Page 57 of Scoring Position

Ryan pulled out the frittata and cursed himself for this domestic complacency. How was he supposed to hang out with Nico in their home for ten days and pretend not to have feelings for him? Ryan was not that good an actor. Clearly he needed to back off and give the family more space, or Nico’s parents were going to peg them right away.

MISHA HADcornered Nico at practice a few days ago and announced that if Nico was bringing a Russian to Indianapolis, then Misha was having a Russian meal with them. Not wanting to shake the new bond they were creating, Nico agreed.

His mother was thrilled and chattered excitedly at the prospect of talking to a Muscovite who’d been to the city as recently as last year, and just as excitedly at the idea of trying out Nico and Misha’s favorite Eastern European restaurant.

Of course, thetimingof the dinner could have been better. Because Misha and Katja were heading out of town for the three-day break, it was either the first night or sometime after Christmas.

“Are you sure you’re not too tired for this, Mama?” Nico asked for the hundredth time.

She rolled her eyes and passed him a now-clean dish to dry. “We talked about this before your father and I got on the plane, and again just an hour ago. An early dinner is the perfect excuse for us to push off the jet lag and keep us awake for a few more hours. Besides, I want to meet this Mikhail Fedorovich Kipriyanov. You talk about him often lately.”

This was true. Without Lucas to hide behind, Nico had found himself in Misha’s presence more often, and talking about him seemed safer than talking about Ryan. He’d have loved to tell his mother about his relationship with Ryan, but she’d tell his dad, so that was off the table. Instead he told her about his teammate, knowing it would make her happy to hear that someone called him Kolya on the regular and teased him with Russian humor.

“As long as you’re sure,” Nico said.

She laughed and flicked soapy water in his direction. “I am sure, my darling. Now let’s finish these dishes so we can get ready.” She washed another dish and set it on the counter. Nico put away some plates. “Will Ryan be joining us?”

He probably should’ve guessed she’d hint about Ryan anyway.Shit.

“Oh, no.” Misha had said something about having an English-free evening, and Nico could occasionally take a really obvious hint. Plus there was no reason to make anyone think the wordstriple date. “He wouldn’t really enjoy it. I mean, we’ll all being talking Russian, and it drives him nuts when you forget to translate stuff.”

He scratched an eyebrow and avoided his mother’s gaze.

“That makes sense. I know how exhausting that can be,” she said.

Hopefully she didn’t notice his deep sigh of relief.

THE RESTAURANTwas practically a stereotype of “authentic” Eastern European dining—a small hole-in-the-wall venue with a staff that spoke broken English and a dining room full of expats. It was exactly the sort of restaurants Americans would tell you must provide “real” Russian food, judging by its atmosphere. Luckily for Nico and Misha, it did, in fact, provide excellent Russian cuisine—hot-soursolyanka, rich freshly bakedpirozhki, and still-warm blini served with salty caviar orsmetana. Nico’s mouth watered at just the thought.

Misha was already there, seated at the table in the pre-dinner-rush quiet and chatting happily with one of the waitstaff when Nico arrived with his parents.

When Misha stood to greet them and spoke rapid-fire to Nico’s mother, he thought,This will be good. He stubbornly ignored the pang that said he wanted Ryan there too, despite all the reasons it was a bad idea.

NICO’S PARENTSwent to bed when they got home from dinner, and as the bedroom door closed behind them, the tension in his neck and shoulders loosened.

Ryan pulled his chopsticks out of his mouth and raised his eyebrows. “Long night?”

Nico shrugged and sat opposite him on the couch. “For them, sure.” Ryan wasn’t going to see his family over the holiday. He claimed it didn’t matter, but it still seemed rude to complain when Nico got to see his family and Ryan didn’t.

Ryan nudged his foot under the table. “You look pretty wound up.”

Truthfully, Nicofeltwound up. He would’ve liked nothing more than for Ryan to take him to bed and make him forget everything for a few hours, but they’d already agreed that wasn’t going to happen while Nico’s parents were there.

Nico would have preferred to tell them the truth… if he could trust his dad not to be an asshole. But he couldn’t, and Nico wasn’t going to risk making the whole visit unpleasant for everyone.

“Misha spent most of the night talking to my mom.” Not that Nico minded—his mom deserved to talk about her homeland, and Misha obviously had something on his mind. Not surprising, considering the current state of affairs in Russia. Nico knew the situation there weighed heavily on them both. Unfortunately Nico didn’t get to commiserate with them or even act as their sounding board, since he’d spent dinner getting grilled by his father.

“So you were at the old man’s mercy all night,” Ryan interpreted. He chased a stray piece of chicken with his chopsticks. “Did you actually manage to eat anything?”

Caught, Nico averted his gaze. Not much put him off his food, and he’d eaten a normal portion… for someone who wasn’t a professional athlete.

“Thought so. Here.” Ryan shoved the remainder of the carton at him. “I should switch to something that resembles a nutritionist-approved food group. Do you want me to grab you a fork?”

Nico debated for a second before shrugging mentally and picking up the chopsticks. Ryan might have a point about the relative hygiene of NHL players, but Nico had Ryan’s dick in his mouth on a regular basis. Sharing chopsticks seemed like a strange place to draw the line.

While Ryan made himself a smoothie, Nico polished off the carton.

“Watch a movie?” Ryan suggested when he finished with the blender.

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