Page 22 of Punchline
“I’m not really a hookup kind of guy, and I don’t know if I want to date right now,” I said honestly, and Ethan’s face fell. “But I would like to go to a hockey game sometime without having to be a third wheel for Carson and Marek, if you’re interested.”
“Only if you want to sit with someone who won’t shut up about the plays during the game,” he said, and…
“Sounds perfect.”
CHAPTER 9
ETHAN
The Vegas Aces allowed its minor league players to buy tickets to sit in the owners’ box a few times a year. One of the advantages of their PHL affiliate being in the same city as the NAPH team, I guess. I didn’t know if it was meant to motivate us to work hard so we’d get called up, or if it was just a cool perk, but I didn’t ask questions.
I especially didn’t ask questions when it meant having a kickass venue for a date. I mean, I probably could’ve piqued a lot of interest on ye olde hookup apps if I opened with, “I can get us seats in the owners’ box at a Vegas Aces home game—want to go?” It would’ve worked on me, that was for sure.
But I didn’t need to roll out that admittedly sick pickup line on the app because…
Because Ihada date.
With my fighting instructor.
I’d been excited as hell the first couple of times I’d been in here. This time, I was… hell, the closest I’d ever felt to this was when I’d been starstruck. Like when I’d been sitting up here last year and ended up two seats over from Matt Shea, the Aces’ star forward, who’d been recovering from an injury. Between being awestruck by him and totally fucking hot for that suit he was wearing, I was a fidgety wreck for that whole game. To this day I couldn’t remember a thing about the game—including who’d won—because all I’d been aware of was “oh my Godit’s Matt Shea.”
I was similarly distracted and unable to sit still tonight as I took my seat beside Jake. Carson was to his left, and beside him was, of course, Marek. If a bored and douchey sports reporter saw us up here, there might be a shitty remark about Marek wearing sunglasses indoors. Hopefully that post would then be peppered with comments reminding them that Marek was prone to migraines thanks to last season’s head injury. Everyone knew he was wearing the shades for the same reason he now wore a tinted visor.
Wouldn’t stop bored and douchey sports reporters from being bored and douchey sports reporters, of course. And hey, maybe they’d be too busy showing their asses by clowning on Marek’s sunglasses to notice that the four of us were here on a double date without a woman in sight. Marek was out. I was out to anyone who cared, which so far didn’t include too many reporters.
And I doubted anyone cared about us, our sexuality, the men we were with, or what any of us were wearing on our faces, but I was a nervous wreck overthinking every goddamned thing, so why not?
Ethan. Jesus Christ. Get a grip.
I needed to. Ideally before Jake realized what a dumbass I was, cut his losses, and bailed.
I shifted in my seat, trying to be as subtle about it as I could.
That didn’t work, because Jake turned to me, concern etched all over his face. “You all right?”
“Uh. I’m?—”
“He’s a hockey player.” Carson snorted. “Trust me—theyneversit still.”
That earned him an elbow and some Czech cursing, which just made him cackle.
Jake eyed me as if for confirmation.
Face burning, I half-shrugged. “He’s not wrong.”
Oh God. Carson bailed me out, and then I made it worse by?—
Jake laughed, shaking his head, and gazed down at the ice, where the Zambonis were doing their thing. I almost breathed an actual sigh of relief. He didn’t think I was a complete dork for being twitchy and fidgety.
“When do warmups start again?” Carson asked.
“See that timer up there on the Jumbotron?” Marek asked in a playfully patronizing tone. “When the numbers say sixteen, that’s when warmups start.” He patted his boyfriend’s thigh. “Just like they do at every game.”
There was a loud tsk, probably accompanied by an eyeroll. Then Carson leaned forward and looked past Jake to me. “Hey, warmups don’t start for another twenty minutes. You want to come with me to grab some snacks?”
“They have snacks in here,” Marek reminded him.
“Uh-huh. But that one place with the kickass nachos is down on the first level.”
