Empty Net

by Avon Gale

  Laurent had to think about that way too long for Isaac’s liking. Yet another reason it was a bad idea. Isaac was so hard he hurt.

  “Could you just….” Laurent waved a hand to indicate himself.

  “Perform magic? What?”

  Laurent gave a little soft noise that Isaac realized was a laugh. “Try something. I feel tense.”

  He wasn’t the only one. “You’re always tense, dude.”

  “Not like normal. I think I want you to touch me. Can you just try?”

  Isaac huffed and moved so he was facing Laurent again, not sure that Laurent should be on his back. “Fine. But tell me to stop if you don’t want to.”

  “Do you?”

  “Want to stop?” Isaac tilted his head.

  “Want to touch me,” Laurent said, so shyly he could barely look at Isaac at the same time.

  Oh, you have no idea what I want to do with you. I want to touch you, fuck you, put you on your knees, and teach you how to deep-throat my dick instead of say shit I don’t want to hear.

  “Yeah,” said Isaac. It seemed safer. More succinct.

  Laurent appeared to be waiting for him to do it. “Okay.”

  Isaac reached out and drew his fingers over Laurent’s mouth, his beautiful cheekbones, and the smooth curve of his jaw. He must have shaved in the shower, or else he didn’t grow much of a beard. Isaac was the same way.

  He brushed down over Laurent’s Adam’s apple with his fingers, and slid his other hand gently through Laurent’s hair.

  That got a noise, and Laurent’s eyes slid half closed. “You like that,” Isaac said.

  Laurent nodded.

  Did Laurent want to make out with Isaac or just have Isaac pet him? It frustrated Isaac not to be able to tell, and for about the thousandth time, he thought he was way out of his depth. He usually didn’t let his dick overrule his common sense, but he also could see Laurent was touch starved, even if it had nothing to do with sex. Isaac wanted him so badly that it was hard for him to take sex out of the equation. But he was going to try, because Laurent needed it, and Isaac remembered what it was like to go without touch unless someone paid him for it.

  Laurent closed his eyes, and Isaac sighed and carded his fingers through Laurent’s hair again. He could do that. It was fine. Nice to be able to give Laurent something. He’d just keep telling himself that.

  “Don’t you want something else?”

  Oh hell. Did he ever. “Would you stop being so bossy?” Isaac sighed. “I’m not sure you want this.”

  Laurent opened his eyes. He looked annoyed. “Me neither. I’m trying to find out.”

  Fair enough. If Laurent just wanted to be petted, then Isaac should probably rule out the sex stuff right away. It seemed only fair.

  So he shifted closer, put one hand lightly on the back of Laurent’s neck to hold him still, and moved in to kiss him. Not just a peck with his mouth closed either. He kissed him slowly, aware that Laurent might move away at any second. He gradually increased the pressure and intensity until Laurent very tentatively started to kiss him back.

  Isaac maybe lost his mind a little when that happened.

  He moved closer, and at the last minute, he realized it wasn’t a good idea to roll right on top of Laurent, which is what he wanted to do. And pulling Laurent down on top of him—also an attractive idea—wasn’t a stellar plan either.

  So he just kept kissing Laurent, and Laurent kissed him back until they both needed to stop to breathe.

  “Umm,” Isaac said, once he was sure he could talk. “How was that?”

  Laurent’s eyes were wide and blurry, and the flush was back on his cheekbones. He licked his bottom lip, and if that weren’t bad enough, he reached up with visibly shaking fingers and touched his own mouth. “You’re good at it.”

  Isaac thought that meant Laurent had to like it at least a little. Right?

  But it was Laurent, who was likely to say something asshole-ish. When Laurent opened his mouth, Isaac was tempted to just lean in and kiss him again so he didn’t ruin the moment by saying anything.

  “That’s the first time anyone’s kissed me.”

  Isaac stared at him. “Seriously? You have seen yourself, haven’t you?”

  “I told you, my father said—”

  “I know,” Isaac said, not wanting to talk about St. Savoy, Sr. when he had a hot guy in his bed and a hard-on, even if he wasn’t going to do anything with either. “But you’re so hot.”

