Thirty minutes later, we pile into Chirps, the sports bar and unofficial Magnets hangout just across the street from the arena. They typically expect us and a bunch of our fans after a home game, and there’s always a spot for us near the back by the dartboards.
Within minutes, we have pitchers of beer in front of us and I’m soaking up the excited chatter from my teammates. I don’t want to think about what I’ll do when this is over for me. I haven’t known anything but hockey since I was still a kid with acne and weirdly long legs. Coach tells me there are lots of sports-related opportunities for former players, especially well-known ones like me, but none of it appeals to me. I’m not coach material, and frankly, commentating feels like sitting around jerking off with a bunch of guys past our glory. No thanks.
I sip my beer, glancing around the bar. I could get laid. That would be nice. I’m in one hell of a dry spell since my last relationship ended, but it’s not like it is for the other guys. They can just talk to a pretty girl and take her home or to a hotel room. Not me. Nope. I had to be the guy who loves dick. Fuck knows I tried to like pussy, but my dick refused to get on board with that plan.
And no one knows. Not even Boone. Not because I’m ashamed of it—I’m not. It is what it is—but because every time I think about fessing up, there’s always some kind of incident that feels like an omen to stay quiet a little longer.
Two years ago it was a player coming out and subsequently getting traded three times before retiring at the ripe old age of twenty-three. Last year, it was the locker-room banter about a Hollywood movie star who came out and the shock it caused because he was such a leading man and had always been linked with beautiful women. Four months ago, it was the shitty reaction to a football player being outed kissing his partner at the hospital after his father passed. Someone had taken a private moment between two people and blasted it all over the internet. I know things are slowly getting better, but I don’t want my finalyear to be about my sexuality. I’m so close to retiring; I can wait a little longer. Then I won’t care who knows or what they say. I won’t be a distraction to the league or my team, and we can just keep winning.
But I would like to get laid before then. I glance around again, and my gaze lands on someone who seems a little out of place. He doesn’t look like a typical hockey fan or a guy who frequents sports bars. He’s dressed in a black sweater and dark jeans, with stylish boots on and a thick wool coat. A little nicer than what one would normally wear to a place like this or a game. His hair is long and reddish brown, tucked into a messy bun at the base of his neck, a few wisps escaping and framing his angular face nicely. I can’t tell his eye color from here, but I can see that he has a gorgeous mouth with full pink lips.
I drag my eyes away. There’s no way in hell a guy like that is into dudes, and even if he was, what could I do about that here?
Another guy appears next to him, handing him a beer. That guy is hot too, but in a different way, with sandy brown hair and piercing blue eyes I can see from across the room. He’s dressed in a similar fashion except he’s wearing a long black trench. They almost look like bodyguards or?—
“Are you checking out the two hit men by the bar?” Hen asks, bumping my arm with his. “They stand out.”
“I just noticed them. Hit men?”
“Mafia doesn’t quite fit, but it seems like something.”
“Yeah.” I sip my beer, glancing back just as the red-haired one meets my gaze. His expression softens and he offers me a subtle nod. Uh, didn’t expect that. I turn to Hen but gulp my beer down. “I think I’m gonna head out soon. I’m not feeling it tonight.”
Hen nods, squeezing my shoulder. “Boone is gonna be fine.”
I nod, even as my stomach tightens. “For sure.”
“Bouche!” one of the guys yells. “Come have a shot with us.”
“I got it,” Hen says, pushing me gently toward the door. “See you at practice.”
“Thanks, man.”
I slip through the crowd of people, hoping to go unnoticed. It’s not uncommon for a fan to follow us out hoping for an autograph or more.
I just want to get home, get out of this suit, and hopefully hear from Boone again so I have at least a little bit of hope of getting some sleep tonight.
