by Avon Gale
It took the car a few tries to start up, and it was barely warm by the time he pulled into his apartment complex. But Shane barely noticed. He was happy there, he realized. And it wasn’t just the regular sex thing either. That was nice, but it was more than that. He liked his teammates, he liked playing hockey, and he was glad, in the end, that he’d come there. That restless discontent from earlier in the season was gone, replaced by the simple happiness of playing the sport he loved. On the flipside he had no idea what to do next season, but maybe… maybe playing another season wasn’t entirely out of the question. Maybe.
Or, okay, fine. Maybe that coaching thing wasn’t such a bad idea. It held more appeal than playing another year.
Once he was in his apartment, Shane kicked off his shoes and changed his clothes. He was just about to text Troy when there was a knock at his door.
Thinking it was Troy, Shane padded over and opened the door with a lazy “I was wondering if you’d—oh, hey.” He stopped immediately as he realized there wasn’t a tall, scowling, dark-haired, head coach on his doorstep… but a mopey-looking blond team captain.
“Hey, are you—is this a bad time?” Xavier held up a six-pack of Ballast Point. “I brought beer.”
Instead of telling him it was a bad time, Shane stepped back and gestured him in. He had a feeling he knew what it was about, and he supposed it was good that Xavier felt comfortable enough to mope about his love life to Shane—even if he had no idea what he could say. “Come in. You can put the beer in the fridge.” He gestured toward the kitchen. “It’s through there.”
“Cool. You got a bottle opener?”
“Yeah, it’s on the counter.”
Shane went into the living room and checked his phone, glad he hadn’t sent that message to Troy as he switched it to vibrate and placed it on the coffee table. Xavier came back in, handed Shane a beer, and took a seat next to him on the couch.
“It’s from San Diego,” Xavier said. “Uh. The beer. You heard of the brewery?”
“Yeah,” said Shane, and he took a sip. “They’re one of Alani’s sponsors, so she took me on a private tour. It was pretty sweet.”
“Cool.” Xavier stared down at his beer and then took a drink. A long one. Like he was trying to drink half his beer in one swallow.
As much as Shane wanted to suggest playing a video game or something, he knew there was a reason Xavier was there, and they might as well go ahead and get to it. “Is everything okay, Matty?”
Xavier stared at his beer and picked at the corner of the label. Shane had read somewhere that it meant you were horny if you did that. “Not really.”
“You want to talk about it?”
“Nope.” Xavier leaned forward and put his beer carefully down on the table. “I really don’t.”
Before Shane could say anything else, Xavier leaned in closer. It took Shane a second to realize that Xavier was going to try and kiss him. He reached out and put a hand on Xavier’s chest. “Hey, Xavier—” Fuck. What the hell was he supposed to say?
Xavier’s eyes widened in horror, and he moved away from Shane like a shot. “Oh, fuck my life. You’re not gay, are you? Jesus.” He ran a hand through his blond hair and shifted away from Shane on the couch. “I’m sorry. I thought… ugh, I thought wrong, obviously. Sorry. Can we pretend I never did that?”
“No, wait. Hey. You’re not wrong,” Shane said carefully. He thought back to all the times he could have come out to Xavier and hadn’t. This time Shane knew he had to. More importantly, he wanted to. He was ready. “I’m gay. It’s not that.” After all the years of thinking it would be a big deal, it was surprisingly easy to say.
“Oh.” Xavier gave a self-deprecating laugh. “You’re gay and just not into me. Got it.”
“Are you kidding? Have you seen yourself? You’re hot as hell, Matthews. That’s not it.” Shane had no idea how to deal with this without explaining he was sleeping with Troy. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Yeah. It never is.” Xavier picked up the beer again and went back to pulling at the label. He looked even sadder than before. A sad, hot underwear model who was a professional athlete. Xavier should be somewhere getting laid, not looking sad on Shane’s couch. And sure, maybe he’d come there to get laid, but goddamn. Xavier could do a lot better than a thirty-six-year-old hockey veteran who had it bad for his coach.
