by Rachel Reid
Okay. Kip was listening now.
“He told me that they are just about to post an opening for an assistant educator. You know—someone who helps organize school trips and stuff. Teach the little kiddies all about our great city.”
Kip slumped back in his chair. “I’m not qualified for that.”
Shawn looked at him pointedly. “Do I need to use my Elena voice?”
“No,” Kip grumbled.
“You will apply for this job, Kip Grady. And you will dazzle them with your charm, and your love of history, and the fact that you have lived here all your life.”
“I won’t even get an interview!”
“I’m calling Elena.”
“Fine. She won’t answer. She hates phone calls.”
“Apply for the job, Kip.”
Kip sighed. Why not, right? “Okay. I’ll apply. Thanks for letting me know.”
“Don’t mention it, asshole. Now—” Shawn leaned back and made a show of looking around the bar “—how about you see if our friend Kyle feels like celebrating your glamorous new career.”
This time Kip did roll his eyes. “I’m not celebrating shit. And...” He stopped himself because he wasn’t sure what he wanted to say. I’m holding out for someone else right now. You probably know him—he’s the captain of the New York Admirals. You might remember him from People magazine’s “50 Most Beautiful People” issue? Yeah, I have a crush on him. He’s almost definitely heterosexual. Fingers crossed!
Instead he just said, “I think I’m gonna head home early tonight. But let’s see if we can’t find you someone.”
* * *
“It wasn’t fucking charging! It was a fucking hit! It’s hockey, you blind mother—”
“That’s enough.” Scott grasped Zullo firmly by both arms and hauled him away from the referee.
Zullo turned his head and kept screaming. “What, I can’t fucking touch anyone now? This not a contact sport anymore? Open your fucking eyes, you—”
“I’ll talk to him. Just go to the box, Zullo.”
Zullo shook his head. Carter skated over to help escort him to the penalty box. If Zullo kept the yelling up, he’d end up with a game misconduct.
Scott went back to the referee. “Charging, Hal? Really?”
“You telling me I don’t know how to do my job, Hunter? I know what I saw.” Hal Coleman—one of Scott’s favorite referees—only came up to Scott’s chest, but he was tough as nails under his calm demeanor. Smart too.
“Well,” Scott said, glancing at the penalty box that was now occupied by a fuming Frank Zullo, “won’t hurt him to cool off a bit in there anyway.”
“He’s a real sweetheart,” Hal agreed.
Scott looked across the ice to the Chicago bench. “Is Becker all right?”
“I’m going to go check on him. Seems to still be alive.” Hal looked pointedly at Scott. “Tell your boy if I see that shit again he’s out of the game.”
“Noted.”
Hal left to head over to the Chicago bench, and Scott headed to the penalty box.
“Couldn’t change his mind,” he said. “Just take two to cool off and then we’ll finish disappointing the home crowd.”
“It wasn’t charging. No fucking way that was charging,” Zullo spat.
“Except the part where you charged him.”
“Jesus fucking Christ, Hunter. You fucking serious? You playing for Chicago now? Becker took a dive!”
Scott was already skating back to the bench. “Take two, Frank,” he called over his shoulder.
Carter caught up with him. “How much can I slip Hal to suspend Zullo for a few games?”
“Come on,” Scott said dryly, “Zullo is perfectly capable of getting suspended without your help.”
“Fucking psychopath,” Carter muttered. “We’re still doing Chicago Cut after the game, right? I need those steaks.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Hal blew the whistle for the face-off. Scott went down to the circle in their end of the ice to take it, and threw some encouraging words at their goaltender as he skated by the net.
“Good game, Benny!”
“Don’t say a damn word. You jinx me and I’m coming after you.”
Scott chuckled. Eric Bennett was as mild-mannered as they come off the ice, but once he was in the crease, he was as fierce a competitor as Scott had ever known.
Scott bent down at the circle and put his stick on the ice. He glanced up to meet the eye of his opponent, a star center for Chicago named Clarke.
“If Zullo tries that shit again,” Clarke growled, “I’m sending Harvey after him.”
“Man, go ahead. Don’t know why you’d do that to Harvey, though.” Scott smiled.
“Zullo is a piece of shit.”
“Now, now. If you can’t say something nice...”
As soon as Scott won the face-off, he raced down to the opposing team’s zone and took a quick pass back from Carter. He launched the puck at the net and watched it sail over the goalie’s shoulder for a shorthanded goal.
It felt so fucking good to have his game back.
Chapter Four
Kip had more than one job.
As well as working at Straw+Berry, he was on a call list for a company that hired servers for events, like fund-raisers and ceremonies. A friend had gotten him on the list, and Kip had worked a couple dozen events over the past year and a half.
He had received a call to see if he was available to work a fund-raiser for one of the children’s hospitals Wednesday night, a black-tie cocktail reception with some speakers at Chelsea Piers.
Kip was available, and he really needed the money. So on Wednesday, he left Straw+Berry at two o’clock with his backpack containing his wadded-up apron and ball cap, and also his black leather shoes, his black dress pants, and a few basic toiletries so he could freshen up before the high-class event.
