Ridgeway scrubs a hand over my face. “If you weren’t such a good goalie, I’d want your head examined.”
“I can be a good goalie and mentally unstable.”
“I kinda think you have to be.” He picks up his drink and takes a sip. “So what’s this with you and Archangel?”
“The switching rooms?” I ask, annoyed that the rest of the team has heard. “It’s nothing. He’s being a bitch?—”
Ridgeway cuts me off. “You two aren’t in the same room?”
“Fuck.” I press my face into the bar and groan. “What did you hear?”
“Do you know how dirty that is?” Ridgeway grimaces.
“I’m trying to have a moment, not think about the bacteria content.” I dip my fingers into my beer and rub it on my forehead.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“Alcohol kills germs.” I tap my temple, then suck on my fingers and wink.
“The brain damage in goalies needs to be studied.” He pauses, trying to act normal, but he’s got one of those faces that gives away too much.
“Just fucking say it.”
“One of the Boston guys said you two were a thing.” Ridgeway glances to where Archangel is standing with a couple of the other guys, a couple of women, and one guy who’s as close as he can get to Archangel without touching him. Angel better get that motherfucker away. If I can fight off girls all night, he can deal with one fucking dude.
My lip curls in a silent snarl. I force my attention back to Ridgeway. “Who said?”
“Their goalie.”
I fucking knew Mark would.
“That fucking dick bag. He’s engaged to Archangel’s sister.”
“Seriously?” Ridgeway asks.
I have to make a choice. Tell Ridgeway it’s real, or say it’s a thing we are doing to his family. We talked about it coming out, but only kind of. The guys would understand if we were just trying to fuck with Mark and Steph, but the more people who know a secret, the more likely it will come out. I’m already not touching puck bunnies, and they’ve noticed. I won’t embarrass him.
“Yes. And he knows because…” I blow out a breath. “I’m Archangel’s date to the wedding. We’ve been together for a few months but haven’t said anything because we don’t want to make things weird with the rest of the guys, or for anyone to think it will affect our play,” I say, driving this boat full steam ahead.
He takes a beat to process my words before his expression turns hard. I brace myself for the negative reaction. “You better fucking rip off the Band-Aid if Mark is talking. The guys will feel betrayed and not trust you if you’re keeping shit from them. They’re already going to talk if you two aren’t rooming together.” He’s got a point.
“You think?”
He cocks his head, giving me aduhlook.
I know he’s right. “You think they’ll have an issue with it?”
He shrugs. “They don’t have an issue with Cox sucking the coach’s dick. So I don’t see why they’d have an issue with Archangel sucking yours.”
“I suck his dick too, or whatever,” I say, sounding weird but not liking the tone or inference about Archangel.
“I wasn’t—” He cuts himself off lifting a brow. “Why do I believe you two are together but also not at the same time?”
“Maybe we are saving ourselves until marriage.”
He spits out his drink laughing. “You just said you suck his dick or whatever. Like that wasn’t a weird way to put it.”
I wipe my eyes ignoring his comment. Thankfully, the bartender hands me a napkin. “Fucking rude.”
