Page 48 of Breakaway Goals

Morgan couldn’t remember the last time he was nervous.

If he’d ever been nervous.

Even before games, even before important games, he was filled with a sense of edgy anticipation, but it had never felt like he was going to be sick and puke all over the shoes that Finn had declared to be “better than that crap you normally wear, Dad.”

He pulled up in Hayes’ driveway. Took a deep breath and then another. He was going to do this right, but right felt like a particularly narrow balancing act.

If he fucked up again—if he was too earnest, or not earnest enough—Morgan wasn’t stupid enough to think Hayes would give him another chance.

This was his one shot.

Before, with hockey, he’d had the skills and the capability to make that happen. But now, he was just stumbling around blind in the dark. He’d gotten Finn’s advice on his outfit, refusing to tell his son what it was for, and he could’ve told Danny and then asked for his advice, but it was Danny .

Danny had never wooed someone before. Danny had probably never even considered the possibility, and if Morgan had asked him, he could only imagine the bullshit suggestions he’d get in return.

Obviously, he couldn’t ask Danny. And Jacob had been equally off-limits, only because he didn’t trust the guy to not be his normal wily and too-observant self and finally guess once and for all who Morgan was hung up on.

So he’d white-knuckled his way through these plans all on his own.

Freaking out when he’d texted Hayes, rewriting it at least ten times, when Hayes had asked what they were doing. It shouldn’t have been so hard saying, we’re going to dinner, but he’d practically needed to workshop it.

All on his fucking own.

Freaking out over the place. Freaking out over his outfit. Freaking out when he’d needed to text Hayes and say he’d be happy to pick him up.

Hayes had only sent back a thumbs-up.

What did that even mean ?

There was a distinct lack of emotion attached to emojis. The last time he’d tried to make that argument—and for once Jacob had actually been on his side—Finn had told him he was old, decrepit and nobody would ever want to date him if he couldn’t figure out the emotional resonance of emojis.

Great . He was on his own, on his way to Hayes’ front door. They couldn’t have sex—the one thing he felt confident he could ace—and according to Finn, he didn’t even speak the right fucking language.

Morgan rang the doorbell and hoped he hadn’t sweated through his shirt too badly.

God, he was so fucking nervous. He was going to puke, right on these too-expensive and too-tight shoes.

Hayes opened the door a second later. He looked cool and equally as expensive. White linen emphasizing his tan and a green shirt making his eyes so bright Morgan felt words dry in his throat. Stared and didn’t even try to hide it.

“Hey,” Hayes said, smirking a little. He knew exactly what he looked like, the effect he hoped to have, and he’d succeeded. Morgan couldn’t blame him for doing a victory lap about it.

“Hey,” Morgan said and leaned in, reminding himself that he could deal with only a single kiss now and a nice long goodbye kiss after dinner. That he’d promised . Not just to Hayes, even though that was important, but himself too. “You uh, look really nice.”

“So do you,” Hayes said.

Morgan cleared his throat. Hayes smelled so good, looked so good, it was actually nearly painful to pull himself back. Remember that they weren’t doing this.

You did it before, a whole bunch of times. But that had been before Hayes had said in that tight, almost sad voice, He dumped me because I was still in love with you.

“Should we . . .uh . . .go?”

“So we are going out to dinner?” Hayes’ voice was teasing, but there was no mistaking the interested glint in his eyes as they made their way to the car.

“Yes,” Morgan said. He debated opening Hayes’ door for him, but would that be romantic or just make him look old-fashioned and stuffy?

But before he could make up his mind, Hayes had opened his own door, so Morgan detoured around to the driver’s side.

Morgan had spent an hour last night brainstorming conversational topics. As he pulled out onto the street, he wished he could remember what any of them were. He should’ve written out flashcards and memorized them.

Luckily for both of them, Hayes seemed to have no issues talking. “Caught your segment yesterday,” he said.

“Oh yeah?”

The earlier smirk was back, in spades. Morgan concentrated on his driving so he wouldn’t drive right off the road. Crash the car and not even give a shit, because then if they weren’t going to the restaurant, he could get his hands on Hayes now .

Except that no, he couldn’t.

“It was good, except when you picked the Stars to win the Eastern conference,” Hayes said.

“Uh, well, didn’t want to look too biased,” Morgan said. Finn had sent him more than a few pointed texts about it. Jacob had only shot him a look when he’d seen him this afternoon.

