Page 49 of Unlovable Player

“Yeah.”

“Is it for a particular team or just the NHL or AHL or-”

“It’s for the Canucks,” I say.

Does his face drop a little? Is he disappointed at the thought of me moving to Vancouver while he’s in Boston?No way.

“The Canucks, that’s cool.”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s not the Rangers, or the Devils-”

We laugh.

“But, you know, it’s the NHL.”

“Yeah, I mean, do you wanna do it?”

“I’d love to,” I admit, allowing myself a second of honesty for once.

“So do it then.”

“My dad-”

“Fuck your dad, sorry.”

“Don’t be, I wholeheartedly agree with the sentiment, it’s just… complicated.”

“I know, but what’s he gonna do if you don’t go and work for his company? Send you a bill for like, what a hundred grand?”

“Try more like three hundred, and that’s just tuition.”

He whistles. I’m guessing he got a full ride being a hockey prodigy at a hockey school.

“But no, he’s not going to bill me.”

I can feel him waiting for an answer, but I’m suddenly ashamed to admit that I don’t want him to take away my credit card and my car. That I’m not ready to pay my own rent and live somewhere ‘affordable.’ That I don’t know who I am without money. When I said this shit before, he probably thought I was just being evasive, but I get the feeling he’ll believe me this time, and I’m kind of enjoying him looking at me like I’m something more than the rich asshole he always took me for. Even if it won’t last.

“He’ll stop talking to you?”

“If only.”

He gives me the side-eye, the one he uses to tell me to take something seriously.

“I think you should apply at least. You can always turn it down later if you change your mind or find something else.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

We play a few games ofNHL 25,and it’s like nothing ever happened. Maybe that’s for the best, I tell myself. It would have been awkward otherwise. And maybe my stupid crush will go away if we’re just friends for a while?

But when I get up to get a can of coke from the fridge, he pulls me back by my sweater and crushes his mouth against mine and, who the fuck was I trying to kid?

His hands are warm when he slides them under the sweater and roams greedily over my skin.

“Is this okay?”

“Yeah.” I grab him by the back of the neck and pull him back into the kiss before he can start asking for written consent and telling me how much of a bad idea this is.

We slide back on the couch so he’s between my legs, grinding his cock against mine through the thin fabric of our sweatpants. When we try and take our clothes off, we almost slide off the couch and the laughter breaks the tension.

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