Page 66 of Drop the Gloves

Plausible deniability.

A strange balancing act, especially when Evan was dating a man who didn’t understand the two words separately, never mind together.

Evan had left his condo before Riley had. Driven his own car and parked in his usual spot in the player parking section of the arena. He’d expected to get up to the team area of the arena before Riley had made his appearance. Plausible deniability, right?

He heard the screech of tires making the last bend in the parking garage and sighed when Riley backed in right next to him, so close that their cars almost touched.

Then he popped out of his car and pulled Evan down for a wet kiss on the cheek.

Which, fine, no one except other Riveters might see them.

And the kiss on the cheek was Riley’s Thing right now.

He scored a goal? He’d kiss your cheek. You scored?

Another kiss! Goalie got a shutout? Yep, a kiss.

It was kind of a brilliant cover, though Evan would never tell him that.

But the real problem today of all days was when he noticed Riley’s game suit. The pale goldenrod pants and jacket, the light cream shirt, and, of fucking course, the yellow tie with green wrenches that Evan had gotten him for Christmas.

“Nice tie,” Evan said, grinding his teeth. It was one of Riley’s favorites, in fact, so he should’ve guessed this would happen. Riley hadn’t even been dressed when Evan had left the condo, so it’d slipped his mind.

Riley looked down at the tie, then grinned widely. “Thanks. My boyfriend got it for me.”

“I know,” Evan said. He waited for Riley to see the problem, but when he didn’t, Evan held up his own tie. The matching green tie with yellow wrenches. “This isn’t what I meant when I said we needed to fly under the radar.”

“Twinsies!” Riley said, then punched Evan’s shoulder. “C’mon, Ev. No one’ll even notice.”

Everyone noticed.

Especially when they walked in together, past the stream of photographers and reporters and bloggers and fans, all with a keen eye for the minutiae of players’ lives, all of them looking for an inside scoop.

Riley, always cheerful in the spotlight, smiled and waved all the way to the locker room.

Evan wished he kept spare ties in the car.

The locker room offered no escape. He stowed away the tie as quickly as he could, but as he undressed, a second, more troublesome problem emerged.

“That a hickey, Abs?”

It took a monumental effort not to turn and glare at Riley. Evan could hear his snickers as he turned to face Turner. He mentally went through I don’t know what you’re talking about and mind your own business before settling on, “Fuck off.”

Turner cackled, everyone nearby joining him. Riley included, the traitor. It was only Dalton’s pointed look that actually embarrassed him, and he kept his head down as he changed as quickly as possible. First time in a long time, he couldn’t wait to get his neck guard on.

* * *

The team always went all out for St. Patrick’s Day.

It was huge in Pittsburgh, and the team’s green and yellow tied in perfectly with the city’s mania.

All their yellow was swapped with a glittery gold—helmets included—and a glittery shamrock was put behind their Riveters logo.

It was a sparkly monstrosity, honestly, but the fans loved it.

(The fans in Pittsburgh, anyway. His mom hated it because the gold made it harder to watch on TV since it reflected every bit of light in the arena. Luckily this year she wouldn’t have to worry about the TV glare.)

Evan didn’t mind them too much. They weren’t his favorite, but he’d seen worse jerseys around the league.

The gold was a little gaudy, but the bright helmets made it easier to find his teammates.

He had more issue with them wearing the outfits almost a full week before St. Patrick’s day, but it was the closest weekend game to the holiday, and Pittsburgh didn’t seem to be as strict about dates for holidays as other places he’d lived.

He’d learned that the hard way his first year in the city and been startled to have July 4th fireworks going off on June 28th.

Another problem with the gold: it made them look like a college team, and he pulled at his jersey self-consciously. The jersey that would be auctioned off after the game, his sweat and all. Weird.

“We look fucking golden tonight, boys,” Riley called as he stood up in the center of the locker room.

He did a little twirl to show off, and half the guys started clapping and cheering for him.

Evan rolled his eyes; they really shouldn’t encourage him.

“Can’t lose when you got like six four-leaf clovers on ice at a time, amirite? ”

And as goofy as the jerseys looked, Evan couldn’t deny that the gold suited Riley. He looked good. Really good. Kissably good.

Evan cut off that thought and packed it away. He needed to compartmentalize the parts of him that played hockey with Riley and the parts of him that did other things with him. Right now, the focus was on hockey.

Later, though...

For the millionth time since they’d gotten to the arena, Evan checked his wrist. He didn’t usually wear his watch when he played, but today he had reason to. His mom was coming to town, ostensibly to celebrate Evan’s birthday, but he maybe had an ulterior motive in asking her to visit.

“Stop checking your watch,” the Ulterior Motive said. They were lined up in the tunnel outside the rink, waiting to get onto the ice for warm-ups, and Riley was bumping him with the butt of his stick. “She’s here, I promise.”

He’d gotten a text message to that effect earlier.

