Page 58 of Drop the Gloves

So he was going to keep his head down, ignore Evan, and get over this ill-fated crush.

It was really easy to stick to that plan when he wasn’t near Evan. Or thinking about Evan. So, basically, never.

He was on his bed, listening to a podcast about.

..robots? (fuck, he hadn’t been paying attention for a while now and had no clue what they were talking about—wasn’t this a podcast about movies?) and petting Sophia.

She blinked at him impassively, which he took as a command for more pets and an invitation to keep talking.

“We had a real good thing, I thought,” he said and scratched under her chin. She looked like a damn queen receiving her due worship from the peasants. “I liked him a lot.”

She opened ocean-blue eyes and stared at him. Liked? she seemed to ask.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “I like him a lot. But he doesn’t talk to me. He didn’t tell me he’d never been with men before. He didn’t tell me he’d previously hated my guts. What the fuck kind of relationship is that?”

No response from Sophia, except to close her eyes once more.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “You’ll get your pets.”

The Evan Question had been nagging at him since he’d confronted Evan.

Riley couldn’t regret anything he’d said, wouldn’t take any of it back, but he felt trapped.

He wanted to be with Evan again so badly, but it was obvious they saw each other differently.

It felt like Evan didn’t respect him as a partner, and it seemed like Riley had over-valued where their relationship was going.

Ugh. That last part was on Riley. He should’ve brought up that, hey, he kinda had feelings for Evan, and did Evan feel the same way?

But he hadn’t, because he’d been scared of it being one-sided.

Not that Evan would be a dick about it. He might’ve misjudged some things about Evan, but the guy was polite to a fault.

Sometimes, that softened his resolve to take a step back.

Riley could picture it so easily: Evan, still anxious about the hit last season, seeing Riley join the team.

His hurt and frustration that it’d never registered to Riley.

He could see it in the way he’d been almost cold to Riley at the start of the season; it wasn’t just that Evan didn’t want to play a physical game, he thought Riley was heartless for not remembering.

…was he?

No. Riley played a rough game, sure, but he’d never tried to hurt anyone. He’d busted some noses and bruised some egos, but he’d never sent a guy on Injury Reserve. Never broken anything or anyone beyond repair, nothing a few days rest wouldn’t heal. Evan included.

And Evan had warmed up to him. However he’d built Riley up in his head, Riley had gotten him to see through all that and give him a chance.

So did he owe Evan a second chance in return?

Yes was his gut answer, but his pride was too wounded to deal with that right now.

Evan had hit on Riley’s insecurities enough that Riley knew he needed space to lick his wounds and recover, or else they’d be as much of a mess as before.

He hadn’t been sure Evan had wanted to reconnect, except for that stupid letter. ..

Riley had almost gone to Evan right then and there and said it was fine, they could start over.

As much as he wanted Evan back in his arms, it wasn’t smart to jump back into bed so soon.

He’d already let himself get caught up in his attraction and desire.

Next time—if there was going to be a next time—needed to be done right.

Part of doing that right was waiting to make sure Evan wouldn’t change his mind and thinking through how much of himself Riley was willing to put out there.

Because right now, he could survive losing Evan Abernathy; if they started where they’d left off, in another month he didn’t think that’d be true anymore.

So he’d torn up the note to avoid temptation and stuffed it in Evan’s jacket pocket, mostly so Evan wouldn’t be waiting for a call that wasn’t coming.

But he wasn’t strong enough to get rid of it completely.

..he’d torn off the part where Evan had put his initials and said I miss you.

He’d rolled that up and slipped it into his wallet.

Just a little sliver to remind him Evan cared, if only a little.

* * *

As captain and responsible adult with a wife and kids and house (yikes, that was a lot of responsibilities; Riley could barely handle himself and a cat), Lawson was in charge of throwing team parties.

Their schedule hadn’t allowed for any so far this season, but their current homestand in Pittsburgh was long enough and close enough to Christmas that they were having a holiday party on the only Friday night they didn’t have a game.

They also only had an optional skate the next afternoon, meaning they’d all be able to sleep off their booze and not look like ass on the ice.

Riley loved this sort of party, especially mid-season.

Aside from all the team bonding, it was nice to let loose.

