Page 6

ERIK

The door to my apartment clicks shut, and I launch across the room onto my sofa, grinning so wide that my mouth almost hurts. Keeping my shit together on the metro was almost impossible, but I managed to stop myself from wearing a creepy smile. Here, though, nothing is holding me back.

This might be more than just a hookup, and holy crap, I haven’t felt like this since I was seventeen and got a stupid crush on Ollie Lindstrom.

This isn’t the weak “I guess he’s cute and doesn’t seem entirely disinterested” crap that I’d sometimes get with a few of the nicer guys over the years. This is serious.

Maybe debilitating teenage emotions don’t stop, even when you’re twenty-one.

Luke was all I could think about ever since leaving his apartment. I mean, how could I not ? He’s hot as hell and he made me breakfast? In addition to being super friendly and straight-up saying he likes hanging out with me?

I shove my face into a pillow as I realize what I’m doing: lying on the sofa while smiling and kicking my feet.

I don’t care, though. I like feeling this way, getting giddy and excited over a guy.

Maybe letting myself fall for someone won’t be the worst thing in the world, even with how crazy my life can be.

And he said that his life is hectic, too. That has to mean something, right?

Who knows what might happen, but I sure as hell won’t say no to hooking up with him again. The mere thought of running my hands all over him makes my head spin, and if we go further…

Nope. I can’t go there. Not this soon.

There are those whispers about moving the team, and I’m not sure if those are simply rumors, or if they’re actually strategic leaks that are supposed to soft-launch an announcement. Either way, my previous mild excitement about cheaper rent in Hamilton isn’t nearly as strong anymore.

I’m probably better off not thinking about it. There’s nothing I can do, and it won’t be this season, anyway. I think.

Rolling onto my back, I stare up at the ceiling and let my runaway mind focus on Luke.

I almost can’t believe he’s real. If I want to keep seeing him, I need to be careful and not scare him away, which is a tall order—I have no idea what I’m doing. I can’t be too quiet because that turned guys off before, but if I talk too much, there’s a lot that could go wrong, too.

Oh god, I’m a mess.

And I had to be weird and ask him to watch my game. Who suggests that after meeting once ?

Still, he said yes. I can look forward to seeing him tomorrow instead of going deeper into a nervous spiral.

He’s coming to the game, we’ll hang out after, and I’ll see where things go with him. It’ll be fine.

The stands are half-full, which isn’t a bad showing for an AHL game in early September. I’m doing my usual pre-game ritual of staying silent and staring at the blade of my stick, but then there’s a sudden tap on my shoulder.

“Hey, Norsy, there’s some bench chatter about a mysterious hottie sitting in the team area. You know anything about him?” asks Evan, elbowing me in the ribs. He’s one of the guys who pushed me to go out on Friday, and he’s been hounding me for details ever since.

I swivel my head around, and my gaze lands right on Luke, who’s settling into his seat.

Every player gets two free tickets for each game, which usually go to a pair of friends, or wives, girlfriends, and parents.

A guy our age coming alone is going to be traced back to me, the only out player on the team.

That hasn’t happened in the two years I’ve been here, but there’s a first time for everything.

Even though I’m at center ice, I still notice Luke’s tousled hair, his strong body, and the easy, sunshine smile that he flashes at me once we lock eyes.

I snap out of my trance. “He’s my friend.”

Evan smirks. “Just a friend, eh?”

“Are you interested? I can pass your number to him.”

“Ah, fuck off,” he replies, and that’s that. We’re left waiting to get started with the game, and I clear my mind.

We’re facing off against Naperville, a team from Illinois, so I stand through two anthems, skate back to the bench, and settle in since I’m on the third line. The puck drops and I lock my mind down, staying focused.

Two line changes later, I scale the boards and push off hard, chasing the puck down the left. My linemates Chad and Tim know where to go, and we’ve all developed a rhythm that works during the past few weeks we’ve shared a line.

Naperville doesn’t give an inch. Coach calls out for another line change and I’m back on the bench, breathing deep and keeping my head on straight. Both teams score twice in the first period, but the second is scoreless. The pressure is on, even though my time on the ice is short.

That limited ice time doesn’t stop me from taking a puck to my thigh. Fucking ouch.

The third period begins, and our coach signals for our line again. Tim is already hounding one of Naperville’s defensemen in the corner, and Chad taps the ice with his stick, calling for the puck. Tim passes and Chad races toward the blue line before shooting on net.

The goalie is quick, and the puck deflects cleanly off his glove, flying back out toward the center.

