Page 52 of Game On

Dorian was due any minute, and Jamie had no idea what he was going to say.

Sorry?

Please forgive me?

I know I’m a coward?

All of the above?

They hadn’t truly spoken—aside from firming up details for today—since Jamie had vomited his feelings all over Dorian and then told him he didn’t want to do anything about it.

Not that telling him he was attracted to him was in any way word vomit.

And he did want to do something about it. He just didn’t know how to do that without mucking up his new relationship with Coach Shore.

“How am I supposed to ask him if I can stay at his place until the end of the season now?” he asked Gio.

“Weren’t you going to anyway?”

“I hadn’t planned on it. But rent in this city is...” Sighing, Jamie pulled a puck closer. “I might as well fork over a kidney to get my own place.”

“Talk to Dorian,” Gio said. “Maybe he assumed you’d be staying until the end of the season anyway and this whole thing is a non-issue.”

“Maybe. Oh, he’s here.” Jamie caught sight of Dorian standing by the boards, phone pointed at him. “I gotta go.”

“All right, talk soon, man. Good luck with the whole... thing.”

Jamie snorted a laugh he didn’t feel. “Thanks.” He hung up and took his earbuds out, shoving them in the pocket of his jeans. He sent a smile Dorian’s way because, even though things were weird between them, Dorian made him smile just by existing in the same space as him. “Hey. Were you recording me?”

Dorian approached on booted feet. Slowly. He had a death grip on his phone, as well as on a wheeled tripod, and he wore white jeans and a long-sleeved navy T-shirt. Normal enough, though over the T-shirt, he wore a poncho-like wool coat with wide arms. It came down to mid-thigh and was a muted pink on one side and had rainbow-patterned clouds on the other.

“I thought some action shots might be an interesting way to break up the video so it’s not just you talking for two minutes,” Dorian said. “The look on your face was very fierce. Like you were concentrating real hard.”

Or questioning all his life choices, but that was beside the point.

“How are things at the office?” Jamie asked, just to make conversation.

“Good.” Dorian concentrated on attaching his phone to the tripod. Aside from filming him earlier, he hadn’t looked at Jamie once. “The usual. Mark and I brainstormed playoffs social-media-engagement posts. I worked on editing down Emery’s intro video. And Stanley gave me the stink eye for two hours even though I’m the reason he got to go to California.”

Jamie didn’t know what to comment on first: the fact that Dorian was apparently on a first-name basis with Skills Coach Stanton or that someone was giving him the stink eye.

The latter won out. “Stanley, as in the guy who joined us on the road last week to replace the intern with the flu?”

“That’s him.”

“You two don’t get along?”

Dorian shrugged. “I pretty much ignore him. But he hates me because he thinks I bribed myself into this role. I get the impression he recommended someone for the job but they didn’t get it because I did.”

Jamie raised his eyebrows. Now this was interesting. “Did you bribe your way into this job?”

“No, I did not,” Dorian said, scowling at Jamie. At least he was looking at him now. “I submitted my resumé and interviewed just like everyone else.”

Jamie skated a circle around him. “Why does Stanley think you bribed your way in, then?”

“Because.” Dorian jerked a shoulder. “I may have donated a rather large sum to the organization’s charity the week before I applied.”

Jamie’s jaw dropped. “Dorian!”

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