Page 30 of The Trade Deadline

Chapter 20

Ryan

Ryan blinked awake against the too-bright light of the sun emerging through thick clouds right into his eyes. He groaned in annoyance at the disturbance and turned slightly to avoid the light, trying to fall back asleep. He didn’t want to be on a plane on the way clear across the country to California. He wanted to go back to his dreams, to the fading image of intense blue eyes that could see right through him and the feel of strong hands on him. Hard lips pressed to his and not a single reason to push him away?—

His pillow shifted slightly beneath him, startling him more than the sudden sunlight. He jerked upright in his sleep, self-consciously rubbing his mouth to check for drool as he met Lars’s amused expression.

“Tired?” Lars asked, blue eyes bright with amusement. The corner of his shirt was wrinkled. How long had Ryan been asleep? More importantly, how long had he been leaning against Lars’s shoulder?

“A bit.” His voice was sleep-rough and he coughed to clear it. He also ran a hand through his hair, pulling more than necessary to try to wake himself up. “How long?”

“Pretty much since takeoff. You fell asleep during the first episode of Bay Area Babes . Don’t worry, I won’t tell Tomas you hate his show.”

“Was it that bad?” Ryan couldn’t remember more than an obnoxious intro.

Lars made a face. “The first two episodes made no sense, but by the third I liked the characters enough to see where it was going.”

“Characters?” He discreetly shifted in his seat to better hide his half-hard dick under his sweatshirt. “Isn’t it reality TV? Aren’t they real people?”

“Are you the same person during an interview?”

Ryan felt that he was pretty close to his media persona, but he knew plenty of guys had to put on a front. “Point taken.” He stretched and tried to ignore the way Lars watched him with a little too much interest. “Wanna play Xbox tonight?”

“I don’t think most hotels have them to borrow.” Lars said it apologetically, with this cute downward turn to his right eyebrow.

Ugh. Why was being friends with your crush so hard?

“I brought one,” Ryan said. “And the latest NHL game. They have you on the Crabs and everything.”

Lars lit up. “Really? Do they have my celly from last year?”

“I haven’t played it yet,” Ryan admitted. It wasn’t even his Xbox: it was one of Tanner’s extra game systems. Tanner had been excited to lend it to him and then dumbfounded when he realized there were NHL games he could’ve been playing to get a better idea “what Ryan even did all day that stopped him from smoking weed and drinking.” Luckily that was the point Tanner had fixated on and not the whole “Ryan needing an Xbox to play with Lars” thing and the implications thereof. “We can find out, though.”

“Sweet.”

Before Ryan thought better of it, he decided to ruin his mood by suggesting they continue watching Bay Area Babes .

“Okay,” Lars said as he dug his phone out of his back pocket. “I should warn you that you’re going to hate it.”

“But you love it?”

Lars shook his head grimly. “No, I hate it, too, but I like when I recognize places in Baltimore. It makes me feel like I’m a real Marylander. I’m also curious how Christian is going to sabotage the Dewaa brothers.”

“You’d love soap operas.”

Again, a grim nod. “Probably. We can try that next.”

* * *

They landed in San Francisco and were immediately shepherded onto a bus to the hotel. The team had picked this one specifically for its gym facility, and they were due for two hours of training before dinner. Ryan relished the chance to disappear into his body, to focus on his muscles working and not obsess over stupid Lars Nilsson. Or their game in two days. Or the one after that. And the next.

It was a relief to push himself physically, to find the perfect amount of strain that made everything else melt away to the point where he only had room to think about continuing to breathe. Afterward, as the trainer praised him and he enjoyed the endorphin boost, he quickly realized his mistake. Lars had a hundred kilowatt smile and a chocolate protein shake ready for him, and Ryan was too physically exhausted to mount much resistance.

“Thanks,” he said and self-consciously tried to ignore that he was drenched in sweat. Lars was too, of course, but he mostly glowed after a workout while Ryan felt like wet play dough.

“You’re always the first one in the gym,” Lars commented while Ryan chugged his shake, “and the last one out. Are you even going to have time to shower before dinner?”

Plenty of time to shower and jerk off if I’m quick about it.

“You haven’t showered yet either,” Ryan said.

“Yeah but I barely broke a sweat.”

And you smell like oranges. I smell like ass.

What the hell is wrong with me?

They rode up in the elevator together. It was big enough that Ryan could almost find the space to escape Lars’s citrusy pull, but the walk to their rooms revealed they were neighbors, one too-thin hotel wall between them.