It’s intense, and I take a check against the boards, but Tim is there to scoop the puck up. My legs burn, my puck bruise pulsing hard, as Coach signals for another change.

During what’s probably going to be my final shift, Naperville has possession. I keep my stick ready as Chad sends the puck to Tim. The defense is on him, so I shift out into the open. Tim passes the puck across, giving me almost no time to react.

I’m working on instinct, and I snap a shot on net. The goalie kicks it out, but I recover the rebound. With a flick of my wrist, the puck flies under the goalie’s stick to land in the back of the net.

My teammates are on me in a second, slapping my helmet and yelling over the noise as we skate back to the bench.

Adrenaline floods my body as I glance up to see Luke leaning forward, smiling widely at me.

Even though I’m not one to let anything get to my head, I can’t help but get a tiny glow in my chest from knowing that Luke saw me score today.

The game ends 3-2, and the coach gives us a few animated words of encouragement in the locker room before leaving us alone. My whole body buzzes with a need to see Luke, but I’m not about to skimp on hygiene. The two times I’ve met him, Luke smelled put-together, clean, and hot.

Meanwhile, I’m a sweaty hockey player—that doesn’t do anything to help my swirling self-consciousness.

I take the fastest rinse-off I can while still hitting all the bases: shampoo, shower gel, and a comprehensive scrub with the special chlorhexidine soap I always carry with me. It’s a lot, but that third step is a solid silver bullet against the typical hockey smell.

When I emerge into the locker room to get dressed, most of the other guys are gone, and I get dressed before heading out to where Luke is waiting. As soon as he sees me, his face lights up, and that hits me square in the chest.

“Hey, nice goal,” he says. “And holy shit, you look amazing in that suit.” He runs a hand down my arm, and that, coupled with all the compliments, makes me vibrate.

“Thanks.” I don’t know what else to say, so I go in for a fist bump. “Sorry if I kept you waiting, I showered and changed as fast as I could.

“You took a fast shower?” Luke scoffs. “That’s a surprise, considering how long you took yesterday.”

Heat creeps up my neck, but I power through it. “That’s because I was alone today. Besides, the soap here doesn’t smell as nice as yours.”

“The soap doesn’t smell good and you showered in record time?” He shakes his head, stepping even closer to me. “Maybe I should get up close and inspect the job you did.”

“What, don’t you trust me to wash myself?” I ask, punching Luke on the shoulder.

“Nah, it’s just that hockey players…” Luke jabs me in the chest, “… have a certain kind of reputation for having rank-ass gear.”

“That’s gear , Lukey,” I say. “Not my body. The latter is scrubbed clean of rink stink.”

Luke walks backward and barks out a laugh. “What did you call me?”

“Nothing,” I mutter, trying to ignore the fact that I gave Luke, whose name is all of four letters long, a nickname .

He comes closer to me again, a cocky smile playing out on his lips. “No, I didn’t hear what you said. Can you repeat yourself?”

“I called you Lukey.” My voice is barely audible.

He snickers again, holding onto a chair to stabilize himself.

“Don’t dwell on it,” I say, still trying to defuse my nerves.

“Oh my god, you gave me a nickname! That’s funny as fuck.”

I give Luke’s head a light knock with the end of my hockey stick, the same way I do with some of my teammates. “I said, don’t dwell on it.” Trying to stay serious is too hard, and I break into a grin. “You know I’m not a smooth talker.”

“What if I like it?”

“Then I’ll keep saying it, Lukey .” For effect, I pull him into a side hug and shake him in a way that absolutely crosses the border into unambiguous flirtation.

He slips out of my arm with enviable grace and claps me on the shoulder. “It’s getting dark. Do you have a post-game briefing or are you free to go?”

“I’m free to go. Why don’t you come over to mine and chill?” I suggest.

Luke’s face lights up, and the corners of his eyes crinkle in the same adorable way that lured me in on Friday. “That sounds great,” he says, stepping around to stand next to me. “You lead the way, Norsy.”

My mouth falls open. “How the hell did you guess my nickname?”

He waves me off. “I used to play hockey, so I’m fluent in nicknames. Of course Norberg is gonna become Norsy.”

I freeze. “You played hockey?”

“Yeah. You’re in Canada, remember? Hockey players as far as the eye can see. I basically lived between the pipes until I was seventeen, but everyone called me Trembs, not Lukey.”

Luke was a goalie ? Wild. He’s not nearly weird enough. Maybe it’s something people grow out of. Who knows?