Page 32 of Scoring Position

For God’s sake. “Unglaublich,” Nico muttered.

“Chenner!” Ryan barked. “Earmuffs.”

Across the table, Chen gamely raised his hands to his head and covered his ears.

Ryan leaned forward on the table so he could meet Grange’s eyes. “What Nico is trying to say”—the warm, masculine scent of his soap wafted up to Nico’s nose—“is that he’s young and rich and could suffocate a man with his ass. So picking up is a breeze.”

So hehadnoticed! Nico sipped his sugary drink, feeling smug.

Grange spat beer all over the table just as Misha returned and assessed him with a party foul. “Two hundred dollars. You leave tip for staff.”

But Misha hadn’t come alone.

His companion was a tall blond, the sort of woman hockey players seemed determined to collect for the Spouses and Partners organizations. She wore skinny jeans and a scrappy billowy top that simultaneously showed everything and nothing. Nico could see the appeal, especially after she helped to settle the tray of drinks on the table, kept one for herself, and said to one of the younger guys attempting to flirt, “I deserve compensation for my work, even bad college vodka.”

Misha stared at her adoringly and offered his arm. It was sweet. Nico had never seen him with a woman he was interested in. Unsurprisingly, he led her to a neighboring table so they could talk more privately—not that they needed the space from anyone but Nico, considering they were speaking in Russian to trash-talk the bar’s alcohol selection. Judging from her accent, she was no more native to the motherland than Nico, but she sounded fluent.

“Oh my God,” Grange stage-whispered. “Kitty is picking up?”

Ryan raised his eyebrows. “Not his thing?”

“To be honest,” Greenie said, leaning across the table, “we weren’t sure he knew how.”

“We thought maybe he was scaring off the ladies, but any attempts to ask him about his dating life result in several minutes of him pretending not to speak English.”

Nico thought of Misha’s size, humor, and sweetness, and did not say anything about women’s interest probably not being the issue.

“I want to know everything they are saying,” Greenie said, curiosity and mischief filling his expression. “Grange, listen in.”

Grange tilted back in his seat to get his ears closer to Misha’s table. After a moment he leaned forward again and shook his head. “They’re talking in Russian.”

Ryan snorted. “Probably the only reason he was willing to sit near enough for you idiots to eavesdrop.”

“Russian. This explains so much,” Greenie added. “Curiosity is killing me, though.” Around the table, the boys nodded. In the silence, Nico could once again hear the conversation behind him.

“So you did watch the game.”

“Maybe. You were better last week—that goal was nice. Not as pretty as Yorkshire’s, though.”

Nico snorted when Misha bristled with mock outrage.

“What’s so funny?” Ryan poked his side with the arm not draped across the chair.

“She told him the captain had a prettier goal,” Nico said unwisely. The alcohol must be loosening his lips. He glared at his glass. Clearly this fruity pink drink was bad.

Another long silence stretched across the table. Nico looked up to see why and found everyone starting at him.

“What?”

“What?” Grange parroted back. “You speak Russian?”

“Yes?”

“Sincewhen?” Grange looked betrayed.

“Uh, since always?” Nico tilted his head, trying to bring him into focus. “My mother is Russian. I talk to Misha in Russian all the time.”

“Grouch, you barely talk to anyone if it’s not about hockey,” Grange said. “And Kitty even less.”

---