Harrison chuckled at the amusing image that popped into his head, but abruptly stopped and shifted his smile into a frown. “You invited Fraser here. You should be dealing with him.”
Arlo shrugged. “It’s you he wants to hang out with. I invited Jett for Jett, not me.”
“Your distraction methods aren’t working,” said Harrison, just in time for the sound of something crashing in the direction of his bedroom to drown out the music on the speakers.
“Sounds to me like they are,” said Arlo, nodding toward the noise, silently telling Harrison to ensure Fraser was still alive.
“I’m going to kill him.” Harrison left the kitchen and stomped to his bedroom, giving Fraser only seconds to get out of his stuff before he found him.
Arlo’s laugh chased him to his bedroom, where he found Fraser on his hands and knees, his ass shamelessly high in the air while he dug something out from under the bed.
Fuck. Whoever invented grey sweatpants could go right to hell. Harrison had seen more than his fair share of hockey butts, but the sight of Fraser bent over like an invitation momentarily stunned him in the doorway.
“I found it, I found it, I found it.”
Fraser’s voice was muffled, but Harrison could easily make him out. He had no idea what the blond minx had found that excited him, but Harrison had heard enough.
He walked over and grabbed Fraser’s ankles, tugging him from under his bed in one fluid motion. Fraser squeaked as he was rolled onto his back, blinking at Harrison in confusion while keeping a death grip on…a hockey stick?
“I have a wood chipper in my backyard,” said Harrison.
Fraser’s eyes widened, and he clutched the stick to his chest. “No, don’t! I want it! I’ll pay you for it.”
Harrison groaned, his mood quickly worsening when the same pain that Arlo gave him between his eyes sprang into life.
No. He couldn’t handle two of them.
“I wouldn’t put the damn stick in the wood chipper. The stick is worth something to me.”
“Oh, thank fuck.” He watched Fraser sit and trace his fingers over the rainbow colours painted on the wood. “This was from that Pride event in Halifax. I saw you holding it in the parade. This stick is worth something to me too.”
Harrison raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”
Fraser let out a sheepish little chuckle. “Yeah, I saw you holding this stick and wearing your rainbow jersey, and something came over me. I turned to my dad and said,I’m gay. No lead-up or easing into it. This damn stick, and the idiot carrying it gave me all the courage I needed to get the words out.”
“Huh, I can’t tell if I’ve been complimented or insulted, but I’ll let it go for now.”
Not that he had the words to verbally spar right now after Fraser had just admitted he was gay, like it was nothing. Harrison suspected he wasbecause he’d seen him use rainbow tape during games, but hearing the words out loud was different.
Damn it, and now he was getting distracted by gold-brown eyes and blond curls. Fraser was gorgeous even with the black eye overshadowing his golden features. Was Fraser talking? Did he ask a question?
Harrison was suddenly very aware of how small Fraser looked below him, his pale eyelashes brushing over his cheekbones as he blinked up at him.
“What?”
Fraser rolled his eyes. “Isaid,” he paused, and Harrison made sure to listen this time, “it was a compliment. And I also said thank you, for you know, being gay.”
“Being gay?”
Fraser licked his dry lips. His cheeks were burning red. “For being you, I mean. For giving others like me courage and all the other amazing things I can’t think of to say because I’m not the most articulate guy in the world.”
“You’re fine, Fraser,” said Harrison, holding out his hand so that he could pull him up.
“Call me Jett,” said Fraser. “I hear my last name so often I’m starting to forget what my first name is.”
“I’ll think about it.” Harrison looked at his now messy closet, courtesy of the blond puckhead looking at him, and sighed. “And if you do what you’re told and stop snooping around my fucking house, you can keep the stick.”
Fraser’s eyes went wide. “Really?”
