand wraps around my wrist, his grip firm but not painful, and I laugh.
“Calm down. As interested as I am to open it, it’s kind of like Pandora’s box. There could be clown porn in there or something, and then you’re not the one who’d be scarred for life.”
“Clown porn?” he asks while practically choking.
“There’s some really weird shit out there.”
He lets go of my hand. “What I want to know is what you’ve been looking up if you landed on clown porn.”
“It started out looking at guys in drag, and it went downhill from there.”
Ollie pulls back as if contemplating that. “Drag queens, huh? Is that your thing?”
“Oh, we are so not getting into this.” And I’m so not confessing the drag thing was out of curiosity. My true fantasy is jocks. Exactly like him. Not going to tell him that either. “You won’t let me see your collection, so you get nothing from me.”
He thinks about it for a moment before turning to me. “Well, now I want you to look. I feel like I need to defend my porn choices.”
Is he seriously suggesting I watch his porn? With him … like … right there?
The smug challenge in his eyes almost has me pushing the button, but the slight blush on his cheeks makes me think he’s bluffing. God, I want to know what he’s into …
No! Bad Lennon.
That would only add to the conflicting feelings I already have for Ollie.
“I refuse to kink shame, so it’s safer if I can’t see what’s possible to judge.” I clear my throat and look at the screen again. “Don’t you worry about, you know, one of your teammates stumbling across this?”
“I have a passcode, and I’m not really in the habit of leaving expensive things like iPads lying around the place.”
“Expensive? Isn’t this junk change to you?” I hold up his tablet.
Ollie shrugs. “We never had a lot of money growing up. I mean, we weren’t poor or anything—far from it—but five boys in one household costs a shit ton without the extra bells and whistles like toys and gadgets. Then in my first year playing for Providence, I was on shitty pay. It gradually became more and more, so it kinda feels like I still don’t have money even though I do. I dunno, it’s hard to explain, but yeah, growing up the way I did, I know
not to leave my shit lying around the place. For more reasons than just privacy.”
“Makes sense.”
The icon mocks us as we stare at it, and then each other, and then away. God, we’re pathetic.
I click on the folder labeled Classics just so we can get away from temptation. My entire face lights up. “Wait. You think Thor is a classic? Where are the real ones like Cool Hand Luke and The Princess Bride? This is even more disturbing than your porn choices.”
“Hey, you never saw my porn choices.”
“I’m still going with clown porn.”
“I promise no clown porn. I think the most adventurous thing on there is, like, group stuff.”
My cock shamefully perks up at that as if it has its own ears and is listening in. I shift to try to make it less obvious, and I think Ollie knows what he’s doing to me, because he grins.
The safest, most boner-killing movie catches my attention. “Okay, we’re watching this one.”
Ollie groans. “Dirty Dancing? What the hell?”
“Need I remind you this is your tablet and your movie collection?”
“Fucking Ash. He had the worst taste in movies.”
“Sure, try to blame the ex.”
“So much for not falling asleep,” Ollie says. “Are you really going to make me watch this?”
“Yup.”
We settle in to watch the movie, lying next to each other with the tablet between us, and even though I’m keenly aware of how close his body is, can feel his body heat, and have to concentrate hard on the movie that’s supposed to suppress my boner, it turns out Ollie makes an excellent point. If you don’t want to fall asleep—don’t watch Dirty Dancing.
A rough hand grazes my cheek, and I lean into it. I think I might also moan.
Ollie’s chuckle brings me out of my daze, and I slowly open my eyes and realize …
Shit, I fell asleep.
I startle awake and turn my head toward Ollie, who’s staring at me with a small smile. His hand still lingers on my cheek, and I don’t understand what’s happening.
“What’s going on?” I croak.