Speaking of, he should probably explain in a way that didn’t make Matthews feel like shit but also didn’t out that he was sleeping with Troy. “There are a lot of—uh, so, it’s just that—it’s complicated.” Great. That was basically useless.
Xavier scowled. “Spare me the bullshit, North. Just say you’re not into me. Okay? Trust me. I’ve heard it before. And you don’t have to make up reasons.”
“I’m not making up anything.” Shane moved just a bit closer. “I’m trying to be honest with you, since you were honest with me. Okay?”
Xavier nodded and leaned back against the couch. “Okay. Look. I know you’re leaving, North. We all know that. You’ve told us a million times. And I’m not asking you to marry me, dude. I just wanted to have sex with you.”
“I—uh.” Shane was at a loss. What did he do? Say thank you? Fuck. It was awkward as hell. And could he really say with certainty that he was going to leave after the season ended, when he had just entertained the thought of sticking around? “So, the thing is, I’m sort of seeing someone.” There. That was true. Vague as hell, but true.
Xavier nodded and appeared unsurprised. “Believe me, I’m used to hearing that too.”
“This about Drake?” Shane asked, even though he knew the answer. Because while he was flattered that Xavier wanted to sleep with him, he had a feeling he was nowhere near Xavier’s type. He was just convenient, which… well, that made him think about Troy and how it was absolutely not like that with him.
Oh God. Shane had feelings for him. Troy. He had feelings for Troy, and he hadn’t realized it until the hot team captain tried to have no-strings-attached sex with him. Shane almost laughed at the absurdity.
“We… it wasn’t really anything,” Xavier mumbled and added under his breath, “to him.”
Ah. That made a lot more sense. “But you guys did have a thing. Is that what I’m getting here?”
“Yeah. We hooked up a few times. But he’s… well, he’s always been out, and I wasn’t. He wasn’t into that, and by the time I’d come out to the team, he was already with St. Savoy. So.” Xavier sat up, grabbed his beer, and took another very long drink. “Can I have another one of these? If I can’t get laid, I can at least get drunk.”
“Sure,” said Shane, pointedly not mentioning that Xavier had brought the beer and could technically have all of them if he wanted. “I’ll even get you one. You might want to drink it slower, though. That’s some pretty high-gravity shit, there.”
Xavier rolled his eyes. “I get rejected and a lecture? That sucks.”
“Stop it.” Shane went, grabbed another beer, and came back and gave it to Xavier along with a PlayStation controller. “You’ll get NHL 17 and a couch to crash on too. How’s that?”
That got a smile out of Xavier, finally. “Yeah, okay. Also, I didn’t know you were seeing anyone. Did you meet them here? Does he have a brother?”
Shane absolutely did not want to talk about that. “It’s pretty new,” he said. “And I’m not sure if it’s… like I said, man. It’s complicated. Can we not talk about it?”
“Sure.” Xavier made a face. “I still feel embarrassed, though. Like maybe you’re making it up just to be nice about turning me down.”
“Well, I’m not that nice, and I’m not making it up. And listen, I’m flattered as hell, even if I think you might have a concussion, since there are way better-looking guys than me on our team.”
“Yeah, well. Evan went home with the waitress, Drake’s not into threesomes, and Coach Callahan is like, fortysomething.”
Shane let that go about Callahan. “Evan—wait. Why’d you put him on that list?�
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“I just have a feeling he might swing both ways,” said Xavier. “Even if he’s not really my type.”
“What is your type?” Shane asked. “Me and Drake don’t really have anything in common.”
“Other than you’re both assholes.” Xavier raised his beer with a slight smile. “I don’t even know what my type is. Isn’t that sad? I haven’t been able to really figure it out yet.”
“You figured out I was gay, though.” Shane started the game and navigated through the menus to find the right settings. “Not very many people pick up on that.”
“I kinda got the idea when you were really emphatic how Alani wasn’t your girlfriend.” Xavier said. “Like, I thought maybe it was so that the guys knew you didn’t have dibs or anything. Don’t look at me like that, okay. I know it’s awful bro verbiage. But then you looked like you’d murder anyone who hit on her.”
“Yeah?” Huh. Shane wondered if his other teammates had made the same assumption, just without the “trying to kiss him” thing.