Still time to jerk off , he thought as he turned on the scalding water, just gotta be quiet about it.

It took the edge off his horniness, but Ryan didn’t trust himself. During dinner, he managed to seat himself by the Ivans and thankfully had a terrible view of Lars at another table. If he wanted to stare, he’d have to turn his whole body and make it incredibly obvious. It didn’t do much to drown out the occasional sound of Lars’s laughter, but it was enough of a barrier that he figured he could last the night.

To reward himself for his responsible choices, Ryan allowed himself to drift toward Lars on the way back to the hotel. Warmth continued to pool low in his belly, but the night was so close to being over that Ryan indulged. What was the worst that could happen?

When his hotel door was in sight at the end of the hallway, Ryan breathed an honest-to-God sigh of relief. He was almost safe. But then he swiped his card to get inside, a “good night” on the tip of his tongue, and he turned to find Lars not heading to his own room but standing right behind him.

“Wha—?”

“Xbox, remember?” Lars shouldered his way past Ryan into the suddenly miniscule hotel room. “I’ll be Sweden this time and you can be America. Or the Crabs.” He bounced on Ryan’s still-pristine bed, and Ryan had a moment of praying his imagination wouldn’t move him under the covers.

“Right,” he said slowly. He had said that, hadn’t he? Should he pretend to be too tired? Feign a headache?

Stop being an idiot. Get your dick under control and play Xbox with your friend.

In your bed…

STOP.

“Wanna help me set it up?”

It was fine. Ryan knew it would be. They shared a bag of chips from the mini bar and sat on opposite ends of the queen-sized bed and shit-talked each other. It was relaxing and a great end to a day where they’d spent six hours on a plane. Ryan could even look forward to doing this again throughout the season, because look how easy it was.

It was so easy, he didn’t notice how things slowly shifted. An hour in, they were resting against the headboard. Another half hour and they’d somehow drifted closer, shoulder to shoulder as they played Threes. Ryan didn’t know how long after that it changed again, with Ryan’s head barely propped up on a pillow and Lars only slightly more upright beside him as they simmed games in Franchise Mode to see how long it would take to win the Crabs a Cup while Ryan told him who to trade and how to adjust the players’ stats to swing things in their favor.

“You should just trade me,” Ryan mumbled, the words garbled around a yawn. “It’s a decade in the future and we can’t make it to the finals.”

“I’ll trade myself before I trade you,” Lars said with more vehemence than a video game warranted. “You’re better than me, anyway.”

“Bullshit.”

“The game says otherwise.”

The game seemed to at least think Ryan was more consistent, the decade of play giving him fewer injuries and a basically constant point total while Lars suffered two season-ending injuries, a suspension, and declining production.

After another failed playoff run, Lars made a disgusted sound and tossed aside the controller. “I give up. Real hockey’s easier.”

“Agreed.” Ryan turned off the TV, the faint electric buzz the only sound in the room. That was when Ryan fully realized how close they were, with Lars leaning over him where he rested on his elbow. Hypnotizing blue eyes stared down at him, pinning him in place. They stayed like that, frozen on the cusp of sweet disaster.

Ryan should do something. It wouldn’t take much to break the spell and diffuse the tension between them. He didn’t, though.

Lars didn’t, either. He leaned down more and more, a gradual dip to invade Ryan’s space. He licked his lips, and Ryan’s eyes darted to track the small peek of pink, then trailed down Lars’s neck and settled at his pulse. He watched it flutter, listened to Lars’s breathing and found his matched. They were in sync, moving together as Lars closed the last few inches and Ryan leaned up to meet him.

“I’d like to kiss you,” Lars said, so close now his words tickled Ryan’s nose.

“Hmmm?”

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for weeks,” Lars confirmed, somehow understanding Ryan’s question better than he had himself. “Can I?”

Ryan barely gave a nod before the gap closed and their lips finally met. For a whole two seconds, it was chaste, tentative, and sweet. Then it was intense as Lars shifted his weight and was half on top of him. The kiss deepened, frantic as Ryan’s hand came up to tangle in Lars’s hair, just long enough to bury his fingers and grab on if he wanted to. Lars’s free hand went to Ryan’s hip, then found its way under his shirt.

