I get on the bus. I’m not going to become a difficult player in my sixth year playing for the Blizzards.
I plop down on the row behind Daniela and pretend that thirty confused pairs of eyes are not staring at me.
Finally, Enzo rushes onto the bus. He looks terrible. His eyes are bloodshot, the skin under his eyes is dark. “I’m so sorry, Coach! It was difficult to leave.”
Coach nods sympathetically, which makes no sense. Who has a hard time leaving their place? That’s crazy. Like he had to really admire the crown molding or something? Or was he having lots of sex with whomever he has lots of sex with?
Probably lots of people want to have lots of sex with Enzo. They all probably want to strip him and kiss him and fuck him. Or have him fuck them. He’s an NHL athlete. He’s probably good at thrusting and rhythm. We definitely have rhythm on theice, and we hate each other. Imagine what he’s like with people he likes.
He did awesome in LA. He was picked to go to the Olympics, just like me. Evan and I are the only players from the Blizzards who’ve been.
“Take a seat next to Axel,” Coach says.
Enzo’s face falls. He looks around. Evan and Vinnie are sitting together, Finn and Noah are sitting together, and even Luke is sitting next to his boyfriend Sebastian, who looks notably un-NHLish in a rainbow scarf, velvet blazer, and earmuffs.
All the coaching staff are on the bus in addition to all the players. It’s full. There are probably other spaces available, but he doesn’t know them, and there’s no reason he has to walk down a few rows to find them.
“It’s fine,” I say.
The bus is too warm after the cold outside, the heating cranked to compensate for thirty soaked athletes, and Enzo strips off his coat.
His Under Armour shirt clings to every muscle, his stomach hard and firm, and I turn away as Enzo sits beside me. He smells of rain and salt and an unfamiliar scent—maybe mint or eucalyptus—that must come from his hotel room. Normally he smells like cedar and citrus, and I scowl.
I brace myself for Coach to turn around and yell at Enzo, but he doesn’t. Maybe he’ll do that in private. Enzo’s eyes flutter shut.
Right. Why should I expect small talk? Like how was the last three years of your life?
The bus swings out of the parking lot, then Enzo settles against me. I turn to him slowly, and huh, he’s already fast asleep.
His head is on my shoulder, and his whole body is leaning against me.
Finn turns to look at us. He grins and makes a heart shape with his hands. “You’re cuddling!”
“Shut up.”
Enzo is tired. This isn’t cuddling. Finn is obviously crazy.
The bus winds its way through Cambridge, heading toward the highway. The bus turns again, and Enzo topples into my lap, face first.
“You’re right.” Finn eyes Enzo. “That’s not cuddling. That’s third base.”
“It is not third base,” I whisper. “And be quiet. He’s sleeping!”
Enzo snores.
“See?” I look triumphantly at Finn, thankful that Sleeping Enzo is backing me up.
“Heh.” Finn nods, but he looks confused. Noah looks confused beside him.
I guess they don’t understand anything that isn’t a micronutrient or camera angle.
“That seems pretty intimate for two enemies,” Finn says.
“Whisper,” I mouth.
I look around. Sebastian is wearing earmuffs, and I gesture to Luke. I point at Sebastian’s earmuffs.
“Earmuffs?” I mouth.