“Biased would’ve been picking the Bandits,” Hayes countered. He shot Morgan a wild grin. Stay on the road, stay on the fucking road. “’Course you’re not doing that, because I think it’d be a miracle if they make the playoffs.”

“Ouch,” Morgan said weakly. But Hayes was not wrong. His old team was struggling a bit. He’d been trying to give Danny advice, but shit was hard. It was entirely possible they’d end up in the draft lottery.

“Hey, just being honest.” Hayes shrugged, adorably. “Just like you were being, I’d imagine.”

“Wanted to pick you,” Morgan admitted.

“I know,” Hayes said, shooting Morgan a look that said it all.

Yes, he knew, and yes, he was enjoying giving him shit about it.

It was a short drive to the restaurant he’d picked. He’d been there with Finn and Jacob a few times, and he knew Finn and Jacob liked to go there on date nights. Knew they had a semi-private back room. Private and romantic.

Still, Hayes looked a little surprised when Morgan pulled up to the valet station.

“We’re going here?”

“Have you not been here before?” Morgan frowned as he handed the keys over to the attendant. He’d been sure that this place had originally come as a recommendation from Hayes.

“No, I have. I just . . .” Hayes looked at him strangely.

Morgan had no idea what he was trying to say. Bluntness was probably not the best choice for a date, but he never wanted to do anything Hayes didn’t like.

“Do you not want to go here?” He’d made all the arrangements. The private table. The flowers. The candles. The special dessert. But he’d pivot, if this wasn’t what Hayes wanted.

“No, no, it’s perfect.” Hayes smiled, looking flustered. “Just . . .not what I expected.”

They were going to have to dig into whatever that meant, but after they were at their table. And maybe after he’d buttered Hayes up with the flowers and the candles.

“Alright,” Morgan said and gestured towards the doorway.

Hayes shot him a look a little sweet and a little baffled still but went.

Morgan had told himself he wouldn’t go all caveman, dragging-his-catch-back-to-the-firepit, but it was impossible not to at least put his hand on Hayes’ lower back, fingers brushing the fabric of his shirt, feeling the heat of his skin underneath, as he walked into the restaurant.

The hostess recognized him and took them to the back of the room. It was cozy, intimate, and they’d pulled the screen partially over, as he’d requested, not because he was afraid of people seeing them together and drawing the correct conclusion, but because he didn’t want to create a sensation.

And he and Hayes together tended to create a sensation. Even their names linked together was all it took.

The hostess brilliantly made herself scarce after showing them to the table.

Morgan watched with apprehension and a still-twisting gut as Hayes looked at the low arrangement of trailing ivy and white gardenias in the middle of the table. The candles scattered across it, illuminating his face.

“Um, is it okay?” Morgan asked. Then kicked himself. He was supposed to be charming Hayes, not constantly worrying about whether he’d screwed up. Have some fucking confidence, Mo , he could imagine Danny telling him.

“It’s . . .” Hayes laughed, a little hysterically.

“I thought you’d want to stay at one of our houses.

Then when you said we were going to dinner, I imagined, I don’t know, some kind of very obvious bro-dinner.

” Hayes collapsed into his chair. If he was anyone else, it wouldn’t have been graceful, but he was Hayes Montgomery so it looked like a work of performance art.

“What the fuck is a bro-dinner?” Morgan sat down across from him and resisted the urge to reach out and take Hayes’ hand.

“Like, I don’t know. Wings and beer. Slapping each other on the back. Talking about hockey.”

Morgan told himself he had prepared for every eventuality. Every single thing that could go wrong. He’d even prepared the conversational topics list, even if he couldn’t remember a single fucking one of them.

But he couldn’t have ever prepared for this.

His jaw dropped. “You thought I was going to take you to beer and wings? I’m not saying I wouldn’t ever , but on our first date? Seriously ?”

Hayes was flushed now. “I don’t know. It sounds stupid when I say it like that, but you’re not out. I am .”

And oh. Oh .

Fuck everything, they were not doing this. They were not .

Morgan gathered himself and prayed he didn’t sound like a lovestruck, dick- struck, idiot of a caveman in the next thirty seconds.

“I don’t give a flying fuck if you’re out and I’m not.

I don’t care. I don’t care if everyone in this restaurant takes a photo of us and spends the next week of their lives speculating on . . .Instagram. Or Tok or whatever.”

“TikTok,” Hayes said, the corner of his mouth beginning to tug into what Morgan hoped was going to be a very big smile.