He doesn’t have to be looking at me to feel the eye roll. “About what?”
“How you can roll your eyes while crying is wild.”
He finally pulls back from my chest enough to look at me. “What are you confused about?”
“Why can’t I fake being your boyfriend the whole season?”
He looks at me like I’ve lost the plot.
I press my lips together and stand my ground. “Why not?”
“Because this is your senior year and you’re about to go into the draft. Are you daft? Did you take a puck to the head and not tell me?”
“So? That doesn’t mean it will be public.” I tighten my arms around him when he tries to pull away. He’s the only person who’s ever felt like home, and I’d do anything for him.
“What if he leaks it?” He keeps fighting my hold.
“You’re not winning.” I glare. “He won’t, but if he does, who cares?”
Angel gives up and leans into me. “This is your career. What you’ve been working for your whole life.”
I get all warm and fuzzy. “I know your family. They don’t want anyone to know you’re gay. They don’t talk about this stuff. There is no way they will let him say a word. The embarrassment it would cause them, and your sister would be livid.”
“I hate you a little for being right.” He’s frowning, and I know he’s going to keep fighting me on this.
“Don’t make me go without DP for the rest of the season because I have to buy myself a ticket to go home with you for the shower.”
Angel narrows his eyes, clearly annoyed.
“I will do it. Don’t try to call my bluff. You and I will both deal with the consequences of that, and that will put me more at risk with the draft than anything else.”
He scoffs. “Ain’t that the fucking truth.”
“So I’m going with you to the shower.” It’s the last thing I want to do. I’d spent very little time in the town we grew up in since leaving there. The last thing I want to do is run into my mother, which is hard to avoid in a town that small. But it’s worth it for him.
He hesitates for a moment, and I think I got him until he says, “You haven’t thought this through and all the complications that come with it.”
“What haven’t I thought through?” I say with the confidence of a man who’s not intoxicated and maybe spent months thinking about it.
He gives me a flat look I deserve, but it’s still rude as fuck. He wrestles out of my grip and goes to the mirror, dabbing his lips.
“What do you think I haven’t thought of? I’m in a gay club! I’m not scared of being perceived.” I cross my arms, standing behind him, refusing to give him space or even a way to look away from me.
He looks at me in the reflection. “How are you going to hook up with other people if we’re dating?”
“That’s a good question.”
He waits, clearly expecting an answer.
“How are you going to hook up with other people?” I ask, turning it around on him, and yes, I know I’m being toxic.
“No one will be paying attention to me. It’s you who they’ll be paying attention to.” Archangel throws back, and he’s right.
“You’ve been gay this whole time, and it’s been fine.”
“I’m not expected to be at the top of the draft.” He acts like if he keeps pointing it out he’ll somehow win.
“I’m not expected to be at the top of the draft,” I grumble back at him. “I’m a goalie. We are never the top.”
