Power Plays & Straight A's

by Eden Finley

  “Definitely talk to him,” Mom says. “And my psychic is still—”

  “Not an option.” I smile to soften my rejection. “But thank you. You’re always trying to help.”

  “Well in that case”—she leans over and takes my plate before carrying it to the kitchen—“we can stay up all night, watch sappy movies, and drown your worries in ice cream.” She sighs happily. “My little boy’s first love. Oh, I’m so happy.”

  True to her word, she drapes us both in a knitted throw and picks some old sappy movie she says always makes her cry.

  Dad disappears, the traitor, which means I’ll be left to deal with the sobbing.

  I couldn’t be more uncomfortable.

  Yet even with the threat of my mother’s tears hanging over my head, I’m able to relax without Foster being here for the first time in … well, it’s been a while. No Seth, no Foster, only me and Mom and a rapidly depleting stash of candy.

  I still feel vaguely sick at the thought of letting Foster go, but I’ve made up my mind to talk to him, and it’s like a weight off my shoulders. Maybe how I feel will be too much for him and he’ll end it tomorrow, but at least then I’ll have Mom to wrap me up in comfort food. I can extend my stay here if I need to.

  This isn’t a conversation I want to have over the phone at all, but once I’m back in Vermont, I won’t be able to run away and hide. Then again, can I really imagine not seeing him again if this all ends? Wouldn’t it be better to squeeze in one more moment with him?

  Mom sniffs at the stupid movie, and I’m appalled when I do too.

  Emotions.

  Who needs them?

  But when I check my phone later and find a sweet good night text from Foster, I melt a little inside.

  I need them.

  I need Foster.

  And for the first time ever, needing someone doesn’t feel like a weakness.

  31

  Foster

  I’d contemplated bringing a sign to the airport saying, “Property of Zach Sawyer,” but I thought he might get embarrassed. It was tempting to see his face that bright shade of red I love so much.

  I’d invited him to New York with me, but he already had his ticket home for the break, so we haven’t seen each other in … too many days to count. I was half hoping for an invite to his hometown but didn’t want to intrude. I get the impression Zach’s family is supportive but not really close. Not like mine.

  When Zach’s dark head of messy hair appears in the distance, I hold myself back from doing something lame like running at him in slow motion.

  I force my feet to stay where they are, next to the baggage carousel that has his flight number on it.

  He’s got his head down, looking at his phone.

  Mine buzzes in my pocket.

  ZACH: I’ve landed. Seth should be here to pick me up. Can’t wait to see you.

  “Hey,” I say when he’s a few feet away.

  Zach jumps back. “Foster … What are you … I mean …” He looks down at his usual baggy jeans and his old, thinning shirt. “I thought Seth was coming. I would’ve …” He gestures to his clothes.

  “Aww, you woulda gotten dressed up for me?” I go to wrap my arms around him, but he steps back.

  “I smell like plane, and it’s gross.”

  I hug him anyway. “Don’t care.” I squeeze him tighter. “Missed you.”

  “Missed you too,” he mumbles against my shoulder.

  “Fuck, I cannot wait to get you back to the house.”

  There are still a few days before classes start back up, so he’s staying with us.

  And, oh, look at that, I still managed to make my boyfriend blush anyway.

  “No sex in your parents’ house.”

  I grin. “How long did that last over Thanksgiving before you caved?”

  “Thanksgiving rules stand. No sex while they’re home.”

  Sleeping naked next to Zach almost killed both of us until he finally broke and instigated a loophole. It seemed every time Mom and Dad left the house, we’d rush to my room, much to Seth’s annoyance.

  “I happen to know they’re at work right now, so we have the place to ourselves. Well, Seth’s there, but we can tell him to fuck off.”

  He purses his lips. “We’ll see.”

  I don’t know what that means, but I try not to read into it.

  Zach wraps himself in about three layers of sweaters and jackets before we head for the parking lot.

  “Cold?” I reach over and shove my beanie on his head.

  “I swear it’s colder here than in Wisconsin, and I didn’t think that was possible.”

  “I know lots of ways to warm you up.”

  “A few weeks without sex has given you a one-track mind.”

  “Nah, I always think about sex, but I’m more vocal about it when I’m not getting any.”

  Zach smiles, but there’s something about it I don’t quite believe.

  It’s been like that for a while if I’m being honest. Ever since Damon King came into my life, Zach’s smiles feel forced. His excitement seems faked.

  For someone who analyzes emotion because he doesn’t understand it, he’s not great at hiding his.

  He’s gone back to fidgety and nervous Zach. As if any progress we’ve made the last few months has been taken away by our time apart.

  It was like this when hockey season started too.

  I don’t know how that will affect us next year.

  We’ve been texting and talking on the phone, but Zach’s been too self-conscious to video chat, which I respect, but if I’m going to sign with an NHL team, something’s going to have to change. He can’t go back to being uncomfortable around me after every time we’re away from each other.

  Visits will be short. Our time will be limited.

  But I still want it. I want as much time with him as I can have for as long as I can have it.

