Page 56 of Scoring Position

This, at least, seemed to thaw the ice with Rudy somewhat. Ryan filed that knowledge away—win the man over by being sweet to his wife. “Thank you, not for me. Irochka?” A rush of semifamiliar German syllables followed. Ryan was going to have to brush up on his one semester of college German if he had any hope of understanding more than a word or two.

She shook her head. “No, thank you.”

Ryan thought they might be tired—that he’d get off easy with uncomfortable silence—but instead Rudy spent the rest of the drive peppering him with nigh-impossible-to-answer questions—the respective cap hits of the Fuel’s beleaguered d-corps, plus-minus stats for every guy on the team, what Ryan thought the team might offer Nico once his contract expired.

By the time he pulled into the garage, Rudy was enumerating the reasons the Fuel wouldn’t re-sign Ryan over the summer, as though Ryan didn’t know… as though he even wanted to stay. Hell, nobody on the team wanted to stay there. Indy was a black hole that sucked in players and wrung them dry. Nico was basically the only good thing about it.

Ryan had offered to do this chore out of the goodness of his heart, but Nico owed him a blowjob when his parents were gone.

“Well, we’re here,” he said with false cheer when Rudy finally took a breath. He cut the engine. “Can I help with your bags?”

Nico hadn’t arrived yet, unfortunately, which meant the task of getting Rudy and Ira settled fell to Ryan. At least he knew where everything was. “I think Nico put fresh towels for you out on your bed this morning,” he finished, “if you want to freshen up after your flight.”

He almost cheered in relief when Rudy took him up on it. Nico had confided that his father hated international air travel and that it made him sweaty. Ryan was just happy to get a few moments’ breathing room.

He thought Ira might like to lie down for a while, but instead she followed him into the kitchen, where he habitually started putting together lunch. Nico was always hungry when he came home—well, more like Nico was always hungry, period. And with the stress of his parents’ arrival, he’d want tea as well. Ryan flicked the kettle on without thinking about it and was reaching for a mug when he realized he was being blatantly domestic.

At least Ira was the only witness.

He cleared his throat and pulled down two mugs instead. “Tee?” he offered, doing his best to get in that subtle double-vowel sound. This much German, he remembered.

“Danke,” she answered, her eyes lighting up, and okay, he remembered that too. After a short debate, he added a little more water to the kettle, then rummaged in the fridge for the jam Nico preferred. “Du sprichst Deutsch?”

Ryan didn’t want to overstate his abilities and exhaust himself trying to keep up, so he answered in English. “I took a class in university. I’ve forgotten a lot, but I understand a little.” Then, because she looked unsure, he gave it a shot. “Verstehen, ein Bisschen. Sprachen, nicht so viel.” Should that have beensprechen? He really was rusty.

Ira nodded, though he couldn’t tell if it was in approval or comprehension. Then she noticed the chess set on the kitchen table and her face lit up. Nico had beaten Ryan the last time they played, and the board still showed that nasty smothered mate. “We play?” she asked.

Maybe if they were deep in a game when Rudy got out of the shower, he wouldn’t try to talk to Ryan about hockey.

They were in the middle of an intense, linguistically fraught lesson on chess openings when Nico came home. Ryan had an enormous frittata in the oven, and he’d made sandwiches too, because with three hockey players in the house, you could never have enough food. Nico’s tea sat next to the kettle, still steaming.

Ryan didn’t feel self-conscious about any of this until Nico took in the scene, greeted his mother in Russian with a hug and kisses, and walked past Ryan to pick up his mug. He trailed his fingers along the back of Ryan’s chair on the way, and Ryan realized about a half second before he moved that he was about to tilt his head back in expectation of a kiss of his own.

His ears burned. After all their talk about keeping their relationship from Nico’s parents, they were going to get caught within thirty seconds of being in the same room. This whole situation was just too… much. Maybe he should get a hotel room after all.

Ryan was thoughtlessly moving one of his bishops when Iratsked. “What I say?Protect center squares first.”

“I keep telling him,” Nico said. He collected his mug and brought a plate of sandwiches to the table. He asked his mother something in Russian and passed her one of the sandwiches when she answered.

Ryan gave himself a mental shake. Now was not the time to panic. Not with Nico’s mother sitting right there.

Nico sipped his tea. “Perfect,” he murmured and shot Ryan a look that was way too fond for a kitchen setting, especially a chaperoned one. “Thank you.”

Ira hummed softly and said something in Russian, Nico smiled and answered, slightly pink in the cheeks. Ira turned to Ryan and patted his hand. “Good friend.”

“Thank you.” Ryan cast a look at Nico, flustered.Translation, please, Mr. Polyglot.

Nico cleared his throat. The flush had spread down the back of his neck. “She thinks you’re a nice young man for knowing how I like my tea. You’ll make someone an excellent waiter someday.”

Ira swatted Nico’s arm, apparently chastising him for his translation. “You very good friend. Do not listen to Kolyasha.”

“Oh, I never do.”

“You’re such a jerk,” Nico said, but he just sounded fond. “I don’t know why I keep you around.”

That’s not what you told the guys at the holiday party.“Rent money and cooking,” Ryan said, strangled. And moved his queen in a desperate bid to redirect attention to his abysmal chess play.

It worked, thank God. By the time they’d finished explaining why Ryan was so wrong, the food was ready.

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