by Avon Gale
“That’d be nice,” he said seriously. “Do you want me to carry some of those glasses for you? There’s a lot.”
“Are you for real?” She snatched his glass and added it to the stack on her tray. “No, I’ll bring you a new glass. But seriously, where are you from? The nineteen fifties?”
“Chatham, Ontario,” he answered and then added, “Canada,” because a lot Americans had no idea about Canadian geography, other than that it was up north.
She winked at him. “That explains it. I’ll be back with your water. And your check. And if anyone asks me to separate it, I’ll beat them to death.” She waved her notepad threateningly. “Make sure they know that, Lane.”
“Okay.” Lane waited until she left and told his teammates not to split the check because the waitress would be mad. They took that to mean he was trying to sleep with her, so he endured their teasing about it.
It was all fine until they went to leave, and Lane naturally went to get in the car with Ryan. “Can you drop me off at the Econo Lodge? I have to pack my stuff.”
“I know what you have to pack,” Ryan said suggestively, looking back toward the restaurant.
“I don’t even know what that means,” Lane told him, but he had a sinking feeling that he did, in fact, know what that meant. It meant that Ryan wasn’t going to drive him, thinking that Lane’s new girlfriend could take him home in the morning, and Ryan would be there around ten to help him move his stuff to their new apartment. Which Ryan told him bluntly, just in case it wasn’t clear.
“Might as well take advantage of that room all to yourself. You seem like the shy type, Courts.” Ryan flipped his sunglasses down. “And I’m not shy at all, so get used to that. I won’t fuck anyone in your bed, though.”
“Maybe you could wash the sheets?” Lane suggested, and Ryan cracked up laughing again.
“What sheets?” he said and clapped him on the back. “It’s the ECHL, bro. You’re lucky that place has a bed. Maybe you could sneak off with the sheets from your hotel.”
“I bet they’d notice.” Lane watched as Ryan hopped into his beat-up old Civic and left Lane in the parking lot, shading his eyes from the sun and wondering how far of a walk it was to the Econo Lodge. He went back into the restaurant and thought about calling a cab. Lane didn’t have a cell phone yet, and he’d been making calls home with a calling card. They didn’t appear to have phone booths in America anymore either.
Zoe was sitting at the bar, eating a cheeseburger and drinking a chocolate milkshake. She raised her eyebrows when Lane sat next to her. “I’m not going to sleep with you.”
“I just wanted to use the phone actually,” he said, eyeing her milkshake. He was always hungry. “That looks good.”
She picked it up and shook it lightly. “Huh. So it doesn’t bring all the boys to the yard. Just a cute, kind of awkward Canadian hockey player. I guess it’s something.” She saw Lane’s totally bewildered expression and giggled. “Don’t they have that song in Canada?”
“Maybe. Most music I know about is the stuff they play in the arena. Do you mind if I use your phone? And do you know a cab company?”
“What... did those jackasses just leave you here?”
“Just the one jackass,” Lane assured her. “He thinks he’s being... well, it doesn’t matter. I just need a ride back to my hotel.”
“You live in a hotel?” She took a sip of the milkshake. “Wow. Living the high life, huh?”
“I’m going to live with Ryan starting tomorrow. In an apartment.”
“The guy who stranded you here?” At Lane’s nod, she rolled her eyes. “Seems like a crappy roommate. But don’t worry, I can take you home when I’m done.” She gave him a seriously intense stare. “You’re not doing this to sleep with me, are you? Because it won’t work.”
“No,” he assured her, relaxing.
“Pinky-swear?” She held out her pinky toward him, and Lane hooked his with hers. She seemed happy with that, and leaned up and over the bar to grab a straw. Her shirt pulled up a little when she did, and when she sat back down and caught him looking, she raised her eyebrows.
“You’re pretty,” he said, blushing hotly. “Sorry?”
She put the straw in the milkshake and pushed it over at him. “Here. I can never finish these.”
Lane might not want to sleep with her, but he did really want some of that milkshake. He finished it and some of her fries and even the rest of her burger while they talked.