He got off the train in Chelsea with a couple of hours to kill. The miserable February weather drove him into the nearest Starbucks, where he took his Americano to a table to sit and think about a certain NHL superstar.
He had been kind of hoping the two-week Scott Hunter drought would be enough to end this ridiculous crush. It was unlikely he would be seeing Scott on a regular basis, or at all, for much longer. One bad home game and it would be over. Or maybe Scott had already found a new good luck charm.
Anyway, the drought hadn’t ended the crush.
He had tomorrow off at his other job, but would be working Friday. Hopefully Scott would come by, if only because Kip wanted to thank him for the tickets.
When Kip was really bored, like right now at his little table in a Starbucks in Chelsea, he would let himself fantasize a bit about what it would be like to date Scott Hunter. For one thing, just having access to that body... What would all those muscles feel like under his hands? What would it be like to have the full weight of Scott covering him, pressing him into a mattress? Or against a wall...
He wondered what kissing him would be like. If Scott’s full, pink lips were as soft as they looked. He wondered how he tasted. What it would be like to run his tongue over those perfect teeth.
And what would it be like to date someone as famous as Scott? As rich as Scott. Kip couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to have that much money. Even a fraction of that much money. Hell, at the moment Kip couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to be able to afford the Starbucks sandwich he had kind of wanted to order with his coffee.
He let himself daydream about going to the games as Scott’s boyfriend. Sitting in his usual seat, bursting with pride when Scott did something amazing. They would celebrate Scott’s big win at home that night. Together.
Maybe he would greet Scott at the door when he came back from a long road trip. Scott would be so happy to see him...
Kip was getting a little hot and bothered in this very public coffee shop.
He sighed and took a sip of coffee that was far too hot. The pain brought him down to earth. If you put half as much energy into finding an actual, realistic boyfriend as you do into fantasizing about a superstar millionaire who probably isn’t even interested in men, let alone you...
Kip hadn’t gotten any action in...a month? No, two months?
God, almost three months.
It was his own fault, really. He hadn’t been going out much. He used to, all the time. He’d never been in a relationship that he would call serious, but he used to love the challenge of picking guys up at bars or gyms or even grocery stores. He was naturally flirtatious, or at least he used to be. Something about being twenty-five, living with his parents, and working at a smoothie shop with nothing promising on the horizon had killed his swagger.
He took another sip of coffee that was still too hot—how?
There might be a cute guy working with him tonight. Maybe he could break this dry spell.
* * *
Scott tugged at his navy tuxedo jacket and fiddled with his cuff links. He hated these events, but wanted to use his celebrity for good, and children’s hospitals were a particular favorite cause of his.
He was scheduled to speak tonight, but he wasn’t nervous about that. He never minded public speaking, and this would only be a short speech anyway. What he hated was this: being on display for a room of wealthy, fawning donors. Making small talk with tedious people. Wearing a tuxedo. Being mindful of his every move, his every word.
He was tired. The road trip had been long and they had just gotten back this morning. It would be a challenge to stay in a good mood tonight. But he would. Because that was his job.
There was a loud din in the room of people talking and laughing. It was a sea of dark tuxes and mostly dark gowns. In one corner of the room, a trio played mellow jazz music.
He stared into his pilsner glass of beer and realized he was starving. The only food seemed to be on little trays being carried by servers wearing all black. He inched toward one, hoping to snag a shrimp or something.
The server turned, and Scott was shocked to see that it was: “Kip!”
Kip looked just as surprised. He took a step back, and the tray wobbled dangerously on his arm before he quickly grabbed it with his other hand. “Scott! Uh, I mean...”
Scott gathered himself and smiled. “Scott is fine.”
“I didn’t know you were going to be here.”
“That makes two of us.”
Kip’s eyes were stunning, set against all of the black of his uniform. He was more beautiful than Scott remembered, even.
Scott took a couple of things off Kip’s tray, just to make it less awkward. “Do you work a lot of these things?” he asked, trying to keep the conversation normal.
“A few. This one was last-minute.”
Scott nodded. He desperately tried to think of something else to ask him. But all he could think about was how soft Kip’s hair looked.
“Hey,” Kip said, “thanks again for the tickets. That was amazing, being there.”
“No problem. I’m glad you had a good time. It was nice seeing you there.”
“Oh. You saw me?”
“I nodded at you when I skated by. Kind of subtle, I guess.”
“Oh! No, I saw. I just...didn’t think it was meant for me.”
“It was,” Scott said, far too earnestly. He took a step back and cleared his throat. “Anyway...”
“You’re probably busy.”
“Right. And you’re working, obviously.”
“Yeah. So...”
“I’ll let you get to it.”
“All right.”
Scott placed a hand on Kip’s free arm, needing to make contact somehow. “It was nice seeing you, Kip.”
“You... Yeah, you too. I guess I’ll see you around tonight.”
Scott nodded and Kip left to serve canapés. A hand landed on Scott’s arm immediately, and he turned to talk to one of the event organizers. He felt a lot lighter than he had before.
