“You gonna hit me?” Fletcher challenged, becoming intrigued at the thought of having a friendly fade with Taylor. He tried to shove Taylor off him, but Taylor pinned him harder with a wild look in his eyes. Fletcher could feel his own heart beatingin his chest. Heat gathered in his stomach.
“Is that a yes?” Fletcher asked breathlessly, chest rising and falling.
Taylor shook his head and laughed. He playfully slapped Fletcher’s cheek before skating away.
“When are we stopping?” Taylor asked him after a few more laps. He followed Fletcher to the goal, where Fletcher grabbed it with one arm and kind of skated in place. He was out of breath again, though Taylor seemed completely fine. “I need to eat something soon or else something bad may happen…” he foreshadowed, trying to make himself sound mysterious. Fletcher rolled his eyes at him and grinned.
“I’m calling it quits. You’re too fast. I give up.”
“Awww. Don’t be a sore loser, Armstrong. You’ll catch up with me someday.” Taylor made a pouty face at him.
“That face is not as cute as you think it is,” Fletcher teased.
They skated off the ice and made their way back to the locker room. Fletcher cleaned off his skates and tried to decide between showering there or waiting until he got home. Deciding it would be too gross to drive in his car all sweaty, he reached into his bag and pulled out everything he needed for his shower. “Gonna hit the showers and head home,” he told Taylor, feeling like he needed to.
“Yeah, same.”
After successfully diverting his eyes away from a certain naked six-four hockey player who occupied the shower two down from him, he quickly slipped into his clean clothes.
It felt all too familiar the way they walked out to the athletic parking lot together like the time they did when they first met. And then as if the universe was trying to freak Fletcher out with a massive wave of nostalgia, Taylor threw his bag down on thesame bench and took a seat.
“Where’s your truck?” he asked him.
“She’s getting a realignment.” Fletcher thought it was cute the way Taylor referred to his truck as a “she.”
“Well, call Mommy Gretch and tell her you have a ride back,” Fletcher laughed.
They pulled out of the stadium lot. Fletcher’s stereo automatically started playing whatever classical song he had been listening to last.
“No way you listen to classical music,” Taylor snorted. He reached over and turned the volume down a few notches. It was definitely more baroque era, but at the expense of sounding like a nerd Fletcher bit his tongue.
Fletcher looked at him and grinned unabashedly. “Just wait until you find out I also listen to country.”
“Oh God. Pull over. Let me out. I’d rather walk.”
They didn’t get far before hitting what Fletcher assumed to be lunch-hour traffic. He pulled up the GPS on his phone to see if there was a detour available, but it turned out to be a huge twelve-car pileup.
“Looks like we’ll be stuck in traffic for a while,” he told Taylor, showing him how far the road was backed up.
“I’m so hungry,” he complained.
Fletcher could’ve probably pulled off and found a drive-thru to get food at, but he had a better idea.
“You can come home with me. I’ll feed you.”
“Really?” Taylor asked, raising his eyebrows. “Even after I made fun of your classical music?” Fletcher snorted.
“Really,” Fletcher responded with a smile.
* **
Fletcher had realized halfway through taking his shoes off that Taylor had never been in his apartment. He’d been across the hall at Douglas’ a bunch of times, but never his.
Taylor took his shoes off and put them down neatly next to Fletcher’s. He took a scan of his surroundings. “When it’s clear out you can see Mt. Rainier,” Fletcher told him.
“You have such a better view than Doug does,” he told him. “Well, any view is better than the parking lot of a Cheesecake Factory.”
Fletcher walked over to the kitchen and opened his fridge. “I have cauliflower crusts, tomato sauce, green peppers, fresh mozzarella…”
