Page 52 of The Understatement of the Year

Deflector shields engaged.

He started up the game. And for a couple of hours, the years just fell away.

“You are a total asshole,” Rikker grumbled whenever I stole the puck.

“Right back at you, baby.” I skated for his goal, passed to my wing and shot.

He blocked it.Crap. Then he laughed like a hyena.

The period ended. “Rematch,” I said.

But he didn’t start the game up right away. “This is fun,” he said instead.

“Yeah, it is.” We were quiet for a second, but this time it was the good kind of silence. “I like your corner of Vermont, Rik. Your Gran is great, too.”

“She is,” he said, dropping his head back against the sofa. “I invited you here on a whim. But it’s good here, you know? Just in case you worried about what happened to me, or whatever.” His voice dropped, as if he thought that sounded vain. “I had it good here. You should know that.”

“I did worry,” I whispered.

“Now you don’t have to,” he said. Then he picked up his controller and restarted the game.

—Rikker

An hour later, I somehow parallel-parked Gran’s truck into an inadequate space on the street in Burlington. “And they say I’m not a manly man,” I said, snapping the keys from the ignition.

Graham tipped his head back against the headrest and laughed.

I hesitated for a second before opening the door. “Are you sure you don’t mind this?”

Even though it was too dark to see their icy blue color, Graham’s eyes were still beautiful in the dim light. “Why do you keep asking me that?”

I jerked my thumb toward the entrance. “Because we’re outside the gayest place in Vermont right now. And you can’t even say that word out loud.”

But his gaze was steady. “Doesn’t mean I don’twishI could say it.”

Well,dayum. That was a big revelation from Mr. Uptight. But if he actually wanted to see the inside of a gay bar, then this was the place. It would be thoroughly queer, but not too hardcore or creepy, unlike a couple of the clubs Skippy and I had blundered into in Montreal. “Let’s go, then,” I said.

There was a reason that Slate had always been our favorite guerrilla destination, and that reason wasdancing. Not every bar in Burlington had the space. But when we cracked open the door of the crowded place, there were already bodies gyrating to a song by Fun.

“You know it’s queer night?” the bouncer asked from his stool just inside the door.

“We are well aware of that fact,” I said, offering him my driver’s license.

“Then off you go,” he said, stamping my hand withOVER 21.

I scanned the room as Graham got his hand stamped. From a high table off to the side, I found Skippy motioning to me. “Over there,” I said to Graham, but the music drowned me out. So I grabbed his hand to pull him through the crowd. And as his fingers closed over mine I almost laughed out loud. If you’d told me a month ago whether I’d be leading Graham by the hand through a gay dance party, I would have called you insane.

“You’re late,” Skippy shouted as we took seats.

“Bullshit. You got here five minutes ago.”

He made a defeated face, leaning in to talk to me. “How did youknow?”

“In the first case, there aren’t any glasses on the table. And also because you’re oversexed, and Ross has been out of town for ten days.”

Skippy pouted. “He’s at the bar, buying the first round.”

“I’ll grab a couple of beers,” Graham shouted from the other side of the table. “What do you like?”