Page 81 of Role Model

Tommy Andersson was a good goalie, but Troy faked him out easily, dangling the puck and getting it over Andersson’s outstretched leg.

It was a highlight reel goal for sure.

His linemates were on top of him a second later. Bood jostled his helmet and said, “I like those show-off goals of yours a lot more when we’re on the same team.”

After the game, most of the team went to celebrate at a bar called Monk’s that Troy learned was a team favorite. It was an older tavern in the Glebe, not far from Troy’s apartment.

Troy was sitting at a table with Evan Dykstra, Wyatt, and Wyatt’s wife, Lisa. Quite a few wives and girlfriends had shown up at the bar, which Troy thought was cool. In Toronto, there’d been an unspoken no-partners rule for most team celebrations.

“I just ended my shift and I’ve never needed a beer more,” Lisa said after her first sip. “If I fall asleep in a minute, just ignore me.”

Wyatt wrapped an arm around her and kissed the top of her head. “Let me know when you want to leave, champ. We can continue the celebrations at home.”

She shoved his chest lightly. “My celebrations involve a shower and bed.”

He waggled his eyebrows. “Mine too.”

Evan laughed. “I think Caitlin fell asleep hours ago. She said she was going to watch the game, but her texts stopped after the first period.”

“I don’t blame her,” Lisa said sympathetically. “How is Susie doing?”

Evan lit up and started talking at length about his one-year-old daughter. Lisa smiled as she listened, but Troy noticed her snuggling closer into Wyatt, her eyelids growing heavier.

Troy scanned the bar to see what everyone else was up to. Ilya was loudly trash-talking Bood as they played pool. A rowdy table full of the younger players was littered with empty pitchers, which probably wasn’t good.

Then he spotted Harris at the bar, and he stopped looking anywhere else. He hadn’t noticed Harris come in, but he wasn’t surprised that he was here. He was wearing a denim shirt, the sleeves rolled up to show off his forearms.

And he was talking to a very tall and attractive dark-haired man. Smiling at him. Laughing. And the other man was smiling and laughing too.

Troy’s jaw clenched. He had no claim on Harris, obviously, but seeing him with another man made Troy realize that he’d been hoping to go home with Harris himself tonight.

He pushed back from the table and went to the bathroom. Maybe by the time he returned Harris would already have left with Johnny Handsome.

The bathroom was empty when he walked in. He parked himself at a urinal, and as he was opening his fly, the door opened behind him.

“Barrett,” said Ilya Rozanov’s voice.

Ilya sidled up to the urinal next to Troy, which was...cozy. Ilya was a weird guy, though, so it made sense.

“Having fun?” Ilya asked.

“Um.”

“At the bar. Not in here.”

“Yeah, sure.” Troy tried to finish up as quickly as possible, but he’d drunk a lot of beer.

“Feels good to win.” Ilya finished first, zipped himself up, and headed for the sinks. “To have something to celebrate.”

“Hey, uh.” Troy got himself tucked away and followed Ilya. “That speech before the game... I don’t think we would have won without it.”

“Everyone worked hard tonight,” Ilya said as he inspected himself in the mirror. “You did a good job today.”

“It was a pretty nice goal,” Troy admitted.

“Not the goal. The posts you made. Instagram. It was good shit, Barrett.”

“Oh. I didn’t know you saw those.”

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