Page 23 of Game On

Jamie opened his mouth to respond, then replayed Dorian’s words in his head. He didn’t do... hockey?

“And yes, I know how that sounds considering my job,” Dorian added.

“I have so many questions.”

A honk came from outside. A second later, a text from Archie.

Archie

I’m here.

Jamie pointed at Dorian with his phone. “When I get back later, I want answers to all my questions.”

Dorian chuckled, the sound doing funny things to Jamie’s stomach. “Get out of here, hotshot.”

Jamie was halfway to the front door when he turned back, his pulse galloping, his libido on full sprint toward Dorian. “Thank you. For what you did.”

Dorian gave a shrug that was as jerky as Jamie’s had been. “It’s whatever. Don’t mention it.” Literally was left unsaid but was heavily implied.

Feeling all gooey inside, Jamie waved. “Have a good night, Dori.”

Dorian visibly started at the nickname. “You too.”

Jamie climbed into Archie’s car a minute later. “Thanks for the lift, man.”

“It’s no trouble.”

It was comforting that Archie had picked him up. It meant that the likelihood of Toussaint sending him to the wrong restaurant was slim. Dylan “Archie” Archambault was a vet. Thirty-five years old from what Jamie remembered of the roster he’d studied. Married with two kids. He seemed as level-headed as Brawsiski.

And nobody would attempt to haze a vet. That was just stupid.

Jamie tried not to be nervous about tonight’s dinner. Naturally, he failed. The problem was that he came from a big family and hockey was like a second big family. But his last hockey family had shunned him, leaving him adrift in a sea of loneliness.

What if that happened here too? What if he didn’t fit in here?

He kept up a running conversation with Archie to distract himself, asking him about his time on the Orcas and about his kids until they parked in the West End.

The Bayside Lounge was a cool place, intimate and cozy with a wicked view of English Bay. There was a circular bar in the middle and cozy leather seating along the perimeter. Jamie and Archie must’ve been the last to arrive, because most of the team sat at the back of the restaurant against a curved window. The sun was just finishing its descent, throwing the sky over the bay into bright yellow and pumpkin-orange, and plunging the interior of the restaurant into shadows.

“JJ, my man!” yelled Toussaint from one end of the long row of Orcas players.

Jamie nodded hello, but there wasn’t any seating next to him. Brawsiski, sitting next to Lin on the opposite end, caught his eye and tipped his chin to two chairs he’d saved across from them.

“Hey,” Brawsiski said when Jamie and Archie had sat. “Good first practice today.”

“You think? Coach Shore didn’t look super impressed.”

“Coach Shore has a poker face that could rival Tuvok’s,” Lin piped in, his red hair appearing finger-combed and his freckles muted in the restaurant’s dim lighting. “But if he wasn’t happy with you, you’d know it. He doesn’t hold back.”

“But he’s also not an asshole about it,” Brawsiski added. “He’s a straight shooter, but he’s not a dick about it like some coaches.”

“Speaking of Shore,” Jamie said, recalling something their coach had said earlier. “Who’s Pierce?”

“His boyfriend,” Brawsiski said.

“Coach is gay?”

Archie, Lin, and Brawsiski shrugged.

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