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eleven

Mark

W hy didn’t I put two and two together? I’m stupid, that’s why. I’m stupid and this just became a whole lot worse. What the fuck am I going to do?

Sawyer fucking Liu.

Of course. Of course! This is karma in real fucking time. Sitting down, we watch everyone skate around the rink—for warmups, Sawyer explains.

“I know nothing about hockey. How long is this going to be?” Noah asks.

“Three twenty-minute periods with two twenty-minute intermissions, but uh, they stop a lot, so probably like two and half, three hours max.”

“Three hours!” Noah hisses at me. “Three hours of watching sports, Mark! Are you joking? I didn’t even bring my e-reader!”

“Come on, you’ll have fun.”

I try to ignore Noah because my mind cannot focus on anything but sitting next to Sawyer fucking Liu. This is insane. This is punishment. I probably deserve this. Sawyer Liu, son of the owner of the Blue Lotus, the same restaurant that caught fire over the summer because of me.

Or at least, that’s what Derrick tells me.

I know I didn’t do it, I know that. Still, sitting here next to Sawyer my nerves are shot. He kept looking at me at dinner and it was like he knows what I did. He doesn’t know, logically, but still, my mind can’t settle long enough to really focus.

“What the fuck are they doing?”

Well, it’s a good thing I have my insane friend to cut the tension. “They’re warming up.”

Noah gets up, looking onto the ice. “They’re humping the ice.”

“Warmups.” Sawyer grabs Noah’s jersey, pulling it down gently to make him sit. “Just warmups.”

Noah crosses his leg at the knee. “Well, I just love hockey.” He leans into Sawyer. “Mr. Thirty-Five is giving me the eyes.”

“They can’t see up here,” Sawyer says.

Noah stands up, waving his hand. Mr. Thirty-Five indeed looks up, confused, then waves back.

“I love hockey.” Noah sits. “So, Sawyer, how long have you and Hunter been friends?”

“Since his freshman year. I used to do the equipment for the arena full time back then, and he’s just such an easy guy to get along with.”

“Oh, he’s easy. I see. Knew there was a reason he was with Mark.” Why are we friends!? I ignore him, though, because if Noah is talking that means I don’t have to.

“I’ll be right back.” I get up and walk down the steps to the glass as Hunter skates close. He turns as if he feels me, skating up to the glass with something in his hand.

“Impressed yet?” Hunter shouts over the noise.

“Turned on, actually.” The stadium takes that moment to cease all noise as I shout this through the glass. My face burns. Looking around, I hear Hunter laugh. “Not funny.”

“Oh, very funny. Here. Catch.” He tosses the puck he has in his hand, and I reach to catch it.

I look at the puck, smiling at the hearts scrawled over it.

“First goal’s for you.” Hunter taps the glass before skating off.

I make my way back up to my seat to see Noah has taken my spot next to Sawyer, and while I would normally save him from Noah, I need the space, as if the closer I am to him the more he might read my thoughts.

“Does it get violent?” I hear Noah ask as I sit down.

“Yeah, it does, but it’s also super wholesome at the same time.

I don’t think there’s any sport like it.

They have an amazing coach. He used to play with the Oregon Otters.

” I blink at him, not knowing what that means.

“The Oregon Otters are in the top of their division in the NHL. He retired a couple years ago. He’s a good guy.

” Sawyer looks around Noah to me. “He’s also one of Hunter’s favorite players of all time, so having him as coach is huge for him.

“What does Hunter do?”

“Hunter is a center. He leads the attack, basically, and supports his wingers. And as captain he’s responsible for talking with the refs.”

“Wingers?” Noah asks. “They get wingmen?”

“I guess you could say that.” Sawyer chuckles.

“They’re basically his support system. Typically, you have a goalie, your center—so, Hunter in this situation—two wingers, two defense.

There’s a lot to it, but basically that’s what you have.

The lines rotate for players who are winded, and defensemen can shoot goals, and wingers and centers can be great defense. ”

“How good is he?”

