Page 26 of Drop the Gloves

Evan shifted uncomfortably in his suit. He’d been one of the first to arrive at the airport for their flight to California, and he’d snagged a seat near the back of the plane.

There was definitely a hint that something might happen with Barczyk over the next week, and the prospect was both exciting and terrifying.

All night, he’d waited for panic to set in and convince him he should text Barczyk a definitive never mind.

There’d been no panic.

Not to say that Evan was confident this was a good idea.

It was a terrible idea for any number of reasons.

He’d started making a list of those reasons on a Post-it note, hoping to scare himself into realizing this was kind of a Big Deal.

There was a huge difference between spontaneously dry-humping a teammate and another to plan it out ahead of time.

But he’d gone through four Post-its' worth before he’d crumpled them all up and tossed them out.

It was a bad idea that could totally blow up in his face...but Evan didn’t care. He wanted to feel Barczyk beneath him again and explore his mouth and touch him and—

Aaaand now Evan was getting hard on the team plane. Dammit.

He took off his suit jacket and laid it across his lap until he could get himself under control. When had he become like this? Why did it have to be Barczyk of all people?

Because he’s good at getting under people’s skin. Are you really surprised he got under yours?

Evan closed his eyes and shuddered.

“Hell yeah, I’m growing this ‘stache out.”

Evan’s eyes snapped open when he heard Barczyk’s voice.

He was coming onto the plane with Vassiliev behind him.

Vassiliev wore his understated light gray suit that he usually wore on the road; Barczyk had a charcoal one that could’ve been called drab if he weren’t wearing a bright yellow dress shirt with it.

Even among teammates, he had to stand out.

“You look like a clown,” Vassiliev said as he sat down near the front of the plane. “You won’t last the whole month.”

“Shows what you know.” Barczyk took off a messenger bag and tossed it under the seat next to Vassiliev; Evan’s heart sank.

“I’m fully committed.” Then their voices were muffled once Barczyk sat down.

They continued bickering, but Evan couldn’t hear a word of it.

He leaned forward, willing Barczyk to turn around and spot him.

Change seats, he silently pleaded. Sit with me.

“This seat taken?”

Evan jumped, startled to see Dalton. He’d been so focused on Barczyk and Vassiliev, he hadn’t noticed anyone walk over.

“All yours,” he said with a forced smile.

Which it shouldn’t be! Dalton had been his friend long before Evan had spoken a single word to Barczyk.

He liked spending time with Dalton on flights, because Dalton was great at reading Evan’s moods and knowing when he wanted to veg out on his phone or when he needed a distraction.

Oh. Evan needed a distraction right now. That tracked.

Dalton plopped next to him and groaned as he settled into his seat. “Thanks, bro. Y’know Jennie? From the bar?”

Evan didn’t, but he nodded. “Of course. Jennie from the bar.”

“I took your advice that night and asked her out. We’ve gone out a few times. It’s going awesome.”

“Congrats,” Evan said. He only kind of remembered having a conversation with Dalton about some girl he was into, but he was happy he’d helped. He only wished he’d done it consciously and could take actual credit for it. “That’s great. She come to any games yet?”

Dalton beamed. “She was there when I scored against the Cougars. I only score like five goals a season, so I figured it’s a good sign I did it when she was there.”

“Maybe she’s your good luck charm.”

“She really is.” It was a five-hour flight, and Evan spent most of it listening to Dalton gush about his new girlfriend. He didn’t mind, though. Anything was better than agonizing over Barczyk.

* * *

Their schedule was packed once they touched down in Anaheim. There was a team-building hike, a dinner, and a strict curfew. As wound up as he was, Evan was asleep before he’d decided whether to message Barczyk.

They had practice the next day, along with video review with the coaches for not only the Orange County Mallards but also the Los Angeles Devils and the Bay Area Brawlers, the three teams they’d be facing in quick succession on this trip.

There was no curfew that night, but he ended up at a mini-golf place a few blocks from the hotel with Dalton.

His phone burned in his pocket, his fingers itching to grab it and text Barczyk, but he resisted the urge.

Not because he wasn’t friends with Barczyk.

They were, sort of. It would be completely normal for them to hang out.

But that moment in Pittsburgh when Barczyk had suggested they have more ‘lessons’ on the road.

..it had felt like a promise. Not a promise to act like things were the same; it was a promise to explore the ways they could be different.

