“That makes two of us.” I’ve dated guys since Layton, but nothing serious enough to be called a relationship.
Tanner comes back with Adam’s wine, necessitating another pause in our conversation. I swear, his timing is the absolute worst. Maybe I should have a talk with Jax about helping his partner improve his people-reading skills.
He doesn’t linger, I’ll give him that. He sets the wine down in front of Adam with a curt nod, gives me his best imitation of a smile, and returns to his post behind the bar. In his wake, he leaves an awkward silence, neither one of us sure what to say next.
“We’d have to be—careful,” Adam says finally. “It’s not that I’m not out. I mean, I am. My family knows I’m bi. My close friends. The people who matter. I’m just not sure I’m ready for the whole world to know.”
Well, the fantasy was nice while it lasted. “Been there, done that, dated that, not going there again.”
“It’s not a forever thing. But hockey culture can be toxically macho. And I’m still new to the Bulls. I don’t want to come out to the team until I’m more established.”
I should walk away before I get in any deeper with another guy who can’t be true to who he is. But curiosity—and my big mouth—get the better of me. “More established?”
He sips his wine before speaking, almost like he needs a little liquid courage. “I want people to know me first as Adam Serrano, kickass hockey player. Not Adam Serrano, bisexual hockey player.”
Liquid courage suddenly seems like a good idea. And screw sipping. I need a slug. I reach for my cider and down half of it in one gulp. “So, like, how long are we talking about? Weeks? Months?”
He takes another sip of wine, his eyebrows drawing together thoughtfully. “I dunno. Maybe until our game against Hartfield. That should give me enough time to make an impact on the ice and secure my position on the first line.”
“When is that?”
“Beginning of December. Right after Thanksgiving.”
My stomach sinks to my knees. “Thanksgiving? That’s more than a month away.”
He slumps in his seat, visibly defeated. “I get it. It’s a lot to ask. I understand if it’s too much. But I was hoping— ”
His voice trails off and he shakes his head.
The suspense is killing me. I have to know how that sentence ends.
“Hoping what?” I ask, holding my breath as I wait for his answer.
“That we could see where this goes.” His Adam’s apple bobs nervously in his throat. “I like you, Kolby. I liked kissing you. I think I’d like doing a lot more with you. I just need some time to figure that out without the entire Moo U student body all up in our business.”
When he puts it that way—
I polish off the rest of my cider and set the glass down with a too-loud thunk on the table. My hand itches to reach across the table and cover his, but I know that’s off-limits, so I try to telegraph my intent with my eyes.
“It’s a small campus. People talk. We’d have to be creative.” Sneaking around can be fun for a while. Eventually, it gets old. But a month? I can handle that.
I hope.
He sits up straighter, his eyes lightening and his lips lifting into the briefest of smiles, meant only for me. “Creative is good. But the hockey house is a no-go. Too many roommates. And I don’t have a car on campus.”
“Neither do I. But I live alone. In a spacious resident assistant’s dorm room suite. With a lock on the door.”
“Great.”
He picks up his glass and tosses back what’s left of his Sparrow Farm. I’m pretty sure a woman at the next table glares at him for this wine drinking faux pas—even Tanner knows you’re supposed to sip it, not chug it like cheap beer—but I’m past caring.
“So, uh, where do we go from here?” he asks.
I wink at him. Because that’s what I do when I get nervous. I wink. And I’m not sure I’ve ever been more nervous than I am right now. Not even when Layton and I were planning our escape.
“How about my place?”
11
