Page 19 of Speak in Fever
An hour later, they're settled into a booth at O'Malley's, the team spread across several tables in the back section that the bar usually reserves for larger groups. The first round has turned into the second, and the conversation has moved beyond hockey into the territory of personal stories and harmless gossip that characterizes most team bonding sessions.
Percy finds himself directly across from Rath in the booth, close enough that their knees occasionally bump under the table when one of them shifts position. Each contact sends a small jolt of awareness through Percy that he tries desperately to ignore. Rath seems oblivious to the effect he's having, animated and relaxed in a way that Percy doesn't get to see very often.
"I still can't believe how different you two looked today," Martinez says, taking a long pull from his beer. "Like you've been playing together for years instead of struggling to complete basic passes."
"It was just a good practice," Percy deflects, but he can feel Rath watching him across the table.
"Just a good practice?" Torres scoffs. "Dude, you made three passes today that should be physically impossible. And Platts was reading your mind out there."
"I wouldn't say mind-reading," Rath interjects with a grin. "More like really good guessing."
"Same thing," JP waves dismissively. "Chemistry is chemistry. You either have it or you don't."
The conversation flows easily from there, touching on upcoming games, scouting reports on their next opponents, and the usual collection of stories about teammates who aren't present to defend themselves. Percy finds himself relaxing into the familiar rhythm of team social time, the comfortable camaraderie that makes the physical demands of their sport worthwhile.
But he's hyperaware of Rath's presence across from him. The way Rath gestures when he talks, the genuine laughter that bubbles up when someone tells a particularly good story, the quick smile he sends Percy's way when their eyes meet across the table. All of it feels significant in a way that Percy knows it probably isn't.
"Speaking of celebration," Torres says with a wicked grin, clearly emboldened by his second beer, "anyone getting lucky tonight? Because after watching you two today, I'm feeling inspired to find some chemistry of my own."
"Always thinking with your dick, Torres," JP laughs, but not disapprovingly.
"Hey, it's been a good day. Good hockey makes me optimistic about my chances." Torres waggles his eyebrows suggestively, earning groans and laughter from the table. "Plus, there's nothing like athletic success to boost your confidence with the ladies."
Percy notices the way Rath's posture changes slightly at the direction of the conversation, his shoulders tensing almost imperceptibly. It's a subtle shift, but Percy has been watching Rath closely enough today to catch it.
"What about you, Cap?" Terrible asks with obvious mischief, leaning forward with the predatory glee of someone who's found a topic worth pursuing. "When's the last time you got laid? Because I'm starting to think all that pent-up energy is why your passes were so aggressive today."
Percy nearly chokes on his beer, coughing as he tries to process the unexpected question. "That's not—we're not discussing my personal life."
"Come on," Torres presses, clearly enjoying Percy's discomfort. "You're always wound so tight. When's the last time you just let loose? Had some fun?"
"Hockey is fun," Percy says weakly, knowing it's an inadequate response but unable to come up with anything better.
"Hockey fun doesn't count," JP clarifies with exaggerated patience, as if explaining something to a child. "We're talking about actual human connection. You know, the kind that involves taking someone home and—"
"I get it," Percy interrupts quickly, his face burning with embarrassment. "And no, I'm not discussing this with you degenerates."
"Degenerates?" Martinez laughs. "Cap, we're talking about basic human needs here. You're twenty-eight years old and built like a professional athlete. Women should be throwing themselves at you."
"Maybe they are and he's just not catching them," Torres suggests with obvious glee.
Percy shakes his head and takes another long drink of beer, hoping the conversation will move on to someone else. But he can feel the team's collective attention focused on him, the predatory interest that comes when teammates sense weakness.
"What about you, Platts?" Torres turns his attention to Rath with the same mischievous energy. "You've been awfully quietduring this conversation. When's the last time you picked up a lady at the bar?"
Rath's grip visibly tightens on his beer bottle, and Percy notices the way his jaw has gone rigid. The easy confidence from earlier has been replaced by something more guarded, more careful. "Not really my thing," Rath says, his voice carrying a forced casualness that doesn't quite hide his discomfort.
"What, dating?" Terrible looks genuinely surprised, his eyebrows rising comically. "Kid, you're young and good-looking and playing professional hockey. You could have your pick of any girl in this bar."
"It's complicated," Rath mutters, not meeting anyone's eyes. He's focused intently on peeling the label off his beer bottle, his movements sharp and agitated.
"Complicated how?" Torres presses, clearly enjoying himself and oblivious to Rath's obvious discomfort. "Come on, we're all friends here. What's your type? Blonde? Brunette? Are you a tits or ass man?"
The last comment earns laughter from several teammates, but Percy notices that Rath has gone even more tense, his jaw clenched in a way that suggests he's deeply uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. There's something almost painful in the way Rath is holding himself, like he's trying to disappear into the booth.
"I just... I don't really do casual hookups," Rath says finally, his voice tight and strained. "Not my scene."
"Oh, you're a relationship guy," Raul nods with understanding. "That's cool, man. More meaningful that way. Some guys need the emotional connection to really enjoy the physical stuff."