Sawyer grins. “Hunter’s the best. He plays a nasty game. I like to say it’s where all that rage inside him goes. You’ll see.”

The lights dim in the arena. Music begins to pump from the speakers and then I see them coming onto the ice in their navy and baby-blue jerseys.

It takes me a minute to spot Hunter, but I see him.

Number nineteen. The same number on the hoodie I’m wearing.

I watch him skate onto the ice, searching over the crowd until he spots me.

He lifts his hockey stick and points it right at me.

Eyes snap to me and I blush. Then he blows me a kiss with his gloves on and I smile.

That’s my man.

Sawyer stands, cheering loudly. Noah gets up, following him, his attention now locked on the ice.

We all cheer as our team skates around the arena for warmups, then sit and watch as everyone stretches and practices shooting pucks into the net.

Noah’s attention locks onto the goalie. “I love when they hump the ice.”

“He’s not . . . They’re stretching.”

“Uh-huh, stretching, sure. See the goalie? I’ve been in that position a time or two.”

“Goalies have to be flexible. They have the most important role. Defend your net.”

Hunter skates over to the goalie, saying something to him, and they both look up in our direction.

Noah gets up and sits on the other side of me, closer to the goalie.

“He is fine .” The goalie skates over, then searches before looking up at our section of the stand.

Noah stands up, waving hard at him, then blows him a kiss.

“Oh my god, I love hockey.” Noah sits back down, but the goalie skates over to our section, taking his stick and scooping up a puck.

He holds it out, pointing at Noah. “Oh my god, I’m a hockey wife now!

” Noah whisper-screams. He stands, waiting as the goalie flicks the puck over the glass.

Noah catches it before sitting down, really pleased with himself. “I love sports. Sports are the best.”

The rival team comes out to a small chorus of boos. Okay then . Music begins to play. We stand for the national anthem and my eyes drift down to Hunter with his helmet in hand and eyes on the flag. As if he feels it, his head swivels to me and he smiles.

I feel so warm.

The game begins and it’s high energy right from the start.

Sawyer is right. Hunter’s insane on the ice.

The agility he has is unmatched. I watch him skate down, shooting the puck to his winger, as Sawyer says.

He turns, outskating his opponent and catching a rebound shot then skating fast to the opponent’s goal.

He fakes shooting the puck before sliding it to another player, then it comes back to him, and he shoots it hard.

It sails through the net, clean and easy.

“Whooo!” Sawyer gets up and I join him. “That’s right, Hunter! ”

“Go, Puck Daddy!” Noah screams.

“Noah—” I look over, doing a double take at his jersey which is now tied up making it a belly shirt.

“Stop checking me out! I’m trying to pick up an athlete. I don’t need anyone getting any ideas.” Shaking my head, I see Sawyer smirk, doing the same.

The puck drops on the center line and the Hornets take control. Hunter is knocked out of the way, onto the ice, but no penalty is called, and the Hammerheads take control. “Come on!” Sawyer yells.

“Seriously! Watch the game, ref!” Noah shouts. “Refs, am I right?” he says to Sawyer.

I watch them play, back and forth. The speed of play is intense.

Noah stands, cheering loudly as the Hornets take control of the ice.

“Come on Russo!” Sawyer screams as Hunter takes the puck, driving it down the middle.

I stand, my heart racing. Hunter skates fast down the ice toward the opposing goalie.

We collectively gasp as he’s hit from behind, knocking him to the ground. The whistle blows.

One of Hunter’s teammates rushes to the man who knocked Hunter over.

They throw off their gloves, fighting in the middle of the rink.

The crowd loses it. My attention stays on Hunter, watching his teammates pick him back up.

Montague—it says on the back of his jersey—and the opposing player fight, trading fists as the referee breaks them apart.

The whistle blows. Both players skate to the side.

Hunter skates toward the ref, yelling something at him. “What’s going on?”

“Dirty shot,” Sawyer says. “You’re not supposed to hit a player when they’re skating away like that. Monty’s just defending him.” I watch Monty skate over into a box.

