Page 17 of Starved

Colin shrugged into his coat. “A little.”

“Shit.” Guilt soured some of Evan’s excitement. He wasn’t sure why it had felt so important to keep their destination a surprise, but he realized now he should’ve been more forthcoming. “I’m sorry, Col.”

Colin shrugged. “I’m used to it.”

Evan was well aware of Colin’s anxiety, as he’d been dealing with it for most of his life. He took medication for it and had a lot of well-developed coping strategies, but the last thing Evan wanted was to be a source of worry for him. “We’re going to the hockey game.”

Colin’s eyes lit with surprise, and just a touch of trepidation. “Yeah?”

“Jude hooked me up, with tickets in the friends and family suite.”

Colin’s smile spread. “No shit?”

Pleased with the reaction, Evan rocked back on his heels. “Cool, right? No crowded concourse, no having to walk over people to get to our seats—or having them walk over us. And we only have to wear masks on the way in and on the way out.”

“Seriously?”

“We might have to share the space with someone else’s friends or family,” Evan admitted. “But it’ll sure as hell be less crowded than the regular seats. And no lines for the concessions or bathroom.”

“But I like the concessions,” Colin protested, still smiling.

“Full catering in the suites,” Evan informed him. “You can order whatever you want, and they’ll bring it right to you.”

“Well, damn. What are we waiting for?”

Evan swept his arm toward the door. “After you.”

The drive to Van Andle Arena didn’t take long, and parking was a breeze thanks to the valet pass Jude had arranged. They were met at the door by an arena employee dressed in slacks and a blazer with a nametag that read Chloe. She greeted them with a nod, checked their tickets, then handed them a pair of lanyards.

Evan hung it around his neck. “I’ve never had to wear one of these before.”

“It lets the staff know you’re cleared for the executive level, Sir,” Chloe explained, her crinkling eyes indicating she was smiling behind her mask. “If you’ll follow me?”

“Executive level,” Evan murmured as they fell into step behind her, and waggled his eyebrows at Colin.

Colin’s answering laugh was muffled. “I feel like an impostor.”

“Me, too,” Evan confessed, and going with impulse, reached for Colin’s hand.

Colin jolted, his eyes widening with surprise, and for a moment Evan worried he’d overstepped. Then he saw the faint flush on the back of Colin’s neck, and his fingers curled to grasp Evan’s.

Feeling shy and excited and not unlike he did in third grade when he developed a serious crush on Melissa Kowalski, he squeezed Colin’s hand and followed Chloe into an elevator. She swiped a key card, and the car lifted smoothly.

And Colin still held his hand.

When the elevator stopped, Chloe led them down a quiet, carpeted hallway to a set of double wooden doors. She opened them with a flourish, then stood aside to let them walk through. “Welcome to the Friends and Family Suite, gentlemen.”

“Whoa,” Colin muttered.

Evan silently agreed. The suite was huge, with a pair of sofas and matching club chairs in rich brown leather forming a seating area on one side, and a bar—complete with bartender, who sent them a welcoming nod—on the other. Two short rows of stadium-style leather seats sat in front of the glass wall that overlooked the rink. Made up of panels that could be opened or closed, they currently stood open, letting in music, the murmur of the growing crowd, and the distinctive sound of skates on ice.

Three people stood in the opening, their backs to the room, each of them in a home team jersey with the number 45 and the name Bacote on the back.

“This is great,” Colin enthused, and the trio at the window turned.

A man who Evan estimated to be in his fifties, with thinning gray hair and glasses, gave an enthusiastic wave. “Hello!”

He bounded forward, hand extended. Evan’s right hand was still caught in Colin’s, but before he could drop it to shake, the man stopped, lifting both hands in the air.

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