by Amy Aislin
The fans’ cheers ringing in his ears, he chased after the puck, swearing when Anaheim backhanded it toward the net. There was no time for a sigh of relief when their goalie, Desie, caught it in a glove and passed it to Dean.
And that was it. His shift over, Tay was back on the bench, breathing hard, rivers of sweat snaking down his back and trailing down his temple. He found his water bottle and squirted a sip into his mouth.
Traipsing into the locker room for intermission saw a lot of frowns and stooped shoulders. The batshit crazy assholes from earlier were subdued, lips in tight lines. Except Xappa, who slammed into the locker room with so much force that he left pissed-off energy in his wake that smacked into Tay, walking at the back. In the locker room, Stanton found a bag of Sour Patch Kids in his bag, opened it, and offered it to Desie.
Desie’s smile was pinched, but he took the bag. “Thanks.”
“Gonna share the love over here?” Grey said from the other side of the room.
Desie raised an eyebrow at Stanton, who waved a hand as Coach Dabrowski entered the room for what was no doubt going to be a motivational speech using recycled phrases from previous motivational speeches. The Sour Patch Kids got passed around the room as Coach switched tactics to talk strategy, and by the time it got back to Stanton, there were only four little candies left.
“Thanks, assholes,” Stanton muttered. He upended the bag into his hand, leftover sugar getting everywhere, and offered Tay two candies.
“You’re a good friend,” Tay said, munching on what was no doubt pure sugar.
Stanton nodded once. “The best.”
In no time at all, Tay was back on the ice with his linemates, Stanton and Grey. The roar of the crowd dulled to muted background noise, as it always did as soon as his skates hit the ice. There were more blue-and-white jerseys in the stands than Tay would’ve expected considering they were so far from home, and given they had one win and one loss under their belts on this California trip—to San Jose and LA, respectively—Tay and his teammates were determined to give their fans a second win.
Preferably without going into overtime.
The puck hit Tay’s stick and he took off, dodging around one of Anaheim’s forwards and performing a spin-o-rama around a D-man. As he spun, he spotted Stanton across from him, wide open. He flipped the puck his way, which somehow slid between the other D-man’s legs and right into the blade of Stanton’s stick.
Almost too fast to see, Stanton sent the puck flying at the net, sinking it in over the goalie’s right shoulder in a move that shouldn’t have been possible from his angle.
The goal horn was one of the best sounds in the world. Ask any hockey player.
Tay roared in victory, Stanton and Grey descending on top of him.
“You ballsy motherfucker!” he yelled at Stanton.
That was how Stanton played, though. By taking chances on openings other players wouldn’t even see.
Thirty seconds later, Tay got his second assist of the night when he set one up for Grey right in front of the net while Anaheim’s D-men were lazily trying to find their own asses, never mind the puck, as Stanton created havoc in front of the goal crease by being seemingly everywhere at once. Grey was so close to the net that all it took from him was a barely there nudge to the puck to have it gliding past the goalie’s left skate.
The goal horn went off again, but nothing could compete with the cheering from the blue-and-white jerseyed contingent in the stands.
Tay was in the next face-off, and fuck, he was ready. He’d never grinned so hard in his life. His heart was pounding, he was sweating like mad, his throat was too dry to swallow. The ref dropped the puck.
Anaheim’s forward got to it first, the puck bouncing off the toe of his stick . . . sending it right into Tay’s.
Before Anaheim’s D-men could blink, he was jumping between them then skating past them. Less than two seconds later, the puck hit the back of the net behind a too slow goalie. Suddenly they were ahead by one with only a few minutes left in the third period.
Three goals in less than a minute. Let that goddamn goal horn sing.
In the locker room, once they were all showered and changed and whoever was needed for media appearances had given their interviews, Coach Dabrowski came in, planted his hands on his hips, and regarded them all.
“Tonight’s game was a mess,” he said, gaze going around the room to look each player in the eye. “You played the first period as if it was the last twenty minutes of class, the second like you were taking an after-school nap, and the third as if you overslept and had an essay due in two hours.”
