Page 50 of Game On

Blair Brawsiski—sitting on Charlie’s workout mat in a corner by the windows, surrounded by dumbbells and other workout equipment Dorian couldn’t name—shrugged sheepishly. “It’s fine. We can pretend I didn’t hear any of that.”

“Ugh.” Dorian slunk to the couch and fell onto his back, lengthwise, legs hanging over one arm. “Everything is terrible.”

There was an aborted snort-laugh, but he didn’t care to find out who it’d come from.

Charlie sat on the coffee table. “Not to be insensitive, but weren’t you the one who said you wouldn’t date your housemate?”

Dorian covered his eyes with one arm. “I didn’t say I was being logical, okay?”

Footsteps approached, then Blair whisper-shouted, “Should I leave and pretend this never happened?”

“Might as well stay,” Dorian grumbled. “Since you’re here anyway.”

“Guessing we’re talking about Jamieson?”

Dorian moved his arm. Blair stood with his forearms propped on the back of the couch, sweat soaking the collar of his shirt and his hairline.

“Has he—” Dorian swallowed hard. “—said anything about me? No, you know what?” He scrambled up. “Don’t answer that. We’re not in middle school. God.”

“He doesn’t really talk about anything,” Blair said, regarding Dorian with sombre blue eyes. “I mean, he jokes with the team, and he chirps as good as he gets, and he fits in like he’s always been there. But he doesn’t talk about himself much and evades our questions when we ask.”

Dorian’s stomach clenched. Of course. Jamie was in survival mode. He no doubt thought that if he kept his emotional distance, it would hurt less if things went sideways with the Orcas like they had with the Cobras.

Dorian understood. He had a goddamn PhD in keeping an emotional distance. In the aftermath of his parents’ neglect, he hadn’t often given others the chance to get to know him.

“You should tell him that,” he said to Blair. “The thing about him fitting in. He’d want to hear it.”

Blair shrugged. “Sure.”

“You said something happened on his last team,” Charlie said. “What was it?”

Dorian shook his head and paced between the couch and the kitchen counter. “I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s not my story to tell.”

“Is it anything the Orcas need to worry about?” Blair asked.

“Not unless you’re playing the Cobras before the end of the season. Or Tucson.”

“We don’t play any Atlantic Division teams. That’s not to say we won’t meet the Cobras in the playoffs, but considering where they are in the standings, I doubt they’ll make it that far.”

Dorian’s shoulders loosened. “Good.”

“But I think we play Tucson before the end of the season.”

Damn.

“And seeing as John Henty was recently traded to Tucson,” Blair continued, “am I right in assuming part of Jamieson’s beef is with him?”

Dorian shook his head. “I’ve said too much already.”

“Is whatever happened between Jamieson and his former teammates the reason for them playing like shit this year?”

Opening his mouth to respond, Dorian quickly closed it again. “Are they playing like shit?”

“Oh yeah.” Blair straightened and headed into the kitchen, where he got a glass out of the cupboard. “They’re playing like we were last season.”

When the Orcas had ended up at the bottom of the AHL standings, he meant.

Dorian didn’t know anything about the Cobras or how they were playing this year compared to last year. But he could imagine that strife between players would affect team dynamics and thus their performance during games.

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