Evan was supposed to pick her up at the airport in the morning, but her flight from Toronto had been delayed because of a late snowstorm.

She’d promised him she was more than capable of arranging transportation to the arena, but he worried.

He didn’t want her to miss the game, though he did like that it had bought him a few hours before he had to explain the real reason why he’d asked her to visit.

“But what if—“

Riley bonked him on the head. It required him to reach up to do it, and then to jump when Evan tried to jerk his head away, but he managed it.

“Nope. It went fine. You’re gonna see her in the crowd, and you’re gonna score some goals for your mom, and then you’re gonna celebrate your bday at that fancy place down the street. ”

“Shhh,” he hissed. “Don’t jinx it.”

Riley didn’t say anything else, but his look was a clear, I do what I want.

As soon as they got on the ice and did a few laps, Riley and Evan stopped at the top of the left circle.

This was Their Spot during warm-ups, their routine now a permanent fixture of their games.

There was no rhyme or reason to the number of whacks or who would be the whacker versus the whackee, but it was so much a part of Riveters games that a crowd of fans was pressed against the glass near them.

As Evan smacked Riley’s ass, they called out the number.

“One! Two! Three! Four!”

Then they awed loudly when that was it. Sometimes they went as high as a dozen, always stopping before they reached thirteen because, as Riley put it, “What’s the point of doing a good luck ritual if we’re gonna ruin it with an unlucky number?”

“Four!” Riley yelled at the crowd and pointed to the shamrock on his shoulder. “We have to do four today!” And the fans all laughed and cheered, most of them in their own clover-laden apparel.

“You’re such an exhibitionist,” Evan said. How was this his life?

“Don’t act like you don’t love that about me,” Riley said without missing a beat.

He did. In fact, he loved a lot of things about Riley Barczyk. This just wasn’t the right time to admit it.

“Hey!” Riley called and pointed wildly to a spot in the corner. There she was, Carol Abernathy, waving to him from the second row. “See, it is good luck. Told you she’d make it.”

More excited (or nervous?) than Evan was, Riley got to her first. “Hi Miss Evan’s Mom!” he cupped his hands over his mouth as he yelled at her through the glass. “Welcome to Pittsburgh!”

They read her lips more than heard her say, “Hi Riley! Hi Evan!” And though Evan wanted to stay there and ask his mom about her flight, doing it with plexiglass in the way and before a game was not the best time.

He let her shoo him away. They’d have plenty of time after the game.

Three whole days of catching up, and there certainly was a lot to catch up on.

They passed pucks for a bit before Riley skated off to center ice and left Evan on his own.

They were playing the Turkeys, and Riley had announced over breakfast today that he should apologize to Baptiste for the concussion earlier in the season.

And to preemptively apologize for maybe hitting him again today, because one concussion wasn’t a free pass for potential future checks.

“It’s hockey,” Evan had agreed, though he was pleased Riley’s hockey now included at least acknowledging the other people.

Not that it stopped him from being a pest.

“What the fuck!?” Riley screamed during the first period. “That’s some bullshit right there!”

“Barczyk,” the ref warned. And that was it, a single stern note that had no impact on Riley.

“What? Just because he’s Dylan fucking Everett, he can interfere with me? Fucking blatant, too. C’mon!”

“He’s talented but a troublemaker,” Vassiliev grumbled as he and Evan watched. “He’s gonna get a penalty if he keeps this up.”

“He’s got a talent for getting into trouble,” Evan agreed. He couldn’t pull his eyes away from Riley as he continued to mouth off. Evan was barely paying attention, too busy staring at Riley’s lips and remembering other talents Riley had and how good his kisses tasted.

Despite Riley’s pre-game predictions, their line didn’t score. Neither did any of the other lines, and they lost 2-0. But their line also managed not to get any penalties, and Evan got a shift on the Penalty Kill late in the second, so that was a small consolation.

“Didn’t even score for your mom,” Riley scolded him. “Terrible son. What kind of Canadian are you, anyway?”

“I’m in the NHL,” he pointed out. “I’m not that much of an embarrassment.”

They changed and showered in record time.

Because their line hadn’t done a whole lot, neither of them was selected for media coverage, and they were able to slip out to find Evan’s mom before most of the team was out of the locker room.

When he saw her, Evan felt his stomach clench with unexpected nerves.

“Mom!” he called. No, he realized. Not nerves. Excitement.

“Evan, sweetie!” she cooed as she hugged him. She saw Riley standing off to the side, waiting awkwardly. “Riley,” she said uncertainly. “Good to see you again. When Evan got me those seats next to the penalty box, I thought maybe he wanted me to babysit you.”

Riley’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. “No, ma’am. I was on my best behavior today. Only ten f-bombs, honest.”

She tried not to smile. “I think I heard one or two of them.” She turned back to Evan. “So what’s this big surprise you invited me to town for? I admit I’m very curious.”

Evan took a deep breath, then said: “Mom, I want you to meet Riley Barczyk. My boyfriend.”