  Laurent looked away. “People have told me that before.”

  More issues than The Hockey News. Right. “And I mean, yeah… your personality could use some work.”

  Laurent’s head snapped up, but he saw Isaac’s smile and rolled his eyes. He then shifted a little closer to Isaac. “Could we…?”

  No. No we can’t. This is a terrible idea. It’s not going to do anything but fuck up everything… and I don’t even care. “Yeah,” Isaac said and reached for Laurent again. “We can.”

  Chapter Nine

  KISSING LAURENT was both a good idea and a bad one.

  Isaac had no idea what he was doing with Laurent on a personal level, but professionally they were in competition. Laurent’s goaltending was getting better and better, because he’d apparently decided to show up and play, after all. Which was great, but Isaac was having to step up his game.

  And he liked it, he realized. The competition wasn’t vicious—since Laurent was being way less of a dickhead—but it was intense.

  The more intense it got, the more intense the kissing got too. Isaac continued to wonder if he was getting in over his head.

  “So you’re spending a lot of time with Saint,” Hux said, when they were playing video games at his and Murph’s place.

  “And isn’t it better for everyone?” Isaac made his on-screen character shoot the puck. He liked playing forward on video games, even though everyone expected him to be the goalie.

  “Not talking about the team, bro,” said Hux. He, on the other hand, played a defenseman, just like he did on the ice. He also liked to try and get in fights. Hux was a man secure and happy with his role in their shared sport, that was for sure.

  “You fucking him?” Murph asked, wandering in with a beer.

  “Murph thinks he’s gay,” Hux said, as if that needed explaining.

  Isaac stared at the screen and tried to make Mike Fisher do some kind of spin-o-rama move. Instead Hux’s team stole the puck and scored off the turnover. Being a Predators fan was hard in any reality—real or pixelated. “I’m not fucking him.”

  His friends stared at him, but Isaac tried not to let anything show on his face. Things were too complicated to talk about.

  “Holy shit. Ha. I was right. My gaydar is better than yours, dude,” Murph crowed, smacking Isaac on the back of the head.

  “Ow. Would you stop? I told you I wasn’t fucking him.”

  “Yeah. But you’re getting some,” Murph prodded. “Don’t lie.”

  “I’m not,” Isaac said. Firmly. “Believe me. Can we not talk about this?”

  “Nope.” Hux paused the game. “Spill it. Are you guys dating?”

  Isaac was two seconds away from snapping “I’m going home” and throwing the controller like he was a sulky twelve-year-old. Instead he took a deep breath and said, “Guys, can we not talk about Saint and just play the game?”

  Murph and Hux exchanged a look, but they didn’t say anything else about it. Isaac didn’t trust that look at all, but he kept it to himself. He couldn’t say he didn’t want to talk about it and then start talking about it.

  Making out with Laurent and trying to be friends with him didn’t necessarily make it easier to like him. He still rubbed a lot of the guys the wrong way, and though Isaac understood that dickhead Laurent was a result of him feeling insecure or defensive, no one else did. Yet there was a guy worth knowing under the mask. Isaac was sure of it.

  Which was why, when Coach Samarin told them about an outreach opportunity at a local school,
Isaac signed them both up without asking Laurent.

  “You want me to talk to kids?” Laurent stared at him incredulously. “I can barely handle talking to people my own age, and you think this is a good idea?”

  Isaac shrugged and then flashed a grin. “Probably not, but you gotta learn sometime. Right?”

  Laurent didn’t look convinced. “I’m not ever having children,” he said in a flat voice.

  “Stop making everything so dramatic,” Isaac responded. “You’re going.”

  The outreach was about getting kids interested in hockey without the use of one of Belsey’s 80’s-music-themed ad campaigns. He and Laurent wore a few pieces of their gear—mostly to emphasize the importance of safety, and because kids thought their masks were cool—and stood in front of some nets while the kids were organized into two groups, and then tried to score with a giant nerf ball and what looked to be an oversized golf club.

