I don’t knowwhy I’m fucking flirting with this man right now. It’s dangerous. Far too fucking dangerous. I’m slipping. I can’t afford to. But god, I love the way he smirks at me. It’s sensual and sexy as fuck.
He licks his lips and I can tell he’s considering his response. We’re bordering on far too fucking inappropriate if overheard. Guys banter, I know that. We can likely play it off. But I think there are probably far too many casual shots of us staring at each other to successfully convince anyone it’s just teasing.
Maybe we can run the story of a new bromance. We’re forced to room together and have found common teasing ground in hockey. Giving each other a hard time. Trying to mess with the other’s mental game.
He’s a damn good player or he wouldn’t be here right now. I have a suspicion he’s not as used to compartmentalizing being attracted to those around him as much as I am. Lo’s said that the only people who know he’s gay are those who have zero ties to hockey. Which tells me hockey players either aren’t his usual type and therefore he doesn’t often face attraction to those around him. Or I’m really getting to him.
Whereas I am constantly reminding myself that these men are my colleagues, and I will not think of them in any other capacity. Most of the time when I find someone in hockey attractive now, it’s barely a mental acknowledgement. A note of,oh, he’s hot, and then that shit gets stuffed in a box in the back of my mind, never to be looked at again.
“It’s a new stick,” he comments at last, tapping his stick on the ice. “I’m still quite fascinated with how shiny and new it is. Been a bit distracting.”
I chuckle and sit back a bit to look around.
“My bet is on Max,” he says. “That man’s going to bring it home.”
“No argument there.” I shake my head, and look to where Max is still out talking to the TV anchors. He has a big smile on his face, but there’s a calmness that’s new in recent years. Not something that I recognize in Max yet.
His air of recklessness is no more. He can still be high energy, but he’s far more reserved than he was previously. It’s a good look on him, even if it’s still a jarring change.
“He deserves it,” Noah says, flashing us a smile.
A sick feeling rolls in my stomach that maybe he heard us kinda, sorta flirting. I hold my breath but then berate myself. Out of anyone who could overhear us, Noah isn’t going to be one to say anything.
I pay a lot of attention to all the LGBTQIA+ athletes from a distance. Which means reading a lot of articles and social media accounts. Noah is probably one of the quietest; so I’m confident he’s going to keep whatever he hears to himself. On more than one occasion, I’ve heard and read interviews with him where they’re asking about someone else, and his comment is always ‘that’s not my place to say.’
It’s always made me a Noah fan.
Everyone outside of the top eight leaves the ice. The goalies come out onto the ice and I watch them as they warm up. Stretch and do sexy little pelvic humps toward the ice. Yep, always sexy. The videos where there’s someone’s voiceover saying ‘you want to know why we watch hockey? This right here. Why is no one talking about it?’ is always over players stretching. Frogs and downward dogs. The hip thrusts to the ice.
I mean, I see it. I’d watch hockey for the stretching too. Like it or not, it’s hot. Meh, not sorry.
The one-on-one goalie shootout is pretty straight forward. There are two sets of pucks, the first five are worth one point each and must be played first. The line of pucks on the blue line are worth two points. There’s a minute to shoot as many as possible and make as many shots as possible.
We’re on our feet now in a line opposite the goalies. They’re announced one at a time and I make an internal prediction on who the last two goalies are going to be. Azure for sure. Maybe Lamar.
I’ve got some time to wait, so I get comfortable on a knee and watch as Avianna asks Ivanovich who he’s choosing.
“I choose Drick,” he says.
“Ah, staring him down. Right across from you. Why did you choose Drick?”
“He in front of me. Seems good reason.”
Avianna laughs. “Good reason. Okay.”
They get in position, and I watch how this is going to go down. It’s straightforward as far as shooting goes. Ivanovich does okay, ending with nine points. Jirí does not do as well, only gaining two. I cringe.
Up next is Mattias Jönsson.
“Why are you choosing Trustein?”
“I cannot score against others on breakaways. Not good. Best odds for me.”
Avianna chuckles.
I shake my head. He gets through the five one-points quickly, sinking two, then ends with six points. As they’re skating back this way, I overhear Trustein say, “Stopped more than you attempted, buddy.”
Mattias doesn’t respond until he meets my eyes, while I hold my glove out to him. “Good thing I do not speak English. Just noise from Trustein.”
