I’m still looking for her when I spot Kolby. He’s at a table on the far side of the restaurant with a guy I recognize from class. Josh, I think his name is. One thing I’m sure of, though, is that Might-be-Josh is sitting way too close to Kolby. And is it my imagination, or are they holding hands?
My own hands clench into fists at my sides. I want to march up to them and demand an explanation. Then I remember I’ve got less than zero right to demand anything. I can’t go acting all possessive over a guy I can’t—or won’t—acknowledge in public as my boyfriend.
But I can skulk in the shadows and wait until he goes to the bathroom when he’ll have to break the seal after a few drinks. It won’t be my proudest moment. But I’m desperate, and I can’t think of a better way to get him alone, away from Might-Be-Josh.
I track down our waitress and pay my bill, nursing my now lukewarm beer and half-listening to my teammates relive tonight’s game while I keep tabs on Kolby and Might-Be-Josh out of the corner of my eye. I try to be stealthy, but I’m no James Bond. At one point I can swear Kolby sees me, but he doesn’t meet my gaze or acknowledge me in any way, which makes my insides twist even tighter.
It seems to take forever but it’s probably more like ten minutes before Kolby disentangles himself from Might-Be-Josh and heads for the back of the restaurant, where the restrooms are. I make my way through the crowd as fast as I can—the Biscuit is always packed after our home games—catching up to him as his hand hits the restroom door.
“Kolby,” I pant, realizing for the first time how out of breath I am. Not from physical exertion—hell, I’m a world-class athlete, I can navigate a busy restaurant without breaking a sweat—but from sheer terror. What if he won’t talk to me? What if I can’t make this right? “Hold up.”
“Oh, so now you want to talk?” He turns to face me, but I almost wish he hadn’t when I see his eyes. There’s a harshness, a coldness I’ve never seen in them before. “What’s the matter? Surprised I’m here and not back in my sad, lonely dorm room jacking off while I dream about you?”
Crap. A small part of me was holding out hope that he hadn’t overheard Slags and I was imagining his reaction. No such luck. “I’m sorry you had to hear that.”
“It’s not your stupid friend’s insensitive comment that hurt me. It stung a little, but I’m used to that kind of stuff. What really tore me up was the way you just stood there and let him say it.”
“I know.”
A guy comes out of the bathroom, forcing us to step to the side. I lean against one wall of the narrow hallway where the restrooms are located, and Kolby takes a spot against the other one opposite me.
His body posture screams, “I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take it any more”—crossed arms, clenched jaw, the vein throbbing in his neck. But he’s still here, and that’s got to mean something, right? He didn’t take one look at me and run away.
“Is that all you have to say?” He tilts his head and cocks an eyebrow at me. It’s criminally unfair how sexy he is, even pissed off. Maybe especially pissed off. “Because if it is, I have a date to get back to. I don’t want to keep Josh waiting.”
I was right. The asshole’s name is Josh. But that’s not the word that guts me. That honor belongs todate. Not that I can really blame Kolby for hitting below the belt after how I acted tonight. Josh isn’t the only asshole in the house.
“When I saw you at the arena, I was stoked. I know hockey’s not your thing, but you came to see me play, and I was flattered.”
I swear under my breath and kick the cinderblock wall behind me with my heel. This isn’t coming out the way I want it to. I’m not great with words, even at my best moments. And this is far from one of my best moments.
“No, flattered’s not the right word. More like touched. I’m not used to people going out of their way to cheer me on at my games. Unless they’re related to me. Or want something from me.”
Kolby barks out a harsh, wry laugh. “You have a funny way of showing it.”
“I don’t know what happened. One minute I was flying high, the next I just froze.”
“Really?” His eyebrow arches impossibly higher, disappearing beneath his bushy bangs. “Because I can tell you exactly what happened. You didn’t want your hockey buddies to know you’re friends with the gay guy. Much less screwing him.”
“It wasn’t like that,” I protest weakly. But he’s right. It was exactly like that.
“Then prove it.” He waves his arm wildly in the direction of the dining area. “Walk out there with me right now and introduce me to your teammates.”
I hesitate, and that half-second pause is all it takes for him to crumple right before my eyes.
“That’s what I thought.”
He slumps against the wall, defeated. Then he runs a shaky hand through his shaggy hair, his eyes darting around the hallway like he wants to make sure no one else is close enough to overhear him before he says whatever it is he’s going to lay on me.
“Look, I didn’t come to your game to put you on the spot. You weren’t even supposed to know I was there. And I didn’t come here tonight to give you an ultimatum. It’s not my place to dictate when and how you come out to your friends. Only you can decide that.”
He takes a deep breath and rubs the back of his neck. I know what’s coming next, only I don’t know how to stop it.
“But this isn’t working for me. I thought I could handle keeping our relationship a secret, but I can’t. I wasted two years on a guy who made me play pretend in public, and I’m not going down that road again.”
Two years? And I thought I had it bad with Chase. That only lasted a few months before we got caught and he flipped out. I want to ask Kolby more about what went down with his ex, but I know this isn’t the time.
“What about our skating lessons?” I ask instead, clinging to something, anything, to maintain some thin thread of connection between us. “We haven’t even started to work on swizzles. Or turning.”