“Well.” Xavier gave him a sheepish smile. “Also, remember last week when you tossed me your phone and told me to put on that pregame playlist?”
“I remember. Yeah.”
Xavier’s sheepish smile slid into a grin. “You had the Grindr app on your phone. So.”
Ah, well. Yes, that would be a clue—even though Shane hadn’t opened it in ages and had, just a few days earlier, taken it off completely so he could free up some memory space. “Wow, yeah. Okay. That’d be a pretty good hint. Now pick your team, and let’s get this game started. This is probably the only way I can ever kick your ass in hockey.”
Xavier rolled his eyes and obediently selected the Hurricanes. Shane picked the Ducks in memory of his encounter with Huxley, and they settled in to play the game. Xavier drank two more beers, and Shane finally called it quits when the last game ended with him winning 10-2. Xavier’s tolerance for anything with more alcohol content than a Miller Lite was terrible. “You’re drunk, man.”
“The Hurricanes suck, s’why,” Xavier slurred, but he agreeably put the controller on the table, took off his shoes, and flopped back on the couch. Shane went to get a pillow and a blanket from his bedroom.
“You know, I wouldn’t hold you to anything if you wanted to blow me.” Xavier stared up at him when Shane returned to the living room and dropped the pillow and fleece blanket on his chest. Xavier grasped it like a lifeline. “I’d even return the favor. Unless I passed out. I don’t know if you’re my type, but you aren’t, like, hideous. And your tattoos are hot.”
Amused, Shane shook his head fondly. “Pass out already, Matty.”
“’Kay. Night, North.”
Shane was pretty sure he was asleep before Shane retrieved his phone from the coffee table. A glance showed he had some missed messages from Troy, which were all filthy and immediately got his blood heating. He was just thinking about how to put his hard-on to good use—jerking off in his room with Xavier passed out on his couch was totally acceptable—when someone knocked at the door.
That time, it was a scowling, dark-haired head coach. Shane frowned at him and stepped aside so Troy could come in. “It’s one in the morning, Cally.”
“And I told you I wanted to put you on your knees and fuck your mouth with my—” Troy stopped, and his light eyes narrowed as he took in Xavier’s sleeping form. “You got company?”
“Yeah. Xavier Matthews. He got sad and drunk and passed out on my couch.”
Troy brushed past him, immediately headed to Shane’s room, and barely spared Matthews a glance on his way. But once Shane followed him in and closed the door, Troy took off his coat and asked, “Why’s he sad? Do I want to know?”
Did he? Shane had no idea. “He’s got a thing for Drake. The Spitfires’ goalie, not the Canadian rapper.”
“There’s a Canadian rapper named Drake?” Troy carelessly tossed his coat on the floor. “There are Canadian rappers?”
“You’re so out of touch.” Shane moved in closer, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized he should probably tell Troy that he’d just come out to Xavier. “So, uh…. Matthews was hung up on Drake, figured out I was gay, and came here to make a pass at me.”
“What?” Troy’s eyes snapped. “The fuck he did.”
Surprised at the vehemence of his reaction, Shane was momentarily robbed of his ability to respond with a quip. “Uh… I said no, obviously.”
“Why obviously? Maybe he’s passed out because you blew him.”
Shane stared so hard at Troy that his eyes started to water. “Are you jealous?”
Troy’s glare hit Shane with the same force as Matt Huxley’s fists. “Fuck.”
“Since it’s you, that probably means yes. I didn’t do anything with him, and I wouldn’t. Okay? And yeah, fine. Some of that is because we… haven’t had that talk, but—”
“What talk is that?” Troy interrupted. “The one where we say we’re not sleeping with other people?”
The one where we say this isn’t just about sex. Shane didn’t know how to say that. “I’m not sleeping with anyone else, Troy. Jesus. I don’t have the time for that.”
That was maybe not the right thing to say. Troy’s eyes flashed at him. “That the only reason?”
“Are you kidding me with this?” Shane buried his face in his hands. “No, of course that’s not the only reason. It’s not even a reason. I’m not sleeping with anyone else because of this thing we have, is that what you want me to say?”