Zoe had moved from Georgia with her girlfriend, who was going to law school at Jacksonville University. Her girlfriend lasted a semester before she had a mental breakdown and left to go back home—which was a godsend, because she’d turned into a real bitch, and Zoe was happy to be single.
Lane was really happy about the chocolate milkshake and also about having a conversation that didn’t result in someone rolling their eyes or staring at him strangely. He didn’t realize what she meant by girlfriend until she said that. “Oh. That’s why you don’t want to sleep with me,” he said, nodding. “You like girls.”
Zoe burst out laughing. “Wow, you’re really... something else, Lane. But sure, if that makes you feel better. Let me go grab my stuff.”
He waited for her, watching the sports channel at the bar. They didn’t mention hockey. Not even once. It was still hot outside too, and he could go swimming at the beach if he wanted. He didn’t, but he could. It was all so strange—like a different world—and he felt more alienated than usual sitting by himself with the remnants of a chocolate milkshake, waiting for a waitress to drive him back to his room at the Econo Lodge.
Maybe that’s why, on the way back to his hotel, Lane blurted out, “The reason I don’t want to sleep with you is because I like guys.” It was the first time he’d ever heard himself say that out loud.
Zoe patted him on the knee. “I know,” she said, smiling at him. It was a nice smile. “Wasn’t sure if you did.”
Lane slumped down in his seat, shaking a little from the magnitude of what he’d just admitted, even though it was stupid. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t known since forever. “I just haven’t... ever told anyone.”
“Well, I won’t. Don’t worry. Hey, Lane, I’m glad we met. If you ever want to come hang out, I have a sweet house on the beach. I’ll have to sell it at some point because I can’t afford the mortgage on my own, but I made Erin leave me money for the rest of the year when she hightailed it back to her daddy’s house.” Zoe swung the car into the parking lot and grabbed a piece of paper and a pen from the floor of her car, which was a mess. “That’s my phone number.”
“Thanks.” Lane put it in the pocket of his jeans. “I don’t have a phone yet, but I’ll give you my number when I do. A cell phone, I mean. I don’t think you want to call the apartment and talk to Ryan.”
She made a face. “Can’t you tell him I have a girlfriend?”
“Umm, that’s not really... you probably don’t want me to do that. He’ll just tell you to bring her over,” Lane warned, opening his door.
“What was I thinking? Of course. I do like guys too, but definitely don’t tell him that. I just thought you should know, since we’re friends.”
“You like both?” Lane asked enviously, and she giggled again. He liked her a lot, but if she came to his room with him, he’d just want to watch a movie or something. But he enjoyed looking at her, and she smelled nice, which was a change from hanging out with a bunch of hockey players. It was all very confusing. “Thanks for the ride, Zoe.”
“Of course. Hey, Lane, when do you play again? I’ve never been to a hockey game in my life. I’d love to see one.”
“Oh. Really? That would be great.” Lane beamed at her. He’d never had a friend come to a game of his, except for Derek. “I can get you some tickets. The next home game is on Friday night.”
“Cool.” She smiled. “I work again on Tuesday, so you should come in, and I’ll hook you up with a milkshake. And you can explain hockey to me, because all I know
is there’s a puck and you’re ice skating.”
He agreed and waved at her as she drove off. It was nice to know someone in Jacksonville who didn’t have anything to do with the Sea Storm. And he was kind of looking forward to Ryan’s face when he saw Zoe at the game and when he found out that she was there for Lane. Of course, that would probably just lead to a bunch of questions. Maybe he should lie and pretend they’d hooked up, so that Ryan would leave him alone...?
He couldn’t do that. Who was he kidding? And then he thought about Jared Shore, and it made him hot and flushed. If he wanted to hook up with anyone....
Lane shook his head and went to his room. He was bored and restless and thought about calling Ryan to see if he could just move his stuff over. But Ryan was probably busy, and if he was busy doing what Lane thought he’d be doing, Lane didn’t want to go over there.
