Page 21 of First Puck

I was the only guy Brad treated like this, and I’d come to hate how special it made me feel.

“I think I’m just gonna hang back tonight. But I’ll still be around, yeah?” I said.

He slipped his hand from my calloused palm, pausing on the tips of my fingers.

The air stilled between us, a moment where the music faded into the next song, the chatters grew louder, covering the erratic beat of my heart. His chest expanded as he stared at me so intensely that everything inside me froze, vain hope capturing me for the tenth time today.

“Don’t go far, yeah?” he said, giving me his familiar lopsided grin. “I miss you when you’re gone.”

Happiness flooded through me, but I hated showing him how much it affected me. My feelings were easy to hide when everyone was sweating in the humid spring heat which crept into the house through open windows.

I took a chance and gripped his hand again, returning his squeeze.

“You know I’ll never leave you,” I reassured him, and his shoulders loosened.

I wanted to think he was nervous, but he usually acted like this because he was itching to go to our teammates, and he felt guilty about leaving me. “But I’m probably going to slip out soon. I just came for the clout,” I said.

“Sure, but don’t wait for me. I dunno if I’ll be back tonight.”

I nodded, and he shot me a last smile before he let go of my fingers. The gentle familiar hurt washed over me, and a stranger quickly filled the space he left. I couldn’t even dramatically watch him go with longing on my face because there were too many heads in the way.

I hadn’t been to this house before, but parties were all the same. Grab a cheap beer from the many packs spread on every surface, dodge the partiers, swerve around people making out, and secure a safe spot in neutral ground, like by a bookcase or astanding lamp. Then hang out just enough so that, when I left, people might have a vague recollection of me.

This time, I found a hideous, full-length tapestry in the living room, which was so painfully orange that people were actively avoiding it. The tapestry garnered all the attention, and none of it fell on me.

People only knew me as the guy who put off going to the NHL for a year, but I didn’t come out to parties unless it was a special occasion, like us making it to the semi-finals today.

There were a few people from my psychology classes here, so they would clock me at least.

Brad and I had to pick throwaway majors, as we were both going to leave the moment Brad got drafted. I went with psychology; he went with sports science.

I had a clear ten minutes of people watching, then I’d go to Brad, hang out with him for five whole minutes before making some excuse to leave.

I was nearly past the time limit, and I’d already prepared to sneak away. Until our eagle-eyed team captain entered the room.

The moment I saw him, my heart picked up. I glanced at the patio door on the other side of the crowd, looking for an escape. I was big enough to barge through groups of people if I needed to—I could get there in ten seconds if I really pushed. But as soon as I stepped away from the wall, he caught sight of me.

He perked up, peering over the other giant players dwarfing the room and lithe puck bunnies swarming around him as he made a beeline for me.

There was nowhere to run.

Before I could launch myself into the crowd, he’d weaved through the mesh of bodies and burst out onto the other side.

And ever so suddenly, Lance Austin, Porter’s cousin and unfortunately one of my closest friends, loomed in front of me.His arms folded, eyes narrowed, a look of success spread on his face.

“Nowwheredo you think you’re going?” His voice boomed out, attracting the attention of every single person in a five-foot radius, and I instantly cringed.

People noticed Lance wherever he went, and it wasn’t just because of his powerful conventional handsomeness, which stunned anyone who wasn’t used to it. It was because of his overflowing gay aura that was completely irresistible to most. It radiated from him like a beacon, signaling anyone with even an inch of fluid sexuality who was vaguely interested in getting laid.

“Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to,” I said as I moved away from him. Which was a mistake, as my back hit the wall.

At six-foot-four, I was almost the tallest guy on the freshman team, but Lance matched me eye to eye. It meant I didn’t get swamped by his fluffy sun-blond hair, but I was still subject to his crystal blue eyes that got him on the front of magazines. Being hockey royalty helped as well.

“Alex, my son,” he tutted, shaking his head. He unfolded his arms to clap me on both shoulders. “What have I said about being rude to your glorious leader?”

My brows lifted in a pointed stare. Lance cracked in two seconds, bursting into laughter, loud enough for people to edge closer, which was exactly what I wanted to avoid. He was like a magnet for the horny.

Lance had been on the fast-track to the NHL since he was born. Son of one of the NHL’s most famous players, he got his first offer at fourteen. None of us knew why he kept putting it off, and he was too noticeable to escape scrutiny like I did.

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