While he chased kisses and got lost in the musky sweet scent of the man above him, Ryan’s legs parted to allow Lars to sink more onto him. As he slid into the space between Ryan’s thighs, it brought Lars’s hard dick in contact with his. Ryan was only half hard, but he moaned and thrust against Lars; it wouldn’t take much, not tonight. Not when his skin had been on fire all day, not after that stupid forgotten dream on the plane, not after denying himself the mere thought of this moment.

Lars’s hand moved up Ryan’s side, his thumb rubbing circles that felt as hot as a brand. When Ryan thrust upwards, Lars met him with a downward push of his hips, their dicks sliding together with the movement.

Old memories rushed forward, mingling with the new ones. Lars’s mouth, his hands, his cock?—

An empty bed, long gone cold.

Ryan jerked back from the kiss. With his right hand he pushed Lars back and held him at arm’s length; he couldn’t quite bring himself to untangle his left from Lars’s hair.

“What’s wrong?” Lars asked. He looked so adorable with that frown and kiss-swollen lips that Ryan was tempted to keep his worries to himself and go right back to where they’d left off. It’d be easier and fuck if he wouldn’t enjoy it.

Until after, when he’d wonder if and when Lars would leave. When he’d judge himself for going through with it without saying…what exactly?

“I just…” He didn’t know where that sentence was going. He was putting it into words for the first time, that elusive worry he’d never let himself linger on because it was a worry about circumstances that seemed impossible. “I just don’t want you to forget me again…or if this is only happening now because I’m almost somebody.” Once they start, the words tumble out. “Like if I go back to playing like I barely belong in the NHL?—”

“Whoa,” Lars interrupted. He put his hands on Ryan’s cheeks, a strangely grounding feeling that let him find the room to breathe. “Who ever said you weren’t good enough for the NHL?”

“No one, but?—”

“I’ve always thought you were a good player.” He sounded so genuine, looked so earnest that it hurt more.

“Maybe,” he said shakily. Why couldn’t Ryan believe him? “But you didn’t know I existed before Baltimore.”

“I—” Lars floundered a little. He gulped, Adam’s apple bobbing as he searched Ryan’s eyes for an answer. “I never notice the other team,” he offered apologetically. “I really don’t.”

“I know you don’t,” Ryan agreed and hated the way Lars relaxed slightly, like he was forgiven. And he mostly was. Ryan had thought he could overlook the past, but that was when they were trying to be friends. Trying to be something more…it made the future uncertain, and he couldn’t move forward with the past hanging over them, unanswered. “You didn’t notice me before, not even when we—” He didn’t want to say it. That would make it worse, make it so much more humiliating when this was hard enough. “You forgot me once already. What’s to stop it from happening again?”

“I don’t understand what you mean,” Lars confessed.

“That’s the problem.” Resigned to closing the door on tonight’s possibilities, Ryan sat up and faced Lars. “Until you can give me an answer, I don’t think this” -he motioned between them- “can go any further.”

Lars, bewildered as he watched Ryan’s hand, gaped at Ryan. “Why?—?”

“Sorry.” And he was. So so sorry. He really envied the versions of themselves that both knew what had happened between them in Geneva and could’ve figured this out months ago. But Ryan had just enough self-esteem to want Lars to remember their night in Geneva, to have seen him then like he saw Ryan now. He didn’t think Lars could actually forget him again…but he wanted to feel like Lars couldn’t move on as easily the second time. “I think you should go back to your room.”

Shock was slowly melting away. Lars didn’t seem to have a second emotion ready to replace it, his face looking crestfallen while his eyes glinted in frustration. “Do I get more of a hint?” he grumped, and fair. From his perspective Ryan was being cryptic, at best. He crossed his arms over his chest in what looked more like a protective gesture than an angry one.

“Not right now,” Ryan said. He pinched the bridge of his nose—no less frustrated than Lars was—and grumbled, “I just need some space and I would like you to think about what I said. See if that jogs anything.”

Lars sat there, expression finally blank as he stared at Ryan. “Yeah, sure,” he said, his voice sharper. Strained, like when he has to deal with the media after a bad game. “I’ll…see you tomorrow, I guess.” He slipped off the bed.

Ryan listened to his steps retreat to the door and grimaced when he heard the door open. Was he really doing this? Probably too late to undo it, anyway.

“Good night, Ryan,” came a low whisper just before the door clicked closed.

Ryan sat there, stiff and motionless, until he finally was too tired to stay upright. He let himself fall to the bed and pass out, mind blissfully blank, and thankfully didn’t dream of how he might’ve fucked up the best thing he had going for him.