Troy gave a short laugh. “I don’t know what I want you to say. Which, it wouldn’t matter anyway, because if I wanted you to say it, you wouldn’t out of spite.”
“That is how we do things,” Shane agreed. He held his hands up and tried to steer the conversation away from serious issues that they should really discuss without the Ravens’ captain sleeping in the living room. “You want to have some kind of relationship talk right now, or try and fuck real quiet so that Matthews doesn’t hear us?”
“The fucked up thing here, North? I don’t really know the answer to that.” Troy glanced at the bed and then at Shane. “That’s my fucking problem with you.”
“Your problem is you don’t know if you want to fuck me or talk about your feelings? Really?”
“Something like that.” Troy was in Shane’s space all of a sudden, and his hands on Shane’s face were chilled in contrast to the warmth of his body. “I want to fuck you all the time. Even when you showed up and mouthed off in my office the day we met. That’s not the problem.”
“Okay, one,” Shane said against Troy’s mouth as they kissed, “I was not mouthing off. You were being your normal charming self. Two, what’s the problem? That you want to talk about feelings, or that you have them?”
“I’m not a goddamn robot.” They started to take each other’s clothes off, somehow—all hands and awkward fumbling in their haste. “You drive me up a fucking wall, Shane.”
“Everyone and everything drives you up a fucking wall, Troy.” Shane gave him a gentle shove toward the bed. “That doesn’t mean anything.”
Troy grabbed his wrists, turned them around, and then half pushed and half walked Shane until he hit the edge of the bed with the back of his knees. Troy pushed Shane down, which was dumb because he was too tall to lie that way with another equally tall person on top of him. Troy didn’t seem to care, though.
“We’re not having a conversation about this while we’re fucking,” Troy informed him.
“You’re the one who won’t stop talking,” Shane pointed out as he reached for Troy’s pants. “Do you wear dress pants to bed? Seriously, put on some jeans.”
“You’ve seen what I wear to bed. Could you stop pulling the zipper like that? Your oafish hands are already the reason I had to have an awkward conversation with my tailor.”
Shane gave a delighted laugh. “I’m so not sorry.”
“I didn’t think so.” Troy kissed him, and they tried to rearrange themselves.
Shane attempted to lie on the bed like a normal person, and Troy tried to do the same. They had the same goal and yet were constantly in each other’s way, which… if Shane were in the mood to think about “their relationship” that probably defined it as well as anything else.
“So we’re going with fucking?”
“We’re going with shut the fuck up. That’s what we’re going with.” Troy pulled at Shane’s running pants. It was a lot easier to get those off, since it didn’t involve any complicated buttons or zippers. Shane lifted his hips, and Troy made short work of them, along with Shane’s underwear. “Take your shirt off. Don’t fucking argue. Just do it.”
Shane did so and eyed Troy suspiciously as Troy unbuttoned his own shirt. “Why are you still wearing a dress shirt?”
“I went out after the game to get a drink and didn’t change.”
Shane’s entire body flushed hot at the thought of Troy out somewhere, and he didn’t like either the thought or the way it made him feel. “Where?”
“Contacts.” Troy’s mouth quirked. “Why? Are you jealous?”
Fuck, no. He was… goddammit. “Shut up and keep stripping.”
They both went quiet as they heard footsteps going into the bathroom, which was, thank God, in the hallway and not through Shane’s bedroom. Neither of them moved a muscle until they heard the toilet flush, and then they resumed in hushed whispers.
“I left you a text message telling you I was going there.” Troy tossed his shirt on the floor, followed by his undershirt.
“I just read the dirty ones,” said Shane as he threw his shirt down to meet Troy’s. He was intrigued that they were both stripping. He’d thought it would be the half-dressed sort of sex they apparently excelled at having, usually in situations where they could get caught.
“What a surprise.” Troy sat on the edge of the bed, pushed his pants off, and shucked his socks and shoes.
“You want to fuck, I gotta get the lube. It’s in my top dresser drawer.”
“Awfully far away from the bed, isn’t it?” Troy turned and crawled so he was on top of Shane. “You really do like to make everything hard on yourself, don’t you?”