Page 36 of Scoring Position

When he caught sight of Nico hanging awkwardly around the players’ lounge, he excused himself and went to the door.

“Do you want me to wait for you?” Nico asked.

Ryan glanced back at Chenner, then returned his attention to Nico. “No, that’s all right. I’ll get an Uber or something.” And probably a headache, but he could deal with that better than the thought of leaving his teammate to suffer alone.

NICO HADtried to make it a habit not to read his own press. It was one that Barb approved of, and he’d been doing solittleright from the get-go that he was determined to keep his streak going on this.

But the day after Ryan stayed late at practice with Chenner, he seemedoff. Not quiet exactly—Nico was pretty sure he was constitutionally incapable of that—but he wasn’t joking like he usually did, and he didn’t dance and sing along badly to terrible American pop music while he was cooking.

So Nico googled, because poor misguided Ryandidread his own press, and found an article posted just that morning speculating as to why Ryan had yet to score his first goal in a Fuel jersey. It was obvious to Nico that there wasn’t much Ryan could do except play his game—when Vorhees gave him the leeway to do so—and try his best, but the journalist quickly pointed out that instead of being on pace for a fifteen-goal season, he’d be lucky to get ten. And also that for Ryan, this was a contract year.

Nico set his phone back on the counter and hooked his feet under the barstool as Ryan peered into the fridge like it held the answers to the meaning of life. Despite the number of ingredients on the counter, nothing had actually been chopped or cooked yet.

Nico shouldn’t do it. He was on a nutrition plan for a reason, and his system was finally working. But Barb had pointed out that it was important to know when to be flexible. He couldn’t cook much—he usually did cleanup instead—but he was pretty handy with a takeout menu.

And it wasn’t like he didn’t know how Ryan felt about foods they shouldn’t eat.

“Hey,” he said, startling Ryan out of his tapping. He turned around, head raised. “You want to order a pizza?”

Ryan broke into a wide smile. “Nico Kirschbaum, you rebel. I want mine with extra cheese.”

Nico pretended the wave of warmth that went through him was satisfaction at cheering up a friend and had nothing to do with Ryan in particular.

He had the feeling he was going to get used to lying to himself, but for the time being, he was content with that fact.

The second week of November wore away and the leaves started to turn. Nico spent some time cleaning up in the yard and even bullied Ryan into helping him for an hour, but they had just come back from a two-game road trip, so they were tired, and it mostly turned into raking leaves into each other’s faces. He hired a company to finish the job.

He would’ve continued living his life in blissful ignorance, or at least denial, if his father hadn’t called to ruin it.

“Have you seen this article?” his father demanded. “Nicolai, how could you do this?”

Nico had not seen the article and had to endure his father’s dramatic reading of a speculative piece from a beat reporter who had noticed that Ryan and Nico kept arriving to games and practices together and apparently asked Chenner, who had confirmed they were roommates.

“Thishack,” his father spat, “is suggesting that the improvements in your game are down to this Wright character’s ‘stabilizing influence.’ No word of your work ethic, how many hours you put in training. Is this how you want people to see you?”

As if Nico had any control over this article whatsoever, or even knew someone was writing it. He paced the living room and tugged at his hair, because his irritated energy had to come out somehow or he’d say something unforgivable. “No, Dad, I—”

“I knew this would happen,” he interrupted. “What were you thinking, inviting him to come and live with you? Do you not understand what this man is implying?”

The subtext that maybe what Nico really needed all along was to get laid was pretty clear. He didn’t think his father would appreciate it if Nico said he was thinking of trying that next. “I can’t control what people say about me.”

It was the wrong thing to say. “Oh yes, you can. We can set up an interview—”

“Where I tell people I’m not sleeping with my teammate and roommate, who’s also gay?” Nico rolled his eyes, even as he winced. His father hated to be interrupted. “Yeah, that won’t look suspicious at all.”

Better to just let the whole thing die down.

“So tell him to find somewhere else to live!”

“I’m not going to do that,” Nico said firmly. “I like having him here. The house is too big for one person. And anyway, then people will just say we broke up.”

“Nicolai, I don’t like this. I think you should—”

Nico turned to make his reverse lap of the living room and caught Ryan’s eye; he was standing in the kitchen, eyebrows raised in question. Nico shook his head. They were speaking German anyway, but this conversation was definitely over. “Sorry, Dad, I have to go,” he lied. “Team meeting. Talk to you later.”

And then he hung up and threw his phone on the couch.

“Hey,” Ryan started. He shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket. “Sorry for, like, eavesdropping, even if I have only half an idea what I was dropping eaves on.”

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