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“You don’t get anything,” I whispered hotly.

I didn’t give two shits if this fuck wit knew about me, but I’d be good god-damned if my reaction inadvertently outed Cally.

“I see more than people give me credit for, actually,” he whispered, his tone suddenly subdued. He lifted two fingers to his brow and gave me a quick salute, stepping back. “Nice forecheck on Tuesday, Porter. Keep it up.”

Before I could process the rapid shift in conversation, he sauntered off toward the kitchen, whistling like he didn’t have a care in the world, and leaving me standing there completely off-balance.

Fuck. I needed Cally.

I glanced around, saw that no one seemed to have been paying attention to our interaction, then grabbed a bottle of cheap bourbon someone had brought from a nearby bar cart and rushed down the hallway, toward the room he’d entered, to find him hunched over on the edge of a king-sized bed, his shoulders curling in on themselves.

He looked up when I closed the door and turned the lock into place. “Brought this,” I said, extending the bottle toward him.

“Thanks.” He twisted off the cap and took a long swig straight from the bottle. He grimaced as he swallowed, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and handed the bottle back to me.

I took a long pull myself, feeling the burn flow down my throat and settle in my chest, then my belly.

“I fucked up, Cal,” I muttered, sitting down next to him, our shoulders touching. “I just threatened Will.”

Cally let out a quiet huff and shook his head. “Fucking idiot.”

A hot flush of shame coursed through me. “The guy was completely out of line, talking about you like—” I cut myself off, blowing out a long breath as I tried to regain my footing. “Look, I know I shouldn’t have lost my temper, okay? I acted like a stupid, jealous boyfriend, but I couldn’t just stand there and let him disrespect you.”

“I was talking about Will. He’s the idiot.”

“Oh, okay. Except, maybe not so much.” I pulled back slightly to look at him, the weight of what I’d inadvertently revealed pressing in on me. “He knows about you, Cal. About us.”

Cally’s eyes searched my face, though I noted he didn’t look panicked. “What do you mean, he knows?”

“He knows, Cal.” I lifted the bottle back to my mouth and downed another quick glug. “He told me hitting on you is kind of your thing. That he’s been doing it for years.”

“It’s not a thing,” he said immediately, his voice flat as he held his hand out, gesturing for me to pass him the whiskey. “Will flirts with everyone—referees, linesmen, goalies, guys in the box. It’s just chirping.”

“It’s not just chirping, Cal,” I said softly, the memory of Will’s knowing eyes flashing through my mind. “He knows you like men, and that I like you.”

He lowered the bottle, his shoulders curling inward again. “Well, fuck.”

“I don’t know if this makes it any better or not,” I rushed to say, “but he actually looked contrite once he clocked me. He immediately dropped his whole asshole routine, and just kind of looked … sad about it.”

Cally let out a long, slow breath through his nose. “So the entire time we were playing against each other … ” He trailed off, his brow furrowing as a somewhat disbelieving look crossed his face. “He really was flirting with me.”

A cold knot of dread tightened in my gut. Of all the things Cally could have taken away from this—the threat of his sexuality being exposed or the fact that a player soon bound for the NHL knew our secret—he’d somehow decided the fact that Will had been genuinely interested in him was the most important thing.

Ugly, green-eyed jealousy flared sharply in my gut. Will was gorgeous and confident. He was also out, which complicated Cally’s whole, “I have no plans to ever come out” stance.

“Is that … is that something you’d want?” I asked, my voice tight with worry.

Cally’s eyebrows dipped, confusion etching his features. “I don’t understand the question.”

“Would you want to date Will?” I clarified, anxiety flooding my system. Very few things in life truly worried me anymore, but losing Cally? That would do it.

I loved him, and I knew he felt the same way about me, but we were so fucking different. How long would it take for the novelty of what we were doing to wear off, for him to realize I was just some dumb shithead who didn’t know anything about anything? But Will—with his fancy college education and his famous hockey-playing uncles—was much better suited to Cally’s world.

His head jerked back. “Why the fuck would you ask me that? I’m with you.”

“I know, but … you just … you seemed kind of blown away hearing that he’s actually been hitting on you all this time.”

“Well, yeah,” he said, leaning forward to set the bottle down on the floor between us. He straightened up, shoving a hand back through his hair and turning toward me until our knees knocked together. “Because it kind of rewrites my whole impression of the guy. I’ve always thought he was just being an asshole.”