With nothing else to do, Lane went back to Bomber’s. He told himself it was because he was bored and maybe he wanted a beer or even more of the chicken things. But he wasn’t hungry and he didn’t even like beer that much. When he walked in and saw Jared Shore at the bar, he knew what it was he’d wanted and why he’d decided to come back.
Jared wasn’t even sure why he was at this fucking bar again. Usually the team would have been on the bus and heading home the second the game was over, but they had a rare stopover and weren’t leaving until the morning.
The rest of his teammates were out, of course. A lot of them were going out with the Sea Storm players. Once they were out of the locker room, they weren’t opponents anymore. They were just hockey players, united under the same banner, and happy to drink, give each other shit, tell stories about where they’d played and who they’d played for, and talk about guys they might know from coming up through the ranks.
Jared usually liked that. Since he’d played so many places, he knew a lot of people, including a few guys on the Storm. But he wasn’t in the mood. Wynn had tried his damnedest to talk him out of “being an old man and staying home to polish your stick,” which made no sense whatsoever. But Jared was stubborn as a rule, so he was nursing a beer and pretending his reason for not going out hadn’t just walked in and sat next to him at the bar.
“Hi,” Lane said, in that earnest way of his. “Why are you still here?”
Seriously. Had no one ever taught this kid social skills? Jared shrugged. “We’re leaving in the morning. I wanted a beer. Why are you here, golden boy? Shouldn’t you be out celebrating your victory?” He didn’t mean that to sound quite the way it did, but luckily Lane seemed absolutely oblivious.
“I did. My roommate—or my soon-to-be roommate—thought I should go home with the waitress, so he left me at Cruisers.”
Jared wondered if Lane had any idea that he said things as if everyone else lived his adventures along with him and knew what he was talking about. “No luck with the waitress?”
“She brought me back to the hotel. But she’s a... friend.” Lane was blushing again, staring nervously at his hands. It was hard to reconcile this awkward young man with the cocksure little punk who’d smirked at him on the ice, but it was hot as hell too.
“Not your type?” Jared asked, pushing because he couldn’t help himself. Remembering that smile from the game was making him angry, but he didn’t know why. Which made him angrier. Jared wasn’t a mean guy, but something about Lane made him want to be one.
Because you want to fuck him and you know you shouldn’t. It was the beginning of the season. The kid was a goddamn rookie, and he played for the Renegades’ rivals. They played each other sixty goddamn times a season, it seemed like. He knew he couldn’t do a damn thing but stare at Lane Courtnall’s pretty mouth and get hard under the table. That’s why he was feeling mean. Being older and wiser sucked.
“No,” Lane said quietly. “Not my type.” He looked up, and his face was flushed, his eyes wild and heated. The look he was giving Jared—honest and desperate and a little scared—was too much.
Jared was going to take him to bed. It was a terrible idea, and he didn’t care. “You didn’t come here for a drink, did you?”
“No,” Lane said, and then, in the same voice, “I didn’t come here for the chicken things either.”
Jared wanted to laugh and kiss him at the same time, and if anything should have made him put a stop to this before it started, it was that.
Instead, he pulled out enough cash to cover his beer and finished it in one long drink. “Come on,” he said, nodding toward the door.
“Why?” Lane asked, all honesty and hopefulness, and Jared had to take a deep breath. What was it about that combination of cluelessness and utter directness that got him so hot?
“So I can give you what you came here for. But not here, Lane, because that might get us arrested, and I think we’d like some more privacy, don’t you?” There it was, that flash of meanness again, and he didn’t understand it at all.
Lane just nodded, and then he smiled almost shyly. There was enough of that grin from the ice in there to make Jared want to punch him in the stomach, which wasn’t doing anything but making him impatient.
It was earlier than the last time they’d dashed across the interstate, but it was a Sunday night, and the streets were practically dead. Still, they had to wait a couple of minutes, and Jared didn’t say anything, even though he could feel Lane’s eyes on him, waiting.
“I don’t have a roommate,” Lane told him when they got on the elevator and he pushed the button for his floor.
