Page 53 of Role Model

“Thanks.”

“No problem. Tell your gay apple farmer to come visit the Kingfisher the next time he’s in Manhattan.”

“I will.” Troy tucked the pin carefully into the pocket of his jeans and tried to ignore the weird fluttery things your gay apple farmer did to his stomach.

He returned to the table, where Scott was frowning and Ilya was grinning, so Ilya must have been making fun of him.

“Was Kyle flirting with you?” Ilya asked Troy cheerfully.

“Uh.” Troy glanced uneasily at Eric.

“Probably,” Eric said. He didn’t sound bothered.

“You would be an attractive couple,” Ilya continued. “Both very pretty. And the same age. Kyle would probably like that for a change.”

“Shut it, Rozanov,” Scott said.

But Eric just smiled. “I don’t think Kyle is looking for a change, but if Troy was interested, I’m sure Kyle would be more than willing to—”

“Nope.” Troy put up his hands. “Not interested. Your boyfriend is hot, but—” He froze. Had he really just said that? “I mean, he’s probably considered to be attractive. And it’s cool that you, um, are open-minded about, uh.” He needed to shut up. Right now. So he did.

Ilya cracked up. “Your face!”

Troy knew how red his cheeks must be right now. He took a big gulp of his water, trying to cool his burning flesh.

“That goal you scored last night must have felt good,” Scott said, changing the subject in a very obvious way that Troy was grateful for.

“Yeah. It felt great.”

They talked about hockey for a while. In fact, nearly two hours had passed before Ilya pushed back from the table and said, “Time for bed. Game tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Scott agreed. “Same.”

“You should have been in bed hours ago, old man,” Ilya said. “You’ll feel it tomorrow on the ice.”

“Against you guys? I doubt it.”

Eric glanced toward the bar, and Kyle. “I’m going to stick around for a bit. Because I don’t have a thing to do tomorrow.”

Ilya clapped his shoulder. “I miss scoring on you, Eric.”

“And I miss shutting your ass down.”

When Ilya and Troy left the bar, Ilya said, “We could walk. Let’s walk.”

It was a weird suggestion, but it had seemed like a short cab ride so, sure. They could walk. Plus, walking around New York City was neat.

“You seem like you want to ask something,” Ilya said once they started walking. “Or tell me something.”

“No,” Troy lied. Then he blurted out, “Why did you punch Dallas Kent?”

Ilya laughed. “Many reasons.”

“I know, but why exactly did you punch him? Because I thought it was because he insulted you by saying that you were, like, gay. Or whatever. But then you took me to a gay bar, so I’m pretty confused right now.”

“I did not punch Kent because of that. I am not so fragile.”

“Oh. I just thought, because most hockey players would rather be accused of murder than be accused of liking dick—”

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