“I appreciate it then,” he says, quieter now. I think I’d move closer if we weren’t already touching in a few different places. The buzz of the bar is loudly alive all around us. “I wasn't expecting compliments tonight. At least not from—”
“From?”
He studies me briefly and takes a sip. “From someone who doesn’t know me.”
“Well, sure. If you usually grab takeout without sitting down for a beer, you don’t give most strangers a chance to say anything at all.”
“I’m not even sitting now, and yet—”
I laugh, my head tipping backward until my entire face must be on display, my hat unable to grant me privacy when I don't look down. If this guy figures out who I am, he doesn’t say. I’m grateful because I’m usually recognized most at the times I want it the least. Plenty of hockey players—orformerhockey players in my case—can go to a bar with little trouble, and in Southern California there are enough celebrity sightings to keep gawkers busy. But the winning combination of my mouth, my looks, and my talent meant I was splashed all over the place for a while. Attention was heaped on me when I didn’t know how to beg for anything else.
I still haven’t learned. I drop my head again and offer a grin he may not be able to see. “No, you’re not. Would you like me to give you my seat so we can talk, or is that not something you’re used to either?”
“You tell me,” he says with a shrug. “You seem to be the expert on all of this.”
“All of this?” I echo, shaking my head. “If you’re talking about giving compliments and how to surrender a seat I was lucky enough to snag first, no, I’m really not. I’ve been told I’m too arrogant and selfish for that.”
“Told by whom?”
My parents, my ex, a few coaches and teammates, most rivals. The media often. Fans more than I would’ve liked. Never Kai or Harper, but they’ve always been the exception, not the rule.
“Enough people to have convinced me before I knew any better.”
He frowns, then chases it with beer. “I'm not sure the majority is supposed to rule on that sort of thing.”
The majority flits in and out of my life these days, so I don’t argue the point. I also don’t know if there’s a reason to keep the conversation going after I’ve let that much slide. Sure, this guy is attractive. He makes me smile. He’s willing, maybe, to defend me against things that could’ve been my fault. His eyes haunt and heal. And he’s nice enough to talk to me without needing a selfie to prove we were here together.
He’s nice enough that he could be an exception, too.
But something feels really good where my leg brushes his—or maybe it’s the other way around—and I already know there are too many ways I might end up hurt if I don’t move away from him soon. I note the warning ache in my heart and my lungs and somewhere more damning than either of those. It's a chronic thing that can’t have anything to do with him when he’ll disappear from my life tonight.
How could I ask for more when I don’t know whether he’s into men?
How could I ask for more when even the greediest gossip sites have never found proof thatIam?
Then he leans into me a little more, and my breath hitches, embarrassing me in a way I can’t explain. Kai catches my eye, and I want to reassure him I’m fine, but I’m only sitting here with a beer and a stranger. There’s no reason for me to be anything else. When a couple of guys near the front door get into it with another bartender, Kai throws a lime wedge at my head and turns to deal with the chaos.I do my best to keep staring at the blank space he’s left behind.
“Are you guys friends? Or do you just come here often enough to get fruit thrown at you by the people who work here?”
“Both, actually.” I shift to put a couple of inches between us and ignore the flicker of loss I pretend he might’ve felt. “For all the time we’ve spent apart over the years, Kai’s been the constant. I don’t remember my life without him in it. I was also hanging out here long before I could legally drink. His dad owned the bar ‘til he died, and Kai and I grew up here because, most of the time, I liked it better than being at home.”
“Shitty parents?” he asks.
“Single-minded parents,” I amend. I can’t explain more than that without getting into a past I’ve been trying to dodge tonight. I pick up my bottle and make a vague gesture with it. “They’re fine. I’m fine. But when I was a kid, this was one of my favorite hiding places.”
“Are you still hiding now?”
For a second, I think he knows, and I can’t breatheagain, but there’s no recognition—only curiosity that could keep me here forever. “I can’t imagine what good that would do.”
“I’m glad you—”
Whatever he’s glad about remains a mystery when we’re interrupted by the sound of shattered glass from the other end of the bar and half a dozen shouts to go with it. I get rocked by a rush of adrenaline I hate in this context, mostly because I know how to fight, and I know I can’t do it here. The feeling rolls into panic when I try to stay entirely still instead. Even with a more immediate concern in front of him, Kai hisses at me and jerks his head toward the back door.
Everything becomes a blur then, or maybe things I don’t understand have made themselves clear. Once my beer bottle has fallen from my hand, I’m free to grab the man next to me and tug him awayfrom the brewing brawl. He’s clumsier than I am when it comes to running from a fight, but the questions he’s asked for the past several minutes stop when he follows me without a word. There’s relief in not having to explain myself as we go. The bar isn’t all that big, so I lead us past the bathrooms and around a couple of corners. I shove my hip into the crash bar on the back door, but I’ve forgotten how easily it opens. We tumble into the alley behind the building, my grip on his forearm just enough to steady us both.
The cool air is jarring after being somewhere that had become warm without my knowledge. I pause to adjust to the dark when I let him go. My pulse is so loud in my ears, but maybe silent to the man staring at me now.
“That was—”