Jared almost made him go to his room instead, just to be contrary. Wynn wasn’t likely to come back for a while, if at all. But he didn’t say anything, just walked alongside Lane while they headed to his room. Lane was turned on already. Jared could tell. Just like the night before, when he’d been hard in the elevator. Jared wanted to put his hands all over him.
Instead, he watched with heated amusement as Lane tried—and failed—to open his door with the keycard. Three times. A lot like Jared the night before actually.
“Sorry,” Lane muttered, shooting him a nervous look as he tried again. His hands weren’t steady. It was messing with Jared’s head way too much, so he reached out and took the keycard from Lane.
Thankfully it opened on the first try. When they got in the room, Jared just watched Lane. As much as he wanted to get things going, the way Lane was just standing there dying for it, doing nothing but suffering, was hot in a way he didn’t want to think about too much.
“You ever done this before?” Jared asked, though he was pretty sure he knew the answer.
Lane’s laugh was breathless and a little wild. “What do you think?”
Jared couldn’t help his sudden grin. “Point taken.” He leaned against the door and crossed his arms, waiting. He was being an asshole, but he couldn’t help that either.
“Umm,” Lane said. He took a breath and raked a hand through his hair. “Here’s my... this is my room. There’s the, ah, bathroom. And. The bed.”
“You’re giving me a tour? I have the same room, you know. They’re not themed suites.”
“If they were suites, there would be a kitchen, and I wouldn’t have to burn the top of my mouth with bar food,” Lane muttered, which made Jared smile again. Oh, hell, no. He wanted to fuck Lane, not like him.
Jared pushed off the door and moved closer, his breath catching at how Lane responded to that simple closeness. “I know what to do. You’re sure about this?”
Lane’s laugh was almost unhappy. “I’m pretty sure. Yeah.” Lane was shaking, Jared realized, and his arms were wrapped almost protectively around himself.
Someone made him feel like shit for wanting this. It was pretty clear, and Jared understood that way too well. That streak of meanness had evaporated, but Jared was equally as uncomfortable with what replaced it. “Hey. It’s okay. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. All right?”
Lane actually glared at him. “Don’t—look, I’m not a scared fucking virgin, okay—”
�
��Yeah, you are.” Jared reached out to take his hand. Like they were in high school. What was he doing? “But it’s okay.” It’s also so hot I can’t breathe.
He tugged Lane over to the bed and dropped his hand so he could climb on it. He patted the mattress beside him. “Come here.”
Lane got on the bed and moved toward Jared, looking determined and a little annoyed. “You don’t have to go so slow. Okay?”
“What if I want to?” Jared murmured and leaned in to kiss him. It was quickly apparent that, even if he did want to go slow, it wasn’t going to be easy. Lane opened his mouth and kissed him back immediately, making a hungry sound and trying to get closer.
“I don’t,” Lane said, and his voice was already shot to hell. Jared could feel Lane trying to get on top of him, and Jared’s contrary nature took over. He put his hands on Lane’s chest and pushed him back, stopping him.
“You don’t usually get a whole room to yourself, you know,” Jared told him, kissing Lane’s neck. The noises he made were so goddamn hot.
“What’s that mean?” Lane asked, head tilted. He was holding on to Jared’s wrists in a death grip. Like Jared was a motorcycle he was riding, and oh, that was not a helpful image in Jared’s head. Not at all.
“It means, Lane, we have time to enjoy it, so you don’t have to go so fast.”
“Look, Jared,” Lane said, and he was glaring again. He was so weird. “You probably do this a lot, but I don’t. I haven’t ever. Remember?” He was also still trying to get closer and push against him. Finally Jared figured out what he was getting at.
“So you want to get off and then take your time. Is that it?”
“Yes,” Lane sighed, sounding relieved and frustrated all at once. “That’s what I’m saying. I can’t—please, just—”
That was enough, the please got him, and Jared rolled on top of Lane and kissed him, settling his hips against Lane’s and rocking down slowly against him. “This better?”
“Oh yeah,” Lane panted, kissing him again. The kid was so tense underneath him—so hard. He was like a live wire—all coiled, sparking energy.
