“Even tonight,” he offers before swallowing hard. “I know it probably wasn’t your favorite game, but you’re so powerful on the ice. And as big as you are, you’re so elegant on your skates. Because of you, I took up ice skating.”
“Yeah? You play hockey?”
He laughs softly. “No, nothing like that. Figure skating. I’m pretty good though.”
“That’s awesome. I guess you’d know something about elegance on skates.”
He nods shyly. “I’m Miguel.”
“Nice to meet you. Can I sign something for you?”
His eyes widen. “Oh, would you? That’s so nice. I didn’t know if it was okay to ask in this kind of environment.”
“I don’t mind.”
“Be right back.”
I watch Miguel hurry across the bar to a table where a mix of people are sitting. I notice his tight little ass as he bends over to dig in a bag. He’s cute. And eager. Possibly into guys. He’d be perfect, except… I blow out a breath. There’s no fucking way. Especially someone who’s a fan. Too tempting for him to tell his friends he hooked up with one of his idols.
That’s what makes Wraith so appealing. He doesn’t give a fuck about my profession. He just wants to get laid and get out of there. I wish he was in Denver tonight.
Shaking my head, I push those ridiculous thoughts away. I need to get him out of my head. He was just a casual hookup. Twice. Based on ease of access. It’s not like I’m gonna call him. It’s not like I even want to.
Miguel returns, gazing up at me with his big brown doe eyes. He produces a photograph of me in my uniform, posing menacingly with my arms crossed over my chest, a hockey stick resting on my hip. It’s a few years old, and it’s from the Pride Month theme we had at the arena. I’m wearing the Pride jersey, which made me feel like an absolute fucking fraud.
“I love this picture,” Miguel says. “It would be awesome to have it signed.” He produces a Sharpie for me.
“No problem.” I scribble my name across the bottom of the photograph as Miguel leans in to watch me. He smells good—floral and even a little feminine, but in a subtle way. He’s cutetoo, with his wavy brown hair and bright smile. I’m not even sure I would hook up with random fans if I was out though. Feels unprofessional. But it’s nice to think about.
I hand him the photo and he gazes down at it, letting his smile bloom. “Amazing. Thank you so much, Mr. Bouchard.”
“Just Bouche is fine. Good luck to you, and with your skating.”
“Aw, thanks.” He glances over his shoulder for a second before his expression switches to one of determination. “I just want to add that it’s really nice the way you and some of the other teams embraced Pride. It felt really nice to see the support.”
Fuck. This is why it bothers me so much that I’m not out. Guys like this would appreciate seeing themselves represented, but I’m a fucking coward.
“I’m glad to hear that. Our support is genuine. No one should be excluded from hockey because of who they love or are attracted to.”
Miguel smiles. “They say don’t meet your idols, but I’m very glad I met you. You’re exactly how I thought you’d be.”
“Thanks, but don’t idolize me. I’m just a man.”
“Oh, okay,” he says in a teasing tone. “I’ve taken enough of your time. Thank you again.”
He bounces off, gushing with his friends and showing them the picture.
“A fan?” Hen asks, appearing beside me.
“Yeah. He asked me to sign a photo.”
“And you did it? You must be in a better mood than you seem.”
Rolling my eyes, I turn and accept the beer he offers. “He seemed sweet and genuine. Didn’t have the heart to be a dick.”
“Aww, I knew you were a softy under all that tough exterior.”
“Shut the fuck up.” I chuckle to soften my words. “Strike out with the girls?”