  I thought this thing with him would be fleeting—that we’d hang out, have fun, and then eventually we’d realize we have nothing in common or we’d be too busy for each other and end things on good terms.

  It’s how most of my “relationships” have gone.

  Never in my wildest dreams did I think we’d end up here where I don’t want to leave him. I never thought I’d take someone else into consideration when deciding my future.

  My future has been mine and mine alone to control. Now I want to do everything in my power to make sure Zach’s a part of it. No matter how hard long distance will be.

  “How was New York?” he asks as we get on the road.

  “I pretty much told you everything already.”

  He’d listened and been enthusiastically happy for me, but now I’m wondering if that was forced too.

  It might have been that I was feeling so high over signing with an agent that I wasn’t paying complete attention to how Zach was taking the news.

  Damon listened to what I want and was optimistic. I told him I’m interested in any contract that will be offered, but that I’d love to stick close to home. East Coast if possible. Damon believes he can get me that but has also told me to be realistic in the sense an NHL contract is an NHL contract, no matter where it is.

  All I have to do now is put my head down and work my ass off to impress NHL scouts. Prove that any and every team will want me.

  “Are you excited?” Zach asks.

  “I’ll be excited once I have a contract. An agent is only the beginning.”

  “What’s your ultimate dream team?”

  “New York would be cool. It’s farther than I’d like, but Ollie Stromberg plays for them.”

  “I have no idea who that is.”

  I snort. “One of the first out players in the NHL. My agent represents him too, and I dunno … not being the only queer guy on a team would be nice. If not New York, I’d kill to play for Boston. I grew up rooting for them, so that would be awesome.”

  A small smile breaks through on Zach’s face. “It’s also only three and a
half hours away.”

  “You could come down on weekends when I don’t have games.”

  Zach shifts in his seat and looks out the window. “You’d want that?”

  “Fuck yes.”

  “Wow. No hesitation. Okay.”

  “Are you doing that thing again?” I glance at him before needing to turn my focus back to the road.

  They’re slick and dangerous from last night’s snowfall. I want to pull over to have this conversation, but we’re almost home.

  “What thing?”

  “Where you’re making assumptions about us without talking to me?”

  “M-maybe?”

  I pull onto my parents’ street and bite my lip to stop from getting into this until we’re parked in the drive.

  The second I kill the engine, I turn to him.

  “So, what’s the assumption? That as soon as I sign with the NHL, that’s it for us?”

  “I don’t know? Maybe? You’ll always be you, and I’ll always be … me.”

  “I have absolutely no clue what that means.”

  He eyes me. “You’re mad again.”

  “No shit.”

  “The NHL includes a certain … lifestyle. I don’t want to hold you back.”

  “Lifestyle?” I frown.

  “Puck bunnies. I read about them.”

  I rub my hand over my face and groan. “Are we really arguing about a possible future where I might fuck some random person because you’ll be in Vermont and I won’t be?”

  “No! I’m not implying if you weren’t with me that you’d cheat. More … that if you go into the NHL with baggage, that it might hold you back from getting the full experience. I’m not … I’m not suited for that life. Could you imagine me in some team box talking to people about hockey? They’ll probably kick me out for calling the puck a disc. A goal a touchdown. A period an inning.”

  “Aww, you learned the correct terms for me?”

  “I’m serious. I’ll get nervous and say something stupid, and then all your new hockey teammates will lose respect for you.”

  “You think I care about that? If I wanted someone obsessed with hockey, you would not be my boyfriend. Just saying.”

  “I … I …” His mouth opens and closes fast.

  “You need to understand something. You know how you get so lost when you’re reading and studying and focusing on the thing that interests you? A week can go by, and you don’t even notice. The first few years, I’m going to be working so hard on my game I probably won’t even have the energy to do anything but focus on securing a long-term spot on a team. It’s unpredictable. I might have the crappiest rookie year and get sent down to the AHL for training. I might not gel with a team and get traded. Hell, I might not even get signed at this point. Anything could happen, and I don’t know why we’re talking about this now when it’s months away.”

  He lowers his head. “Because I’m scared you’re going to walk away, and I’m going to get hurt.” His voice is so quiet. So unsure, yet so set at the same time.

  “Baby …” I lean toward him, but my stupid seatbelt is still fastened. “Shit.”

  I quickly unbuckle it and then I’m in his space.

  His eyes widen, but when I cup his cheek, he leans into my hand.

  “I never expected you,” I start. “I never expected that my brother asking me to look out for you would be anything more than me checking in on you every once in a while. I definitely didn’t expect to fall for you or think I’d ask my agent to find me a team on the East Coast so I could be close to you. I know it won’t be easy, and yes, it’ll be an adjustment, but I don’t ever want you to think I’m giving something up or will miss out because of you. You’re not only my boyfriend.”

  He’s so much more. A lot more than I can put into words.

  “I’m not?” He blinks up at me.

  I shake my head. “You’re as much a part of my future as hockey is.”

  “A-are you sure? Because part of me wonders if you should be psychoanalyzed.”