Slipping into his dress shoes, Tay snickered. The rest of the guys laughed, and somewhere to Tay’s left was a muttered, “I don’t get it.”
Coach rolled his eyes and left. That sobered most of them; Coach might’ve been pleased that they won but he wasn’t happy with how they’d played overall. It only lasted for a moment, though, before the high of coming back from what had almost assuredly been their second loss in a row kicked back in.
“You know,” Desie said with a teasing smile, plugging earbuds into his ears, cell phone in hand, “I was almost bored there for a minute.” He winked in Tay and Stanton’s direction and headed out for the waiting bus that would take them back to the hotel, giving Grey a pat on the shoulder as he walked past him.
Tay whacked Stanton’s arm with the back of his hand. “I hope you’ve got more of those Sour Patch Kids.”
Stanton showed him his phone. “I’m ordering a box of a hundred off Amazon right now.”
“Good man,” Xappa said on his way past them, squeezing Stanton’s shoulder. “See you at the hotel bar, fellas. Drinks are on McLeod and Tay.”
Tay groaned. He’d kick ass at Balls In My Court next time and show these assholes what he was made of. If only he could get his non-dominant hand to cooperate.
Trailing a few of the guys out of the locker room, he checked his phone, biting his lip to contain a grin when he found a text from Dakota.
They’re calling you the Three-for-One Line, his text said, followed by a second text with a link to a page on the website of a major sports network.
Toronto’s Three-for-One Line dominated in the third period of tonight’s NHL game against Anaheim, scoring three goals in fifty-nine seconds. Rory Stanton, Mitch Greyson, and Taylor Cunningham must’ve drunk the Kool-Aid during intermission because they came into the third period strong, flying past D-men as if they were standing still . . .
Clicking out of the article, he forwarded it to Stanton and Grey before going back to Dakota’s texts.
Dakota: On a totally different topic, are you back tomorrow? If so, Andy would like to invite you to dinner. We’re having homemade mac and cheese.
Tay: Oh, ANDY would like to invite me, huh?
Dakota: He’s very demanding.
Tay was chuckling as he took the seat behind Stanton on the bus, the floaty feeling in his chest close to convincing him to make bad decisions. Not that dinner with Dakota and Andy was a bad decision, just an untimely one. Bringing up the calendar app on his phone, he compared assignment due dates with his practice and game schedules and with team volunteer events or fundraisers, then compared that against his limited free time.
Tay: I’d love to, thanks :) Let me know if I can bring anything. I can’t stay long, though. Got some course reading to catch up on.
Dakota: Bring it. I’ve got a cake to decorate tomorrow night. You can do your reading while I work.
Huh. So they’d sit together just . . . working? While sharing the same space? That sounded kind of . . . nice.
Would he get to jump Dakota’s bones after? Probably not. Not with Andy in the house. All he was likely to get was some of Dakota’s amazing scotch-flavored kisses. Oh, how sad for him.
Shaking his head with a snorted laugh, he sent a final text to Dakota before putting his phone away.
Sounds perfect.
At a quarter to six, dinner was almost read
y, and Dakota was taking plates out of the cupboard to set the table when Calder walked in bearing a huge plastic cake carrier. He came into the kitchen led by his nose, sniffing like a hound.
“Smells great in here.”
“I’m making cheese sauce, Uncle Calder,” Andy said from his position at the stove. He stood on his stool stirring the sauce, wearing his signed Toronto jersey.
“Oh yeah?” Leaving the carrier on a clear space of counter, he went over to Andy to give him a hug. “Ooh, mac-and-cheese night?”
“Are you staying for dinner?” Andy asked. “Tay’s coming.”
“Is Tay a friend from preschool?”
Dakota chuckled and brought the cake into the dining room. He’d decorate it once Andy had gone to bed.
“Tay’s my friend from hockey,” Andy said.
“When did you start playing hockey?” Calder asked, so confused that Dakota was laughing when he reentered the kitchen to finish setting the table in the breakfast nook.
Andy frowned up at his uncle. “I don’t play hockey. Tay does.”