“What is he doing?” Noah asks.

“He’s in the sin bin, two minutes for roughing.”

“Excusemewhatnow?” Noah blinks.

“He’s um, he’s in the sin bin, ya know, the penalty box. It’s like a time out.” Noah’s mouth drops open. “Just for two minutes.”

“For being too rough. No, I got it. Been there, am I right?” Noah stands, looking over. “It’s okay, I love a bad boy!”

“Oh my god!” I yank him back down as Monty turns, looking up into the stands. Noah wiggles his fingers at him. “Can you not!”

“What? I’m just letting him know I support him while he’s in the naughty box.” Noah gets up, moving past Sawyer and practically sticking his ass in Sawyer’s face as he passes him. “Where are you going?”

“Seeing if he wants company.”

“Sit down!” I tug him back onto the bench. He sits in Sawyer’s lap.

“Um.” Sawyer taps Noah on the shoulder. “Do you mind?”

“Oh, not at all, cupcake.” He winks.

“Get off,” I hiss, shoving Noah off Sawyer.

The rest of the game is intense. Hornets win five to three. While I still don’t understand most of the rules, I do know one thing.

Hunter is an insanely talented athlete.

As everyone leaves the arena, and the opposing team leaves right after they lose, Sawyer volunteers to take Noah back to his dorm, which I appreciate. “Thank you, and um, sorry about him in advance. Well, I mean, for the past, present, and the foreseeable future. Just, sorry, but thank you.”

Sawyer chuckles. “No worries, he’s not so bad.”

“Oh, you may regret those words.”

Noah walks up to us with a little bounce in his step. “Where were you?” And you left me here for nearly twenty minutes in the most awkward fucking silence! “Sawyer is taking you home,” I tell him.

“Oh.” Noah looks at him and pats the side of his face. “I think you’re gorgeous, like really, but I’m a hockey WAG now so this isn’t going to work.”

“What are . . . He’s taking you home, dingus. He wants to make sure you get home safe.”

“Oh, oh! Sure.” Noah winks at him. “Thank you.”

“What are those?” I look at the pieces of paper in his hand.

“Oh, these are my tickets to a good fucking time later tonight.” Noah beams. “I love hockey.” Noah sticks his tongue out, bouncing a little. “Like I said . . .” He shows me the papers. “Mr. Thirty-Five and Mr. Naughty Box himself.”

I don’t even want to know. “Thanks again!”

“No problem.” Sawyer looks to Noah. “You ready?”

“Not yet, but I’ll freshen up when I get back to the dorm.” Sawyer’s brow pinches. “Oh, you mean to go home. Yes. Yes please, Sedrick.”

“Sawyer. It’s . . . it doesn’t matter.”

“Just take him home. Thank you. Sorry.” I shake my head, and they leave. Poor Sawyer. Waiting by the doors, I see Hunter finally come down the hall, and the smile that splits his face when he sees me just fills my heart.

I open my mouth to say something to him, but he grabs me in a kiss.

I know how tough being out is in public, especially as an athlete, but I like the way Hunter doesn’t hide his sexuality.

It’s brave, even if it shouldn’t be. We should be allowed to hold hands, kiss, anything a straight couple does.

Until then, what Hunter does is brave, and I like it. “Did you enjoy the game?”

“I enjoyed you humping the ice in the beginning.”

He pouts and fuck it’s adorable. “We were not humping the ice, it was warmups.”

“Uh-huh, tell yourself whatever, but I was very jealous of that patch of ice you got intimate with.” Hunter laughs, resting his forehead on my collarbone. “You were amazing. Really.”

“Noah enjoyed himself?”

“Oh . . . he’s about to.”

“What?” He shakes his head. “You know what . . . I don’t want to know. Did Sawyer take him home?”

“Yeah, they just left.”

Hunter threads his fingers in mine. “Do you think we could go somewhere, just for a little? I do have to go back home eventually tonight, but I have some time.”

I’d spend as long as I could with him. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere special.”