Page 95 of Scoring Position

Ryan lifted a shoulder, shamefaced. “In fairness, it was like, at least fifty percent deliberate panic-induced sabotage. I was so deep in my head, I couldn’t figure out why you’d even….”

You deserve better than me anyway, he’d said.

Maybe they were starting over. But maybe Ryan needed to hear this now, rather than later. He reached across the table and put his hand over Ryan’s, on top of the bishop. “Ryan. Do you think I don’t see you? The way you look after Chenner? No one put a letter on your chest, but you’re there for your teammates when they need you. Without your help, who knows how long it would’ve taken me to get my game right? And you didn’t even know me.”

Ryan squirmed. “Nico—”

Nico laced their fingers together. “You are smart, and you are kind, and you are”—his voice got a little rough, because now that his nerves had passed, his body remembered what it was like being in close proximity to Ryan, and it had certain expectations—“sexy. You love your family, you like dirty goals and old movies. You’re a great cook and a terrible sleeper and you hate to drive.”

Ryan swallowed visibly.

“And I like you a lot,” Nico finished, suddenly self-conscious. His ears went hot, and he tried to pull his hand back, but Ryan didn’t let him go.

Nico cleared his throat. “Please don’t go into anaphylaxis.”

With a sharp laugh, Ryan let go and ran his hand through his hair. He was smiling now, the way he always should be, and Nico could see the shape of the confident guy he’d pretended to be when he walked into his life back in September.

But unlike that guy, this one felt real.

“Okay. I guess we could try some, like, exposure therapy.”

“Baby steps,” Nico agreed with an answering smile. “Now are you going to make your move, or what?”

RYAN WOKEwell-rested and empty-headed, loose-limbed and lazy and content.

It was weird. He couldn’t put his finger on why suddenly everything seemed so different.

And then the full events of the night before flooded back to him.

Nico came over last night to clear the air… and they’d done that. Ryan was getting another chance.

I like you a lot. Please don’t go into anaphylaxis.

Ryan pressed his smile into a pillow that still smelled vaguely like Nico’s shampoo and closed his eyes, even as a lump rose in his throat. Nico was such a littleshit, and no one knew it like Ryan did. They were going to try this, and that scared him… but not as much as the thought of giving up.

Who knew?

In a daze, he put on his pajama pants and stumbled into the kitchen, where he made encouraging noises at the coffee maker as it burbled. On the kitchen table, the chess game had been reset after Nico won last night. Now it looked like it was just waiting, like some kind of metaphor. At some point before Nico left, though, he must have made the first move, because the board wasn’t set to zero anymore. Nico had moved a white pawn to E4, his classic opening.

There was a note.I meant it, Nico had written. Then, beneath that,Your move.

Ryan put his face in his hands and dry-washed vigorously. He’d treated Nico like he was a stupid kid for having real feelings and daring to tell Ryan about them—for daring to make logical and correct assumptions about Ryan’s. Ryan knew intimately what that felt like, how much that hurt.

And Nico still wanted him.

Ryan had acknowledged that under his paper-thin hockey player exterior, he was an unfortunate mix of insecurity and sarcasm, and Nico didn’t care. Ryan had hurt him and he knew Ryan was a disaster and hewanted him anyway.

It was kind of a mindfuck. Like, what was Ryan supposed to do with that?

Well, aside from the obvious. He pulled out his phone and opened a text.E5.Predictable, but hey, why mess with a classic?

Then he moved the piece on the board, to keep track, and went to his bedroom to change into his workout gear.

Renewable Fuel Burns Bright

By Cassandra MacTavish

March 2

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