  Isaac wasn’t used to kids, but he had fun flailing around and pretending to stop goals. Each kid took shots until they scored a goal, which was basically just Isaac letting one in when the kid looked frustrated or stopped giggling.

  One of the teachers paused the shootout and came up to Isaac. “Umm. Could you maybe tell your teammate that this is supposed to be fun?”

  Laurent was apparently taking his position too seriously, as usual. Isaac reassured the harried-looking teacher and went over to Laurent. “It’s not the Stanley Cup playoffs,” he said. “You’re not supposed to make other guys cry.”

  Laurent’s dark gaze was cool and unreadable. Isaac had been told more than once that he had the crazy, “come and try it, asshole” goalie stare beneath his mask when he was in net. Not for the first time, Isaac noticed that Laurent’s stare looked like nobody was home—like he was just an extension of the net instead of a person.

  No wonder he didn’t like hockey or playing goalie. Shutting down hotshot shooters was supposed to give you a feeling of glee. Just not when they were seven.

  “My father never—”

  “I swear to—uh, gosh. If you mention your dad, I will deck you with one of those Nerf things.” Isaac looked around and made sure he was smiling wildly in case a small child overheard him. “Now stop being a prick and make these kids have fun.”

  Isaac yanked his mask back down, went to his side of the makeshift court, and took his spot back in goal.

  A few minutes later he heard some cheers and giggling, so Isaac figured Laurent had gotten with the program.

  After the kids were finished shooting at the goalies, they were allowed to take turns in net. Isaac was momentarily horrified at how that would play out with Laurent. He worried that he’d just consigned about ten kids to therapy. But Laurent was surprisingly good at that part. At one point Isaac looked over to check on him and saw Laurent bestow an honest-to-God smile on a kid and ruffle his hair.

  That’s when Isaac decided they needed to go on a date—a real one that maybe ended in more than kissing. Because there was something about that gesture, about seeing Laurent St. Savoy drop all his attitude and be a regular guy having a good time and showing the affection he’d probably never had as a child. And Isaac needed to know if the thing between them was leading somewhere or if they were just going to be friends who sometimes petted each other’s hair, but no more than that.

  “See. Wasn’t that fun?” Isaac asked on the way back. Laurent looked as relaxed as Isaac had ever seen him.

  “It wasn’t bad,” Laurent said.

  “You want to go get some dinner?” Isaac tried not to sound too eager.

  “It’s four thirty,” Laurent said. “Are we going for a senior citizen’s discount?”

  “Well, I meant later. But you know we don’t get paid all that much.” Isaac grinned. “Don’t expect me to take you anywhere fancy. I meant like, Olive Garden or something.”

  “I don’t like Olive Garden.”

  Isaac sighed and took the turn toward Laurent’s apartment. One step at a time. “We can go somewhere else. The important part was the one where I asked you out. On a date.”

  “Okay.”

  That was all he got, but Isaac said, “I’ll pick you up at seven thirty” and watched as Laurent climbed out of the Jeep without a backward glance.

  WHAT THE hell was he supposed to wear on a date?

  Laurent stood, freshly showered and in nothing but a pair of underwear, and stared at the admittedly small amount of clothing he’d brought with him to Spartanburg. He never expected to need anything to wear out on a date.

  He definitely never expected to go on a date with Isaac Drake.

  Laurent chewed on his lip, fought his nerves and reminded himself that he’d kissed Isaac more than once and liked it. That clearly meant he was… something. Gay? Bisexual? How was he supposed to know? Getting off by himself was as awkward as always, but for the first time he had something to think about.

  Not something. Someone. Isaac, and that lip ring. Thinking about sucking on that ring—which Laurent had been brave enough to try the last time and Isaac had sounded as if he’d really liked—made him flush and his cock tent out the front of his underwear.

  Laurent went with a pair of dark washed jeans and a plain white dress shirt that he left untucked. That seemed like a concession to casual. Was he supposed to dress casual? He had no idea. His nerves were shot, and was there anything less appealing than going out to dinner when all he wanted to do was stay home with his comics and his sketchbook?

