Page 30 of Cherry Picking
He takes a slow breath out and runs a hand down his face. “You treat the two of you like a done deal. Like you’re together.”
“Well yeah. Because we are.”
We lock eyes, and I immediately know I’m not going to like what comes out of his mouth next. “Are you sure that’s how it is for him?”
It’s not like Riley and I havejustbeen having sex for two years. Maybe it started out that way—or maybe that’s the excuse we used—but there’s always been a closeness, a connecting thread that ties us together. More than just teammates or friends who fuck. There’s something deeper there.
I knew it in the way he held me last night. In the way he holds me every night. This means something. Even if we’ve never said it out loud.
“We matter,” I say, voice softening.
“Of course you do.” Locke reaches over and covers my hand with his own. “And I know Riley cares about you. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”
I scoff. “Two years too late for that, buckaroo.” I don’t mean to sound bitter but for as nonchalant as I act and asunderstanding as I’ve tried to be, there’s always a part of me that feels like it’s been shoved back into the closet.
He sighs and takes his hand back to drag it through his hair. “I support you no matter what. If that means I don’t have to be your pretend boyfriend anymore, so be it.”
“You could totally get out of that if you’d—you know—go on an actual date with someone who isn’t me.”
“That requires liking anyone enough in this town to let them take me to one of the few boring first date locations in town.”
“Or you could bone. That’s a great conversation starter.”
Locke rolls his eyes and shoves me hard enough to nearly knock me off the couch. He might be a lithe man, but there’s some muscle hiding beneath those oversized t-shirts.
“Don’t you have a game to get ready for?”
Swift subject change like always, but I let it slide just like he lets my delusional hopefulness go.
Like I said, bad decisions and all that jazz. But I’m the king of making bad decisions work for me.
After all, I’m lucky number Thirteen. There has to be a reason the universe has kept me here, and I know damn well it isn’t because of hockey.
We start off strong, and I feel like I have a right to be cocky. I’m not the bulkiest guy on the team, and I’ve trained for years on and off the ice to be a special breed of flexible, so I’m catching shots like a puck magnet.
That doesn’t mean that we’re faring any better against Texas. Their goalie is on point and they’ve kept us trapped near our own lines for half of the game. Entering into the third with zero on either side has us all sweating.
To make matters worse, I can tell Riley is pushing it. When he comes back onto the ice, it’s clear he’s favoring his left leg.
I’m not the only one who notices either: Texas is gunning for him the moment his stick slips on a shot to catch his weight. It’s fucking brutal to watch him checked over and over, and one player even gets a penalty for tripping him up by catching their stick on his blade.
The only saving grace is they’re so busy trying to make a mockery out of one of our players that they don’t have the manpower to stop little Rory from shooting straight into their net. As soon as the lamp lights up, Coach calls for a line change, and even though I want to run off and make sure my boyfriend is okay, I’ve still got a goal to protect.
Hawks is playing center now, and the fire brimming off of him proves he’s just as pissed about our teammate as I am.
That doesn’t stop me from letting a goal through and scowling as the period ends, sending us into overtime.
Riley and Hawks both take to the ice, and all of my overconfidence is stripped away by one simple action.
Riley and the other team’s forward end up battling it out for the puck—and I can’t see exactly what happens through my mask and the constant bustle of six players trying to best each other—but there’s a crunching sound, a garbled shout, and Riley goes down.
I’m ready to yell and curse until Riley tells me he’s alright, but a hush comes over the roaring crowd, and the Ref blows his whistle, stopping the play.
Alarm bells start going off, but I don’t break position yet.
It’s when Hawks helps Riley to his feet and Riley brunts his weight on Hawk’s shoulder that I know this isn’t a small injury.
Our med team takes to the ice, assisting Riley until they get him to a stretcher to be checked out by our team doc, but the way his eyes are screwed shut and his head flops against the boardthey’ve got him on as soon as his helmet slips off … This might be a hospital trip.
