Page 50 of Role Model

It was over. The two teams wouldn’t meet again until February, and Troy would make sure he was less of a mess by then. For now, he would put this one behind him, and focus on their next game in New York.

Troy knew it was Ilya Rozanov knocking on his hotel room door before he opened it. There was a confidence to his knocking that matched the confidence he did everything else with.

“Get your coat,” Ilya said.

“Why?”

“We are in New York and we are going out. I am meeting friends and you should come.”

“Where? Why?”

“A bar. And because you need to have fun.”

Well, Troy could think of worse things than going to a bar in New York with Ilya Rozanov. “Okay. One sec.”

The taxi took them a short distance into a neighborhood that had a lot of rainbow flags.

“Is this...” Troy started, then stopped. “Where are we going?”

“The bar that Scott Hunter and Eric Bennett own. Is nice, sort of.”

Okay. Wait. Troy knew that Hunter and Bennett bought a bar together, but... “Isn’t it a gay bar?”

Ilya frowned at him. “Is that a problem?”

“No! No, I didn’t mean—I’m just—” Troy shook his head. He wasn’t against gay bars, obviously. He’d just never been to one. And now he was going to go to his first gay bar with Ilya Rozanov, apparently. “Just surprised. I didn’t even know you liked Hunter.”

Ilya made a face. “He is okay. But you are in love with him, so I thought you would like this.”

“I’m not in love with him,” Troy grumbled as the cab came to a stop in front of a pub called the Kingfisher. A minute later, Ilya was holding the door of the bar open, and Troy had to force his feet to move, and to not let his panic show on his face.

The bar didn’t look much different inside from any other tavern Troy had gone to. A little nicer, maybe, and decorated for Christmas. There were flat-screen televisions showing sports, pop music playing, and pitchers of beer sitting on dark wood tables surrounded by people talking and laughing. Regular bar stuff. The patrons were mostly men, which wasn’t unusual for a sports bar, but the fact that most of those men were probably attracted to men was kind of blowing Troy’s mind. And making him feel queasy.

There were a few flags and decals around the bar that designated it as a queer-friendly space; not just the rainbow Pride flag, but a few others that Troy had seen before, but wasn’t sure exactly what they represented. Because no one knew less about his own community than he did.

Ilya led him to a round table in one corner with a reserved sign on it. Troy hoped the table was meant for them because he wouldn’t put it past Ilya to claim it anyway. As soon as they sat down, a very attractive blond man who looked about Troy’s age came over.

“Hey, boys,” the man said. “Eric said he and Scott will be here soon.” He smiled at Rozanov. “Hi, Ilya.”

Ilya nodded at him. “Kyle. The place looks better.”

“All the bar needed was a little hard work and some rich new owners who gave a shit. Here.” He slid something across the table to Ilya. “New cocktail menu. Changes monthly.”

Ilya glanced at it. “You still have beer, yes?”

They both ordered lagers, and Kyle left to fetch them. Troy had already told himself that he was only going to have one beer, first because they were playing a game tomorrow night, and second because there was no way he was getting anywhere near drunk when he was in a gay bar for the first time. With a group of his fellow NHL players.

He still didn’t understand why they were here. Sure, Scott Hunter, the superstar captain of the New York Admirals, owned it with recently retired superstar Admirals goaltender, Eric Bennett, but hockey players owned lots of ridiculous businesses. If Troy patronized them all he’d never drink anything except terrible wine from their vineyards.

Troy’s gaze kept traveling over the room. There were a lot of handsome men in the bar tonight. Tall, fit men. Distinguished-looking older men. Young pretty men. Big burly men. It was a tantalizing buffet. And one that Troy wasn’t going to pay any attention to.

Kyle brought their drinks just as Scott and Eric arrived. A man who Troy recognized as Scott’s husband, Kip, was with them.

“I’m just saying hi,” Kip told the table. “I’ll let you hockey boys have your private time.” He turned to Troy. “You’re new.” His gaze traveled over Troy in a blatantly assessing way. “Damn. How do you play hockey and stay that pretty?”

“Hey!” Scott said with mock offense.

Kip laughed and offered Troy his hand. “Kip. Nice to meet you.”

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