Page 28 of Role Model

“Twenty minutes.” Harris put Gordon the cake pop back in the bag and, absurdly, pulled out the third identical one and ate it. After he swallowed, he said, “Hopefully it won’t go on forever like the last one.”

“So do the sponsors, like, put their logo on the videos you post or something?”

Harris looked at him curiously. “Yeah. Have you never looked at your team’s social media accounts? Not even in Toronto?”

“No.”

Harris shook his head. “Well, I don’t blame you. Whoever is doing Toronto’s social media sucks at it. It has no heart at all. I don’t know why anyone follows them.”

Troy didn’t know what gave a Twitter account “heart” but he just took a sip of coffee instead of asking. It was still hot, but his mouth was numb now anyway.

Harris took a sip of his latte and made a noise that Troy had only ever made during sex. “God, I needed this. Thanks for bringing it.”

He licked his upper lip, and Troy watched with more interest than was warranted. He’d bet that Harris would taste disgusting right now—his mouth full of sugar and weird coffee.

“I guess I’ll head back,” Troy said, standing. Wondering what Harris tasted like was a definite signal to leave. “You can, um, text me. Later.”

“Cool.”

“Okay.”

Troy hesitated a moment. He wasn’t in a hurry to go back to his lonely hotel room, and he found he didn’t mind being around this weird little apple farmer. He didn’t mind looking at him either, which wasn’t good.

He left.

Harris spotted Troy standing outside the hotel, wearing jeans and his black wool overcoat. Harris wished he’d had a chance to go home himself and change before the party, but he never looked any fancier than he did right now anyway.

“Hi,” Harris said when Troy slid into the passenger seat of his Toyota pickup truck.

“You drive a truck.”

“Farm boy, remember?”

“Right.” Troy’s cheeks were slightly pink from the cold, and he was freshly shaved. Without the dark shadow of stubble on his jaw, he looked younger. He blew on his hands and rubbed them together. “It’s cold. Is Bood seriously barbecuing?”

“Oh yeah. No weather can stop that guy from grilling. He has a sweet deck with heaters and stuff all over it. Wait’ll you see it.”

“I probably won’t stay long.”

“I can drive you back after. I don’t mind.”

Harris had his eyes on the road, but he could sense Troy tense beside him. “I won’t ask you to do that.”

“You didn’t,” Harris said simply. “But the offer stands.”

Troy didn’t reply, and when they reached a red light, Harris glanced over and saw him chewing on his thumbnail, head turned toward the passenger-side window.

Harris had become used to palling around with NHL players over the past few years, so he wasn’t intimidated by having Troy in his truck. Parties like the one they were going to had become a normal part of Harris’s social life, and it occurred to Harris that Troy was the one who was uncomfortable right now. Who was probably nervous about hanging out with his new teammates, and was trying to hide behind a wall of indifference.

“It’s a great group of guys,” Harris said. “I’ve been working with and hanging out with most of them for a couple of years, and I don’t think there could possibly be a better team in the league when it comes to personalities.”

“Personalities don’t win cups,” Troy said bluntly. It sounded like he was repeating something a shitty coach had drilled into him.

“I don’t know about that. Camaraderie counts for something. I’d think it would be hard to win games if you hated your teammates.”

“Have you ever played hockey?”

A flash of embarrassment shot through Harris. “No.”

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