Scott spent the rest of the evening chatting with different people, but he kept scanning the room for Kip. Their eyes met a couple of times. The first time, Scott quickly looked away, embarrassed. The second time, though, he let his gaze linger, and he was rewarded with an adorable grin from Kip that caused Scott’s stomach to flip.
Oh no, Hunter. You are in trouble.
Once Scott had given his speech and had mingled for another hour, he was desperate to get out of his tux. Out of this room.
Except...
He caught Kip as he was loading empty glasses onto a tray.
“You have to stay much later?” Scott asked.
“Another hour, maybe? Cleanup isn’t too bad this time.”
Scott smiled a little. He couldn’t think of anything else to say. He just didn’t want to leave.
But he should leave. Otherwise he might say something dangerous...
Scott was a superstitious man. He believed everything happened for a reason, and it couldn’t be a coincidence that Kip was here tonight. Fate had thrown them into the same room together. It was an opportunity. Scott just didn’t know what to do with it.
“They never have enough food at these things,” he said, as casually as he could manage.
Kip looked up from the table he was clearing. “At least you got to eat something,” he said. “I’ve been carrying around trays of food I can’t eat all night. I’m starving.”
He kept his eyes on Scott’s, waiting. And Scott knew this was his moment. Right here.
“There’s a place a couple of blocks from here that has great burgers,” Scott said, still carefully. Not a direct invitation. Not yet. “It’s open late.”
“Oh?”
“I was thinking of heading there after...”
Kip stood straight up to meet Scott’s gaze. “Are you asking me to come get a burger with you?”
Scott was absurdly terrified. But goddamn, he wanted this. “Yes.”
Kip grinned, showing his dimples. “All right. I’ll meet you as soon as I’m done here. At the front doors?”
“Yeah...” It suddenly occurred to Scott that he was wearing a tuxedo, and didn’t have a change of clothing on him. “An hour, you think?”
Kip shrugged. “Maybe a little less. Maybe longer if you keep distracting me.”
“Okay!” It was all Scott could do to keep from clapping his hands together with glee. They were doing this. They were going to get a burger together. He would fix the tuxedo problem and he would let this thing happen.
He didn’t think he could get to his apartment and back here on time. No nearby clothing stores were still open, unless...
* * *
When Kip saw Scott again, he was standing near the front doors of the complex, wearing a gray hooded sweatshirt that had BROOKLYN written across the front, and a black knit hat that said NYC on it. He had a cheap-looking knapsack slung over his shoulder containing, Kip assumed, most of his tuxedo.
“I, uh, I didn’t have a change of clothes with me, so I went to a bodega that sold some touristy stuff,” Scott explained.
Dressed like he was, you almost couldn’t tell he was Scott Hunter. But Kip knew. And he knew that Scott Hunter had frantically bought souvenir clothing so he could go on a date with him.
Maybe. Maybe a date.
Kip smiled. “You look good.”
He did. A little odd, perhaps, in a hoodie, navy tuxedo pants, and dress shoes, but good. Kip was pretty grubby, in the same jeans he’d worn earlier in the day and a black T-shirt he had been wearing under his uniform tonight.
He zipped up his parka before following Scott out into the cold. It was very cold.
“You must be freezing,” he said. “
You sure you want to walk there?”
“I run hot,” Scott said with a grin. “I’ll be fine.”
They walked together through the quiet streets. Not a lot of people out on this frigid Wednesday night. There were a few flurries in the air, but no wind. Despite his claim of not being cold, Scott had shoved his hands into the pocket of his hoodie.
“How was the road trip?” Kip asked, after spending a solid minute trying to think of something to say.
“Good! Went well. We won five of the seven games, should have won the one in San Jose, but that’s a rant you don’t want to hear.”
“You like the travel?”
“I don’t mind it. I like some cities more than others. Some cities like me more than others...”
“They’d all love you if you played for their team.”
“Maybe.”
They walked another block in silence. Kip still couldn’t believe who he was walking with. He’s just a guy. He’s just a really hot, enormous guy who’s famous and beloved and...cold.
Scott was definitely huffing a bit as they walked. And his shoulders were hunched.
“You all right?” Kip asked.
“Oh, yeah. Just...it is pretty cold.”
Kip smiled. “Yeah, okay, tough guy.” He got brave and nudged Scott a bit with his elbow.
Scott laughed and his breath came out in white clouds.
Kip swallowed. “Is the burger place close?”
“Yeah. It’s, um...oh. It’s right there.” Scott pointed across the street.
“Let’s get you inside.”
They entered and Scott smiled at Kip as the warm air hit them. Kip could not believe how beautiful he was.
They ordered at the counter (Scott paid) and sat at a table in the corner to wait for their food. The restaurant was quiet.
Kip wished he knew what was going on here. Normally when a guy invited him to get some food, or a drink, there were no doubts about where it might lead.
But this wasn’t a regular guy. And it was possible that Scott didn’t realize this seemed like a date. Maybe he was just...lonely.
How in hell could Scott Hunter be lonely?
“You live in Manhattan?” Scott asked suddenly.