Riley desperately needed to let loose in a way that wouldn’t result in fights or penalties or black eyes.

He’d been on his best behavior on the ice (for him, anyway), like he had something to prove to Evan. The strain was getting to him.

You think you don’t have to play the way I do? Well, I can play your way too. Just watch.

So he’d dressed up in his nice khakis that made his ass look good, his fancy loafers, and a light-green button-down with short sleeves.

It was the shirt that his sisters assured him brought out his eyes, showed off his arms, and that he could unbutton to be ‘as slutty as he wanted.’ And then, because he’d already dressed as fuckable as he could, he decided to go the extra mile and do the little things that only Evan would appreciate: he styled his hair to show off the curls, left the day-old stubble, and used a bit of mascara to bring out his eyes.

Yes. Riley knew he had nice eyes and wasn’t afraid to weaponize them.

As he checked himself out in the mirror, he had to admit he’d done a damn fine job.

Of what? he asked himself as he put on his jacket and headed down to his car. Are you even trying to sleep with him right now? Because you probably could without the extra effort.

Showing him what he’s missing, duh. He looked at himself in the rearview mirror and winked. And that I don’t need him.

Riley had purposely gotten to Lawson’s place on the early side of things. He wasn’t emotionally equipped for taunting his kind-of-ex while sober, and he didn’t trust himself to pre-game alone. Getting drunk at your team’s holiday party was acceptable; showing up already smashed less so.

“Barzy! Welcome.” Lawson grabbed his hand and pulled him in for a hug, their arms squished uncomfortably between their chests.

The bro-est of hugs that was more chest bump than embrace, as if there was some need to assert dominance or the gesture would appear too soft.

Riley refrained from rolling his eyes. “You’re just in time.

Woodsy is making martinis. Help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge. ”

Riley tucked his jacket into the massive hallway closet and followed the chatter to the kitchen.

“Evening, boys,” Riley said as he stepped inside. “Somebody hand me a drink, stat.”

“Look who’s all dressed up,” Woodsy said. “You know this isn’t a club, right? No one to pick up at the team holiday party, Barzy.”

That’s what you think.

“Some of us just like to look nice.” He found a cooler next to the kitchen island and dug around for the beer with the highest ABV he could find. “You should try it sometime.”

One beer, two martinis, and a round of shots of something that tasted like ass later, Evan showed up.

He’d clearly not taken the same approach as Riley, because he was wearing possibly the ugliest Christmas sweater in existence, complete with pompoms and tinsel and a strange design that Riley was a bit too drunk to understand.

But Goddammit, Riley still wanted to climb him like a tree.

Which is why Riley very pointedly turned away from Evan and rounded up people for a game of pool before his dick got any stupid ideas.

Lawson, like many people with too much money and a large basement to fill, had a pool table at one end by a wet bar.

The wet bar was actually nice—perfect for keeping Riley liquored up while he played—but the table was crap.

Ugly brown felt, inadequate clearance on all four sides, no ball return, and cue sticks that were begging to be shaped and properly chalked.

All of which he apparently said out loud while racking with a shitty plastic rack, because Big Katie said, “You got a lot of opinions about tables. I’m just happy when I don’t have to share a cue.”

“Did you, like, major in billiards?” S’more asked, proving once again that Riley shouldn’t feel bad for him for the stupid nickname.

“If you make over 7 mil a year, shouldn’t you be able to maintain a pool table?” Riley snapped. He closed his eyes to regroup, then let S’more break as an apology.

They played more rounds than Riley cared to keep track of.

The only sign he was doing well was that he got to keep playing.

Half the team seemed to cycle through, either to watch or lose to Riley.

But he was sobering up too much, so mid-game he passed his cue off to Dalty and disappeared back upstairs to find food and booze. Lots of booze.

“Hey! Mr. Pool Shark.”

Riley whirled around (too quickly—oof, his stomach) to see Nover pointing above Riley’s head. Riley looked up and spotted the mistletoe hanging in the doorway.

“Wha? You want a kiss or something?” He pulled the massive winger in and kissed him on the cheek, just like he had to Evan a few games ago. It wasn’t half as good, but he wasn’t surprised. “Merry Xmas!”

Nover laughed and handed him a glass of water. “You should slow down.”