  Laurent made himself stop with a firm mental reminder that he liked Isaac—liked being around him, liked the ease with which his moods rolled off Isaac like water off stone, liked that for once someone wasn’t letting him get away with his terrible attitude. Isaac apparently expected better of him. And when Laurent gave it to him, Isaac was proud. And Isaac was so good at kissing.

  It just means he’s going to hate you when you fuck this up. He’s the best person you’ve ever met. Why do you think you’re anything near good enough for him?

  Laurent grabbed his phone and thought about texting Isaac and telling him to fuck off, that he wasn’t going out to dinner with some fag, or whatever mean thing he could say so Isaac would want nothing to do with him. But the thought of using that word suddenly made Laurent intensely angry. At himself, for all the times he’d ever said it.

  He never meant it as anything other than a way to rile someone up or hurt them or make them back off, but he realized that wasn’t how other people used it. People like his father. They meant it as an insult. They thought people like Isaac were somehow less because of who they loved.

  People like Laurent. Because the evidence was pretty strong that he too was gay or bisexual. Maybe his father had always known, and that was just one more thing he wanted to take away from Laurent, like he took away hockey.

  Laurent always had a hard time standing up to his father, but if he canceled his date because he was afraid he wasn’t good enough for Isaac, then his father would win. Again.

  No.

  Laurent put his phone in the back pocket of his jeans, ran a comb through his hair, and stared at himself in the mirror. Isaac thought he was hot, and Laurent was glad. He noticed his own good looks with detached objectivity, aware that people found him attractive. He’d heard people say how it was a good thing he looked like his mom, because his father was a great goalie but not the least bit attractive. And he knew that was also a sore spot with Denis, as if he might have liked his son if he hadn’t dared to be born with the same good looks that had drawn Denis to Laurent’s mother.

  His phone buzzed, and there was a text from Isaac.

  Want to come down?

  Laurent stood up, grabbed his keys and his wallet, and left.

  He was surprised to see Mrs. Bowen at the bottom of the stairs. Her hair was in curlers, and she was wearing a housecoat like it was bedtime. She probably had eaten dinner at four thirty.

  “You look nice,” she said and gave him a sly smile. “Do you have a date?”

&nbs
p; “Yes,” Laurent said, surprising himself. But he remembered that hot plate, and how she let him move in without a deposit when no one else would.

  She winked. “With the young man in the Jeep? He looks nervous. That’s good. Keep ’em on their toes,” she said. And then before Laurent could even think of what to say, she said, “Have fun and don’t let him drink and drive.”

  She disappeared into her apartment and left Laurent staring in shock at her door.

  One more assumption he’d made that he clearly shouldn’t have—that Mrs. Bowen would care he was dating a guy just because she was old. Laurent gave a shake of his head and went outside.

  Isaac wasn’t nervous. Ever. Laurent opened the passenger-side door.

  “Hey.”

  “Hi,” Isaac said, and his eyes lingered appreciatively in a way that Laurent didn’t mind as he climbed in the Jeep. He’d never been glad to be attractive before, but it was nice that something about him was pleasing and didn’t involve as much work as it took to change his attitude.

  Though Laurent was in the car with Isaac often enough, including earlier that day, he wondered if he was supposed to say something date-like and had no idea what that would be.

  Well. If Isaac wanted someone good at dating, he wouldn’t have asked Laurent out.

  Even Isaac was quiet as he drove, but Laurent was used to silence and didn’t mind. He covertly studied Isaac as best he could, which wasn’t much, given how dark it was outside. He was also wearing jeans and what looked like a dark blue shirt. His hair was spiked up as usual, and it was even brighter blue than normal.

  “Your hair,” Laurent said. “It’s… uh. Blue. Bluer.”

  Isaac gave a quick grin as he merged lanes. “I re-dyed it this afternoon just for you. Feel special.”

  Laurent let that one go without comment, but he did feel that way. Special. And it made him wary and nervous. “What’s your real hair color?”

  “Eh. Boring. It’s like, mousy brown or something. I like having it a color you can’t find in nature. I think it’s more fun, and you know… it’s just hair.”