“Wait.” Calder slow-paned in Dakota’s direction. “Tay as in Taylor Cunningham? I thought . . .” His frown matched Andy’s. Leaving Andy’s side, he grabbed the stack of cutlery off the counter and brought them over to Dakota at the breakfast nook. “I thought you were going to keep things sex only,” he said at low volume.
“I was, but . . .” Dakota folded napkins into triangles and added one to each place setting, reserving a fourth in case Calder decided to stay.
“But?”
“I like him,” Dakota said, unable to stop the smile from spreading. “I like how he makes me feel. There’s potential there, the possibility of something more between us. And I want to see where it leads.”
Calder smirked. “So you do want to jump his bones into kingdom come, but you also want to hold his hand while taking a walk through the park.”
A self-deprecating laugh escaped Dakota’s chest. He rubbed his eyes. “It’s a bad idea, isn’t it?”
“No.” Calder bumped their shoulders. “I think it’s great. I’m a little worried about how it’s going to work given he’s not, you know, out. But I’m happy for you.” He handed Dakota the cutlery. “What happened to not letting anybody into Andy’s life who might not stick around?”
“Ugh. I’m being a selfish asshole, aren’t I?”
Calder gripped Dakota’s shoulders and turned him to face him. “You’re allowed to have something for yourself.”
Dakota’s gaze slid over Calder’s shoulder to rest on Andy, dutifully stirring the sauce, tongue caught between his teeth. A pang of love hit his chest hard enough to cut him off at the knees. God, if he did anything that hurt Andy . . . “Am I, though?”
“Yes. You might be a parent, but you’re also a thirty-four-year-old guy. You’re young, you’re hung. Have some fun.”
Making a face, Dakota jerked back. “You did not just say that I’m . . .”
“Hung?” Calder waggled his eyebrows like a creeper. “Bet you’d have some fun with Tay. Twenty-three, you said? He’s such a baby. Can you imagine what he’d be like in the sack? Enthusiastic.”
“Don’t say baby and sack in the same sentence. Why’d you do that?”
“Are you s’posed to carry babies in sacks?” Andy asked, appearing beside them. “Isn’t that what strollers are for?”
“Yes,” Dakota said, giving his cousin the stink-eye. “You’re absolutely right. How’s the sauce?”
“It’s yummy.”
“Really? And how would you know that?”
“Um . . .” Andy shrugged expansively. “I don’t know.”
“Uh-huh. It has nothing to do with the dirty spoon next to the pot?”
Eyes going huge, Andy shrugged again. “How’d that get there?”
Chuckling, Dakota turned the burner to low to keep the sauce warm while they waited for Tay, then checked on the chicken and roasted veggies in the oven.
“What have I taught you?” Calder whispered to Andy behind him. “If you’re going to be naughty, you have to hide the evidence.”
“Okay, Uncle Calder.”
Dakota pressed his lips together. Don’t laugh. That would only encourage them. “Calder, you staying for dinner?”
“Nah. I don’t want to intrude on your date.”
“It’s not a date.” Was it? Did it count if Andy was here? It must. Hadn’t Tay said they’d take Andy on a date with them?
“I know what date it is,” Andy piped in, trying to climb Calder’s legs. “It’s March three.”
The doorbell rang. Andy squealed and bolted for the front of the house.
“Check the window first,” Dakota called after him. “Make sure it’s Tay.”
“Okay!”
Amid Andy’s enthusiastic greeting and Tay’s answering murmur, Dakota pulled Calder close. “Speaking of dates, Tay and I are going on a real one this weekend. Can you babysit Andy on Sunday?” They’d decided on Sunday over text a couple of days ago since Tay had a game Saturday night.
“’Course. Here or at my place?”
“Here’s fine.”
“You sure?” More eyebrow waggling. “Why don’t I pick up Andy early afternoon? We can hang out for the day and have a sleepover at my place. I can drop him off at preschool Monday morning. You know.” He nudged Dakota with his elbow. “In case you want to bring Tay back here after your date for the whole kingdom come thing.”
