“If it is too much I will get someone else to do it,” Ilya teased. “D, do you want to design my tattoo?”
Dykstra grinned. “You want a stickman or a heart?”
Luca stood and stretched his back, twisting from side to side. “I am getting another beer.”
“Get a pitcher,” Ilya said. “We can share.”
“Oh,” Luca said, then he smiled. “Yes, okay.”
Now that the art show was over the other guys started to leave the table to mingle. By the time Luca returned with the pitcher and a stack of glasses, Ilya was the only one left.
“So,” Ilya said after Luca had sat down, “how are you enjoying being the fan favorite?”
Luca poured himself a beer. “I amnotthe favorite. You are, of course.”
“I am old news. You are new and exciting.”
“I am new and nervous. And probably disappointing.”
“Disappointing? How? You have been playing less than four months.”
Luca’s eyebrows rose above his glasses. “How many goals did you score in your first four months in the NHL?”
Ilya smiled and took a sip of beer. He didn’t need to answer. He was sure Luca knew.
Luca sighed. “I should not compare myself to...” He waved a hand at Ilya. “Of course you are the best.”
“Of course,” Ilya agreed playfully.
Luca leaned forward, and for the first time Ilya noticed that he did seem a bit drunk. “I had your poster on my wall. When I was a kid.”
“When you were a kid,” Ilya teased. “Like when? Last year? Four months ago?”
Luca huffed and took a sip of beer.
“Which poster was it? Did I look handsome?”
“You always look—” Luca’s cheeks flushed bright red. “It was just a hockey picture. With all your gear.”
Ilya mentally filed that slip-up underInteresting. “Is the poster still on your wall?” he asked. “Be honest.”
“No.”
“Did you bring it with you? I can sign it if you like.”
Luca laughed and shook his head. “Yes. I have it over my bed,” he said sarcastically.
“This will be distracting for people you are trying to have sex with.”
Luca laughed again, this time more of a shocked sputter. “Maybe that is the problem.”
Ilya leaned in. “Problem?”
“Nothing. I was joking.” Luca pressed his lips together and looked away, as if deciding whether or not to admit something. Then he said, to his beer, “It is hard to meet people to, um, do that with. Lately.”
Ilya had not expected to be pulled into a conversation about sex with his rookie, but he supposed he was an expert. “Is it? Do you go out? Or use apps? I am sure most of Ottawa wants to fuck you.”
Luca coughed. “That is, um—I have tried apps a bit, yes.”