So it might drive Evan crazy to keep his distance, but it was for the best. He’d get too riled up otherwise, too distracted. They had a game tomorrow, and he needed to focus.

Besides, he thought as he lined up his shot into the final hole of the course, anticipation makes it more fun.

* * *

The only real, unguarded interaction between Evan and Barczyk was their warm-up butt whacks.

The whole thing had always seemed silly to Evan, but now there were undertones.

They still did it because enough people had noticed it was Their Thing that it would be suspicious if they stopped, but Evan rushed through it.

“How efficient,” Barczyk drawled when it was over. “You've gotta learn to draw out the moment. Make it count.”

Evan shot Barczyk a look and skated away. He did not want to experience getting hard while wearing full gear. Add that to the list of reasons why this was stupidly reckless.

This probably wasn’t what Coach Jack meant when he said he wanted us to help each other…

With that sobering thought, Evan forced himself into game mode.

The Orange County Mallards were on a four-game win streak and came out strong, but once they went down two goals in the first, they seemed defeated.

It should’ve been an easy game after that as both teams went through the motions.

And it was easy. Easy enough that Evan, whose record was a nine-goal season, scored early in the third period.

He was pleased by the tally, knowing congratulatory texts would be waiting for him on his phone from his friends and family, and skated past the benches to fistbump the team. Unfortunately, the Mallards took offense to Evan’s goal, like he should’ve stopped trying just because they had.

“Insult to injury,” one of their centers said as they lined up for a face-off. “Having some bottom-liner like you score.”

Evan gritted his teeth. The Mallards weren’t putting up their best effort, but Evan had worked for his goal.

It hadn’t been easy to get that shot off, and he’d still gotten the puck cleanly over the goalie’s blocker.

It was a good goal, not some fluky deflection, and he resented the implication that he sucked too much to score when clearly it wasn’t the case.

“Play better defense,” he grumbled under his breath just before the ref dropped the puck.

Evan spent the rest of his shift eating those words. The center stayed on him like glue, no longer caring where the puck was or where the rest of the play was: where Evan went, he went, and he made sure Evan knew it.

After being pinned to the boards well after the puck had been sent up ice, Evan still couldn’t get the guy to let him go until a whistle sounded.

“Would you lay off?” Evan grumbled when he was free. He knew by all the unofficial rules of hockey, he was well within his rights to drop the gloves and fight this guy. But as far as he’d come with his fighting, he wasn’t ready to punch someone.

“Aww, big guy wants me to go easy on him?” He laughed and pushed Evan square in the chest, right on his Riveters’ logo. “Why don’t you go back to the minors, kiddo? You ain’t ready to tango with—”

And then the guy was eating glove as Barczyk pushed him backward by his face.

“Personal space, bro,” Barczyk said, chewing his mouthguard. “Take a step back, or I’ll be happy to make you. Like honestly, give me an excuse, please. I’m bored beating you guys on the scoreboard. Lemme beat one of you guys down for real.”

It was weirdly chivalrous the way Barczyk had stepped in, like he saw Evan’s indecision.

“Cute that you’re babysitting, Barczyk,” he said, his tough-guy facade still in place even as he took a step back. “That what the Riveters pay you to do?”

Barczyk shrugged. “They pay me for a lot of things. Getting assists. Looking good. Taking out the trash. Not my fault your team pays you to be trash—”

A ref swooped in and blew his whistle until they scattered. Still, Evan skated away with his hands clenched in his gloves, wishing he’d at least elbowed the other center. Something, anything to show he didn’t need other people to fight his battles for him.

Despite the mounting evidence to the contrary.

“No one’s babysitting you, Abs.” Barczyk grabbed Evan’s jersey and guided him to the bench. “I know you can handle yourself. I just enjoy doing this shit more than you do. I don’t mind.”

“I know you don’t,” Evan grumbled as they took their spots next to Vassiliev. “I’m starting to mind, though.”

Barczyk’s answering look was unreadable, and soon they were absorbed back in the game.

Evan noticed Barczyk stayed close against him, shoulders and knees pressed together more than the cramped bench warranted.

The proximity should’ve irritated him, but it was comforting.

Barczyk wasn’t just on the team; he was on Evan’s side.

And yes, so were the other players. Vassiliev would have his back, Lawson and Doyle and all of them would stand up for him, but Barczyk understood him.

Somehow, by accident, he’d become actual friends with Riley Barczyk.