  I burst out laughing. “Maybe I should. But that’s not going to change the fact I’ve fallen for you. I’ve fallen harder than any hit I’ve taken on the ice.”

  “Oh, so you have a concussion. That would explain so much. Why you think my awkwardness is cute. And why—”

  I cut off the self-deprecation with a kiss that’s forceful and promising. One I hope he can feel in his numb toes because we’ve been sitting in the car for a while with the heat off, and it’s becoming an ice box.

  But when he kisses me back, I don’t care about frostbite or hypothermia.

  That is until my dick starts to shrivel up from the cold.

  “No more assumptions,” I say against his lips.

  “Okay, I’ll try. It’s sort of my default to put meaning to things though, so I might need some help remembering.”

  “Whenever you start to doubt, just remember I’m crazy about you.”

  “Okay.”

  “Let me take you inside and show you,” I whisper.

  “Show me what?”

  “How much I lo … how much …” Shit, why can’t I say the words? Granted, they’re words I’ve never said to anyone else outside my family, but they’re dancing on the tip of my tongue. They want to come out, but something’s holding them back. “How much I want you.”

  Damn it.

  He nods.

  We get out of the car, and he moves toward the trunk.

  “We’ll get your bags later.” I grab his upper arm and push him toward the front door.

  Once we’re through the snow and on the porch, I pull him against me and press my lips to his.

  He wraps his arms around my neck, and we blindly fumble our way inside, kissing and groping.

  “Hey, how was Wiscon—” My brother’s voice cuts off. “Ooh, look at that. I’m gonna go walk the dog.”

  I wave him off but then his words register. I force my lips away from Zach’s but don’t let him go. “We don’t have a dog.”

  “Fine. I’m getting out of the house so I don’t have to watch or listen to”—he gestures to us—“that. Bye.”

  Zach and I run up the stairs before Seth even has his coat and shoes on.

  We strip out of our thick coats and jackets, shed our shoes and socks, and then I’m pushing Zach down on his back and covering his smaller frame with mine.

  I lean up on my elbow as I snake my hand under his shirt.

  “Fuck, you’re cold,” he complains.

  “Keep me warm.” I laugh.

  “No way.” Zach tries to shove me off him, but like that’s ever gonna work.

  Then he looks up at me with a pleading expression, and I know I’m going to give in.

  I sigh and roll onto my back.

  He straddles my waist and hovers above me. Can’t say I’m complaining.

  His icy fingers go to my abs, and I try to hold in my wince. Okay, now I’ll complain.

  “Payback.”

  “Nope,” I grit out. “I can totally handle it.”

  Fuck, how long does it take for hands to warm?

  I try not to shiver as he moves his hands over my chest. “Okay, fine, you win. It’s too cold. Let’s get under the covers and warm up. Then you can touch my dick.”

  “Oh, can I? You’re the nicest boyfriend ever.”

  “My dick is a privilege not a right.”

  Zach laughs. “You’re ridiculous.”

  “But you love it.”

  “I do. I love … everything about you.”

  “Same,” I whisper. “I mean, I’m fucking awesome, so it makes sense we both love everything about me.”

  Zach shoves me.

  As we settle into the warmth and Zach curls into my side, I know without a doubt I’m in love with him.

  Now I just have to find the balls to say the actual words.

  32

  Zach

  “I can’t believe you’re doing this,” Ray says as we leave the library. Foster’s practice is j
ust about to wrap up, and I want to get there before he leaves.

  “Honestly, neither can I. But I have to. Because that’s what boyfriends do. Apparently.”

  “Uh-huh.” She screws up her nose. “I didn’t realize putting yourself in actual danger was romantic.”

  I huff. “I won’t be in danger. Foster will be there, and he’ll make sure I’m okay because, well, he just will.”

  “I’m detecting nervousness.”

  “Of course I’m nervous!”

  “Funny, I thought sex was supposed to cut through all that bullshit.”

  I shake my head. “I hope he always gives me butterflies.”

  “And I hope we never have this conversation again. You guys are gross.”

  I laugh. “Okay, well, wish me luck, I guess.”

  “Good luck, baby unicorn. I hope you don’t fracture your coccyx.”

  Her face stays completely blank and I tilt my head. “I still can’t tell when you’re being sincere.”

  “Hopefully you never will.”

  I may not understand her half the time, but my friendship with Ray has become important to me. I like her quirkiness and her droll humor, but more importantly, it’s a friendship I made where there are no expectations. She doesn’t feel the need to protect me the way Seth does.

  We’re friends because we can spend time together when we want but also say “Hey, I don’t want to people today” without getting offended.

  It’s actually a pretty decent arrangement.

  I leave her with a wave and hurry over to the arena to wait.

  When I reach the locker room, the voices from inside echo out into the hall, and I take it as a sign Foster must still be here. I’m sure the coach says something about this weekend’s game, and it’s followed by the loud, deep rumbles of cheering and the pounding of lockers.

  I jump and back into the wall, preparing for the stampede of hockey players. Instead, only the coach leaves.

  “Bit early,” he says. “Practice only finished five minutes ago.”