Page 110 of Scoring Position

Through his own stupidity, he woke up with a mouth that tasted like the inside of a Czech sewer and a stomach that felt like he’d been drinking straight out of the Vltava River. Maybe heshouldhave done that, because the dehydration headache was brutal.

He carefully lifted his head from his pillow, realized he’d gone to sleep marinating in alcohol-soaked clothes, and carefully lay back down again to wriggle out of them.

Then, gingerly, he grabbed a bottle of water from the hotel mini fridge and dragged himself into the bathroom, where he sat on the shower floor under a lukewarm spray with the lights off until he didn’t want to die anymore.

He hoped Nico felt as terrible as he did so he could justify spending the day recovering before their date.

When he’d wrung out as much alcohol from his skin as he could, he dried off and returned to the bedroom to face the challenge of reading his text messages.

At first he thought he was still drunk.

Then he realized the first three texts Nico had sent him weren’t in English. Ryan wasn’t one hundred percent sure they were German either, though some of the words looked familiar.

The fourth text, sent this morning rather than last night, made things clearer.Sorry, team took my phone last night.

Ryan’s teammates had threatened him with the same. He wondered if he’d just gotten a shovel speech by proxy.

Five minutes after the first message, Nico had written,Are you alive?

That was half an hour ago. Ryan dug a couple of Advil out of his dopp kit before replying.Despite my drunk self’s best efforts. You?

Though obviously Nico was, since he’d already been in touch. Confirmation came through a moment later.Unfortunately.

Ryan laughed, then wished he hadn’t.I need breakfast. And coffee. Dinner at 8?

Meet you in the lobby at 1930.

Seven thirty. Right.

In that case, Ryan had better go find a concierge. He needed a restaurant recommendation.

WATER, FOOD,coffee, and an afternoon nap restored Ryan to his normal self. Tara spent lunch teasing him, but she let up when he asked her opinion on the concierge’s restaurant suggestions. Then she sighed, butted her head against his shoulder, and said, “Don’t fuck it up.”

Yesterday Ryan had played for a gold medal.

Today, he had a more important goal in mind.

The restaurant he chose was called Mlýnec, which Ryan could neither spell nor pronounce. But it was easy enough to ask the cab driver to take them to the famous Charles Bridge, a fourteenth-century Gothic stone arch bridge lined with statues that was a known tourist trap but romantic as fuck. Especially at night, with the warm orange glow of the city lights illuminating Prague’s dramatic skyline.

Good thing Ryan wasn’t trying to be subtle.

They had to exit the cab a few streets over, since the bridge was pedestrian only, but that was part of the charm. Ryan paid the driver, and then it was just him and Nico on a warm early June evening, with a mixed bag of things behind them and who knew what ahead.

Ryan took a deep breath and tried to calm his nerves. This was the true test, and he wanted to ace it. “So….” He looked at Nico—it was hard to look away from him tonight; summer and Europe and winning agreed with him, and he looked tanned and healthy and happy. He’d put on a short-sleeved black button-down in some kind of ludicrously expensive, slightly shimmery fabric, along with a pair of trousers that saidhello, the man wearing me is a professional hockey player and these are his ass and thighs. It was a lot. “You’d know better than me. What’s the protocol here? Are we good to hold hands or…?”

A look of surprise passed briefly over Nico’s face, quickly replaced by a slight flush as he glanced around at their surroundings. This was a touristy part of town, well lit; Ryan didn’t know if that mattered or if Nico was just taking a moment to enjoy the question. “I think we can risk it,” he said, smiling just enough.

They laced their fingers together and fell into step.

They had fifteen minutes before their reservation, so they walked halfway across the bridge and took in the view. Incredible—church spires, two castles, cobblestones and elaborate rooflines, bridges all around. Not like anything Ryan had ever seen in North America. “You know, I used to think I’d play in Europe one day, but never in an IIHF tournament.”

Nico squeezed his fingers. “Kind of glad you didn’t.”

“Me too. Although the scenery is pretty great.” Especially right now. He brushed their shoulders together. “There’s a lot of things I thought I’d never do.”

Understatement. But Nico only gave him a sly sideways glance. “I know.”

This was his opening. Time to come clean. He turned to face Nico but didn’t let go of his hand.

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