Page 58 of Two Guys One Puck
Both of them stare at me.
“It’s none of your fucking business!” I say and try to close the door, but Wolfe puts his big ass goalie foot there, and there’s no fighting him. Not at his size.
“Are you gay?” Archangel whispers like he’s seeing me in a new light. “Those are men’s sweats.”
Fuuuuuuck.
“No!” I protest, stomach in my throat.
Archangel raises both brows. “I’ve been out to you since our freshmen fucking year, and you didn’t tell me?!” Hurt seeps into his tone.
“It’s just a fucking thing that happened, and I don’t fucking know what it means. I don’t want to fucking talk about it.” My tone makes them back off a little.
“You don’t have to explain yourself.” Wolfe puts his hand on my arm. “And you don’t need a label.”
Archangel side eyes him but nods. “He’s right. Sexuality is fluid. It doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want it to.”
I look at the ceiling. “I don’t want to do this right now. Can I go back to my fucking shower?”
“You’re not going to tell us who the lucky guy is?” Archangel lifts up on his toes like he’ll be able to spot something behind me.
“I’d rather not, thanks.” I close the door, and this time, they let me.
They start whispering behind it, but I’ve got another issue to deal with as Ktytor is standing there with the curtain pulled back, smirking at me.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” I whisper.
“You don’t want me to meet your friends?” Ktytor asks playing innocent.
“No.”
“You won’t be able to sneak him out of here!” Wolfe calls. “And the walls are paper thin, so I can hear everything you say!”
“I’m going to put a bag over his face,” I shout back.
“Are you that ashamed?” Ktytor isn’t offended. He’s amused.
“Is that an accent?” Wolfe asks, probably with his ear to the goddamn door.
“You weren’t wrong about him being nosy. Christ.” Ktytor isn’t even trying to be quiet.
I lean against the counter and put my face in my hands, trying to figure out what the fuck I’m going to do.
“Maybe we should just rip off the plaster.”
“The what?”
“The plaster… Band-Aid?”
I blink. “You can’t be serious.”
“Why not?”
“Do you want this to get out?” I ask, sure he’s lost his damn mind.
“You trust your friends, right?” He shrugs like this isn’t a possibly career-ending big deal.
I throw a towel at him and then open the door. “Happy?”
