He hadn’t come out of the night any more sure about Quentin than he had been at the start, but he felt that if he hugged Quentin, he’d be giving something away about himself, and he couldn’t risk that.
“Goodnight, Quentin,” he said.
Quentin offered a small smile. “Goodnight, Joel. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Okay,” Henri said when Joel left, “What in the world? What was that? Are you two best friends now?” There wasn’t an ounce of jealousy in his question, just mystification.
Quentin couldn’t look at Henri. He was nervous and embarrassed, and he didn’t like that he was embarrassed. “He told me he was in Tampa, and I invited him over to watch a movie.”
“That’s nice,” Henri said. “Sarcasm aside, youareactually friends now?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
Henri sat on his bed and faced Quentin. “I’m glad. He seems like a nice guy, and I think it’s a sweet friendship.” He looked like he might be about to say something more, but he didn’t.
Quentin’s heart was racing when he finally went to bed.
Chapter 12
Joel & Quentin
Joel was excited to go to the hockey game, which was never something he thought he’d say. Quentin’s manager, Billy Rasmussen, had arranged for a private box. Joel took Harlan and Shivonne with him.
The Minutemen were playing the Tampa Bay Gators. Joel read about both teams beforehand, and he had Harlan find him a Minutemen jersey that he could wear to show his support.
“The fans are going to love this,” Harlan said when Joel put the jersey on with a pair of jeans. “You look like a real hockey fan.”
“Maybe I’ll become a real hockey fan.”
“I’d love to see that.”
The Gators were a good team. They won several Cups in the last decade, and it was going to be a popular game with a lot of fans there. Joel’s presence at the game was well-publicized, and he went to the game with a team of bodyguards and signed autographs beforehand, though he made sure to always explain that he was here for the hockey and he didn’t want to take away from their thunder, and he hoped that his fans would stay for the game.
“I hear it’s gonna be a good one!”
“I hear your boyfriend is gonna be here,” said Dorsey, one of the other Boston players, to Quentin as they were getting ready in the locker room.
Quentin froze. “What?”
“Joel Beckett,” Dorsey said with a laugh that was almost harsh. Quentin didn’t like Dorsey very much. He was a good player, but he wasn’t always kind. He had an old-fashioned approach to hockey and enjoyed a crass version of locker room talk that Quentin didn’t like and didn’t approve of.
“He’s my friend,” Quentin said. “Not my boyfriend.” He was conscious of other guys on the team tuning into their conversation, including Henri. “There’d be nothing wrong if hewere,” Quentin said, gripping his stick to hide that his hands were shaking. “So, I don’t appreciate comments like that.”
Dorsey held up his hands in surrender. “Just making a joke, dude.”
“Jokes like that aren’t funny,” Quentin said. He was angry at Dorsey and was trying to keep his temper.
Dorsey rolled his eyes, and Quentin decided to let it slide. They were here to beat the Gators, and they were going to win.
Joel had a hard time following the game at first, but Shivonne proved to know hockey pretty well, and helped him understand what was happening on the ice. She explained the concept of lines, helped him understand who was playing when, and pointed out Quentin when he was on the ice.
Quentin played incredibly, scoring once and assisting on another goal. Joel cheered loudly for him. Both times, the cameras cut to show him in his box with Harlan and Shivonne, and the crowd let out a roar whenever they saw him.
“He’s a genius on the ice,” Joel said, beginning to fully appreciate Quentin’s hockey skill. He played a respectful game and wasn’t involved in any fights on the ice.
Boston won the game 2-1, and the celebration on the ice afterward was respectful, but rowdy.
“Jesus, they’re good,” Harlan said as they began to pack up their stuff in the suite. They were supposed to head back to Orlando tonight, even though it was already late.
