Page 29

For a very stupid split second, he considered that he should’ve changed the venue from his living room to his office, because then he wouldn’t be giving confusing signals.

But spending Christmas in his goddamn office was depressing, even for Gavin, and he wasn’t going to subject Zach to that.

There was a knock at the front door.

Gavin wiped his palms again and walked over, opening it to Zach.

He was wearing a dark green Evergreens sweatshirt, the hood up against the drizzling rain, and the color brought out the green tint of his eyes.

He was so gorgeous even like this, pale and half-soaked from the rain, backpack slung over one shoulder and carrying a six pack of Gavin’s favorite beer.

“Merry Christmas,” Zach said as Gavin let him in .

“Oh yeah, Merry Christmas,” Gavin said reflexively.

Zach shot him a look that was half sorrow and half understanding, and Gavin wanted to fling himself on him, all over again.

“Brought you a present,” Zach said, gesturing with the beer in his hand as he set his backpack down by the couch.

“Uh, thanks. You can put it in the fridge,” Gavin said, trailing after him after Zach had slipped out of his shoes, moving through the house towards the kitchen.

Zach opened the fridge and froze. And yep, that was exactly what Gavin had been expecting when he saw what was sitting on the mostly empty shelf.

“I uh . . .might’ve got yours, too,” Gavin said, shrugging and trying to act like them buying each other their favorite beer for Christmas wasn’t weird. Or watching game tape for Christmas and eating pizza wasn’t just as weird.

Zach glanced over at him, the look as intimate as if Zach had touched him. And God , Gavin wanted to be touched.

“Thanks,” Zach said softly.

“We’re . . .equally thoughtful,” Gavin said stupidly. Equally besotted , his brain corrected.

“Yeah, we’ll go with that.” Zach grinned and slid a hand around his shoulders after he’d put Gavin’s beer in the fridge next to his own.

It was half a hug, or it would’ve been if he’d moved away, but he didn’t, fingers curling into Gavin’s sweatshirt.

He could feel the heat of Zach pressed against his whole side, even as the fridge’s open door blasted him with cold.

“Maybe we should go . . .um watch the first game,” Gavin said. He could hear the tremor in his voice—the desire to stay just like this. If he looked over, he wondered what he’d see in Zach’s eyes.

Frustration, maybe, or affection? Or a mingled combination of both?

“Alright.” Zach’s voice was low, rough. He finally let go, and reached into the fridge, grabbing one of his beers. “You want one?”

Gavin should probably stay sober. Sober-ish, anyway. He remembered far too well what had happened this summer, when Zach had come to the cabin. He’d definitely gotten tipsy and that had definitely contributed to opening this whole can of worms.

But instead he nodded, and Zach grabbed him one too, opening both of them with the magnetic opener on the side of the fridge.

Their fingers brushed when Zach handed him the bottle and Gavin realized that he hadn’t really stepped back, even when Zach had let go of him.

He took a step back now and didn’t run to the safety of the living room, but he didn’t look back either, to make sure Zach was following him.

But of course he was.

Gavin took his seat on the couch and set his beer on a coaster next to his laptop. Zach followed suit, and at least he kept to his side, pulling his laptop out of his backpack.

Gavin guessed that Zach was keeping his distance, making sure that their thighs didn’t touch, even accidentally, but of course even when they weren’t, it was all Gavin could think about .

He started the game, but he swore they were halfway through the first period before it even felt like he was watching the screen and not obsessing over the two inches between him and Zach.

“What do you think of that second center?” Zach asked, reaching over to pause the video.

God, the second center. Gavin tried to remember who that even was. If he’d even registered his presence on the ice.

“Um,” Gavin said, hesitating, mind still racing.

Zach chuckled darkly. “You weren’t even watching.”

“I was too!” Gavin argued, even though he knew Zach was right. Maybe his eyes had been on the screen, but his brain had been somewhere else.

“Other team’s skating circles around him. He’s given away three pucks already.” Zach looked over at him. “You gonna tell me what’s on your mind?”

He really didn’t want to admit the truth. Not when they were back on a couch and drinking beer, and so much of this reminded him of that night in Michigan.

“We should consider moving Mal down to the second line for this game,” Gavin said, ignoring Zach’s question. “Take advantage of this matchup. He’d demolish this kid.”

Zach elbowed him. “I can’t believe you’re actually serious about that. If you split up the boyfriends, they’d sulk the whole game.”

“They wouldn’t. They’re pros.” Gavin hesitated. “Well, Mal is at least.” Elliott would absolutely throw a hissy fit, which frankly made Gavin want to do it more.

“Just switch the first and second line—you probably don’t need to do it for the whole game,” Zach said.

“Yeah, probably not.”

Zach flopped back against the couch and the motion made his leg brush up against Gavin’s. Even through two pairs of jeans, Gavin felt it, and heat licked up his spine.

“You really gonna pretend you were actually watching?”

“Yes,” Gavin said primly.