Dakota’s reservations about that lasted as long as it took for a jabbering Andy to pull Tay into the kitchen. Fuck, he looked good. Washed-out jeans with a rip in one knee, a dark green T-shirt, disheveled hair falling into his eyes. When those eyes met Dakota’s, time stopped for a moment, every reason he wanted to date Tay slotting into place.
Calder clapped once. “I’m going to take off,” he said loudly.
Tay jolted. “Oh. Hey, Calder. You don’t have to leave on my account.”
“All good. I’ve got to head out anyway. Andy, walk me out. Tell me what you want for dinner Sunday. You’re sleeping over.”
“I am?” A beaming Andy followed Calder to the front.
Tay watched them go. He’d barely turned back around before Dakota’s lips were on his.
Tay had been hit with an unexpected bout of nerves as the Uber had dropped him off at Dakota’s house after class. What if he’d imagined his and Dakota’s connection? What if out of sight meant out of mind, and whatever Dakota had felt for him had fizzled in the last week?
Those doubts were put to rest as Andy walked Calder to the door, at which point Dakota kissed the stuffing out of him.
Oh. Okay, then.
He pressed closer, wanting every inch of Dakota up against every inch of him. There were too many clothes between them but, well . . .
Andy was sleeping over at Calder’s on Sunday. Did that mean what he thought it meant?
Dakota bit his lower lip and Tay laughed, pulling back slightly but keeping his arms around Dakota’s trim waist.
“Just making sure you’re paying attention,” Dakota said.
“It’d be impossible not to.”
Tay kissed him again, his arms coming around to hook his fingers in the front of Dakota’s jeans. This was certainly the nicest welcome home he’d ever had.
The patter of feet running back their way had them taking a step back, out of each other’s arms. Dakota moved away slower than Tay would’ve expected, his hands running down Tay’s arms from shoulders to wrists, linking their fingers together and then giving them a quick squeeze before letting go. Not like he wanted Andy to find them locked together, but like it’d be okay if he did.
Huh. That was definitely something they needed to talk about—whether Dakota had told, or planned to tell, Andy about them. Tay didn’t want to mess things up by kissing Dakota in front of Andy until Dakota was ready for him to.
Andy ran into the room, crashing into Dakota’s legs. “I’m hungry.”
“Go sit,” Dakota said,
running a hand over Andy’s dark head before giving him a nudge to the breakfast nook. “I’ll bring you a bowl. I made you chicken and roasted vegetables,” he said to Tay. “Broccoli, cauliflower, and carrots.”
Tay blinked at him. “Huh?”
“Dad says hockey players need more than carbs an’ cheese,” Andy said from the breakfast nook’s bench seat, where he sat on his knees.
“I would’ve been fine with mac and cheese,” Tay said. He would’ve been hungry again within an hour, but that was neither here nor there.
Dakota pulled a tray of chicken and veggies out of the oven and set it on top of the stove, next to a pot of what Tay assumed was cheese sauce. “What’s the point of having you for dinner if I send you home hungry?”
“Oh, that’s . . .”
Once a month, Tay had dinner with his family. It was always scheduled in advance because their schedules were all so hectic, and it rotated houses each month so everyone got a chance to host. Inevitably, whenever his sisters hosted, he went home hungry because they ordered takeout from a local Italian place, and cheese-stuffed pasta in a rosé sauce with a small side salad wasn’t enough to sustain him for longer than an hour. He’d stopped asking for a balanced meal a long time ago; it wasn’t worth all the teasing about being high maintenance that followed.
Yet Dakota had cooked him a well-balanced dinner without having to be asked. A stupid smile took over Tay’s face. As his mom would say, Dakota was definitely a keeper.
It was a thought that was too soon to have, so Tay balled it up and tucked it somewhere safe in the back of his mind to examine later, once he’d figured out whether he and Dakota were on the same page in terms of whatever this was between them.
“Here.” Dakota handed him a plate and a pair of tongs. “Help yourself. There’s also quinoa in the pan there.”
“You really didn’t need to go to all this trouble.”
“I promise it’s no trouble,” Dakota said, edging around him with a brief hip squeeze. He set a small bowl of mac and cheese on the table in front of Andy. “On your bum, please.”