Zach laughed again. “Not gonna tell me what’s on your mind?” He paused, his expression morphing into something a lot more serious. “Does it have anything to do with you pretending the holidays don’t exist?”

Shit. Gavin almost wished it did. And he did miss Noelle, he’d never stop missing her, never stop that little flare of anger that rose in him whenever he thought about how her life had been snatched away from her way too early.

But no, that wasn’t why he was so distracted tonight and lying to Zach about it felt wrong on so many levels.

He didn’t think he could do it, even though he probably should.

It would give Zach the wrong idea if he told him the truth, but he couldn’t lie.

Not about this.

“No. No. I don’t like to celebrate the holidays anymore. It’s true that it’s a habit now. But no, it’s not why I’m distracted.”

Gavin tried to ignore the hope flaring in Zach’s eyes.

He’d sworn to himself when he’d had that horrible conversation that he’d only have to have it once. That he’d never give Zach any reason to think he might be changing his mind.

“You gonna tell me?”

If he said it out loud, then that would be breaking the promise he made to himself.

Gavin shook his head. “I . . .uh. . .it’s nothing. ”

“Doesn’t seem like nothing,” Zach said, gaze skimming over Gavin, melting his insides.

But it had to be.

Clearing his throat, Gavin reached for the remote and re-started the video.

Unlike before, this time he paid scrupulous attention. Made notes.

After the first game, he grabbed them another pair of beers and the pizza.

Zach didn’t ask again what he had on his mind, and Gavin told himself he was grateful for that, because he couldn’t lie, and he couldn’t tell the truth either.

They watched the second game, drank more beer, and made more notes.

At some point, Zach slung an arm across the back of the couch, and that should’ve made him tense, but it did the opposite.

It was easier than it should be, to lean back, to imagine that if he moved even an inch to the left, Zach’s fingertips might brush his shoulder.

But right now, it was still fine. Right up against the line, maybe, but they weren’t crossing it and that was all that mattered.

They started the third game, Zach murmuring as he got up to get them another pair of beers. When he came back, his arm went right back to where it had been.

Gavin settled even lower into the couch and told himself he was just imagining that he could feel the brush of Zach’s fingers. He didn’t keep them on his shoulder, just accidentally brushed them every once in awhile and that was fine too.

Accidents happened, right ?

The room was warm, and then it felt like it got warmer, but Gavin didn’t even mind.

He even liked it. And if he liked it, why shouldn’t he settle even farther into the cage of Zach’s arm?

So what if their shoulders were touching?

They were only shoulders. Shoulders were perfectly innocent body parts, even when they were Zach’s shoulders, which were big and broad and so fucking sexy.

Gavin finished his beer and couldn’t figure out why he’d been so stressed about this. Zach was warm and hard and comfy, the cotton of his hoody scratchy-soft against his cheek, and it would be so easy to just drift off . . .

And he did.

Or he must have, because what could’ve been a second or an hour later, he was jerking awake, horrified to discover that he’d literally been sleeping pressed up against Zach’s arm, a tiny patch of drool on his sweatshirt.

Zach was smiling down at him, affection and hope in his sleepy gaze. Looking like he wanted to wake up to Gavin like this for the rest of his life.

Fuck .

Gavin sprang backwards, blinking hard, trying to shake both the cobwebs and the thought— I could do it, too, forever, just like this— from his head.

“I . . .uh . . .I must’ve gotten tired,” Gavin said uselessly, not able to meet Zach’s eyes again.

When he’d woken up and done it, that had been bad enough.

“Yeah, me too,” Zach said, voice rough but quiet. “I think we missed the last half of the game.”

“I definitely got enough good notes from it.” He hadn’t gotten any notes on it all and would have to watch it again.

Alone . In his office. Without the unbearable temptation of Zach’s hot body to fall asleep against.

“Right.” He could tell Zach was smiling, even if he didn’t see it.

“Well, uh, thanks for coming over?” Gavin heard how awkward he sounded.

Zach patted him on the arm. “It’s alright, G. You’ve been working hard.”

He had been. But there’d been no excuse for him throwing all his rules and the whole fucking line out like it didn’t matter at all.

It mattered now, more than ever.

“Not that hard,” Gavin protested.

“Yeah, sure,” Zach teased. “I’ve been there. The final stretch of the season is tough, even for the coaches. You gotta take care of yourself.”

Maybe you could take care of me, instead.

Gavin compressed his mouth together so he wouldn’t ask. Because he was tempted, almost unbearably, to just throw caution to the wind and tell Zach he’d changed his mind.

But he hadn’t.

And that was why he kept his mouth shut.

“Sure,” Gavin said instead.

Zach put his laptop and notebook away in his backpack. Brushed off Gavin’s suggestion that he call an Uber, protesting it was only a few blocks .

Said one last quiet Merry Christmas , pressing his fingertips to Gavin’s shoulder, and then was gone, fading into the wet darkness.

Gavin watched his back as he disappeared into the night, and finally shut the door.