by Avon Gale
“A lot of people think it’s different when it’s someone they know,” Lane said quietly, unsure why he was still talking about it. “And you’re not Canadian. Right? You actually sing along during the American anthem before games.”
“Yeah. I’m American. I’m from Cheyenne, Wyoming.”
“Wyoming?” Lane never imagined people from Wyoming played hockey. “Do they even have hockey there?”
“Yeah. Obviously.” Riley made another save that sent him half sprawling across Lane. He didn’t apologize, just righted himself and went on playing. Lane might have thought he was making a pass at him if Riley hadn’t been doing that same thing for the whole game. Well, maybe not. He was sort of dense. Zoe was right about that.
“And you’ve been here three years. Right?”
“Two. I mean, this is my third. I might have a tryout with the Crunch if we win the championship.”
“Really? That’s awesome.” Lane grinned. “If we went up together, we could get an apartment.”
“That’d be cool. Living alone is boring sometimes.”
Riley should live with Ryan for a week or two, and he might not be so quick to say that. “Who was your roommate last year?”
“No one. I’ve never had one.” Suddenly Riley looked a little apprehensive. He glanced twice at Lane and almost let in another goal. “You’re gay, and I’m rich.”
“What?” Lane laughed, thinking he was kidding. “You’re rich? There’s a choice between gay and rich? When did you make that? I don’t remember being given the options.”
Now Riley paused the game. “No. I mean, if that’s your secret or whatever, then that one’s mine.”
“Okay, Hunter? You’re cool, and I can’t tell you how awesome it is to know you don’t care that I like guys, but I kind of want to punch you for thinking it’s the same thing.”
“I’ve seen you throw a punch, Courts. That’s not really a threat. And you say that, and I don’t think it’s the same. No. Of course not. But it’s still my secret, like that one’s yours.”
“I just don’t get why that’s a secret, though,” Lane prodded, vaguely aware he was being as nosy as he’d been afraid Riley would be about Jared.
“Then you’ve never had people telling you that your parents bought you a spot on the team or any of that shit.” Riley was staring at the screen but the game was on pause. He had the same expression on his face that he did in goal.
“But you’re a really good goalie.” Lane was trying to put himself in Riley’s shoes. It was hard because he kept thinking about how much he’d like to have a car and his own apartment. And speaking of shoes, some new ones to go running on the beach in.
“Thanks.”
“I don’t care that you’re rich,” Lane told him seriously. “I won’t even ask to borrow money.”
Riley did turn and grin at him for that. “You can, though. I have enough.”
“Like how rich is rich?”
“Like my family owns our own plane,” Riley answered almost grimly.
“Do they own, like, the company that makes Coke? Or that coconut water you’re always drinking?” That seemed like a reasonable guess to Lane.
“I wish. Nothing that interesting. Can we not talk about it?”
It was so weird to Lane, but he nodded because he always tried to be accommodating when people asked to not talk about things. “Sure, man. That’s cool. Thanks for telling me. Also, I’ll never be able to ask you for money. I’m Canadian, and that would be like asking... well... for money.”
“That’s the problem. People I’d be happy to give money to are the ones who’d never ask.” Riley sighed. “Did your parents go to your hockey games, growing up?”
“Riley, I’m Canadian.”
“Right. Mine didn’t. They had me dropped off by the driver. He liked hockey. Sometimes he’d watch—in his chauffeur’s uniform.” Riley missed a shot by Lane’s team, and swore under his breath. “Don’t tell your boyfriend to make comments about my parents, though, or I’ll be really mad.”
“I wouldn’t even think to do that.” Were people that awful? “I mean, if he makes a crack about your parents, it won’t be that they’re rich. It’ll probably be that he’s sleeping with one of them.”
Riley snorted. “I doubt that. They’re pretty boring.”
“Do you have any siblings?”
“An older brother who went into business with my dad. He played baseball, but stopped after high school to concentrate on being a businessman.”
“What’s that mean? Like, what do you do?”
“Study math and computers and things? I don’t know.” Riley sighed as Lane scored again. “I have a younger sister, too. She’s probably just going to marry someone rich and have kids. Does anyone else on the team know about Jared? Does Ryan? He’s from Canada. I bet he wouldn’t care.”
“Sometimes people think that just because you’re gay, you want to sleep with everyone.” Lane put his controller down as the game ended. He won by two goals. It was nine to seven, which showed they really weren’t paying attention. Again, reasons why feelings were horrible. “I just don’t want Ryan to think that I’m hitting on him all the time, because of that.”
“Ryan’s straight, and I’m pretty sure he wants to try and sleep with every girl—ever—though,” Riley said, standing up. He was about Lane’s height and all legs. “So he should at least understand that. Would you sleep with him?” Riley raised his eyebrows.
“Are we going to play the ‘tell me who’d you sleep with on our team’ game?”
“Yes. Can we?”
Lane laughed and shook his head. “No. Please. Let’s not. Besides, I have a boyfriend. Remember?”
“Right.” Riley looked a little disappointed, then opened the fridge. Lane had just taken a sip of his own soft drink and nearly spewed it everywhere. The entire top shelf was filled with little boxes of coconut water.
“Do you ever drink just plain, actual water?”
“Hmm? Oh. Sure. That’s usually what I have in my water bottle. I drink this because I saw Brodeur drinks it. And you know, I didn’t like it at first, but I kept drinking it, and we kept winning. I didn’t drink two before those games in Savannah, and look what happened. Although I think you gave those guys an edge because of sex magic.”
Every single goalie Lane had ever played with was weird. None of them mentioned sex magic, though. “You should probably drink two before the next game, just to be sure.”
Riley’s look clearly said Lane was an idiot for assuming that he wasn’t doing that already.
Riley took him home after a few more games. Before Lane got out of the car in front of his apartment building, he asked, “Hey, Riley, what are you always talking about when you’re in goal?”
“What do you mean?”
“You talk to yourself. What are you saying?”
Riley laughed. “That’s funny, Lane. I don’t talk to myself. See you at practice.”
Riley drove off and left Lane standing in the parking lot, staring after his little Mazda sports car, and saying, “But you do talk to yourself” to absolutely no one—which might have been ironic or might have been just plain old crazy.
On his way up to his apartment, he noticed a familiar car—Zoe’s, with the Georgia plates and the Sea Storm bumper sticker—parked in the visitor’s spot. Lane wondered if they were supposed to do something and he messed up and forgot when he went to Riley’s. He wasn’t used to having one friend, let alone two.
It wasn’t like Zoe to come to his place, though. She thought they were messy. And that was probably true, but she had weird ideas about keeping things clean. She didn’t have a stack of boxes or cans in her kitchen, and her bathroom was so clean, it was like a hotel. Lane had no idea why that never translated to her car.
When he let himself into his apartment, he thought he’d find her playing video games or maybe in his room, which he hoped fervently was not where she was. It was a mess in a way that involved lube on his
dresser and possibly his laptop opened up to a chat log or two with Jared.
But Zoe wasn’t playing video games, and she wasn’t in his room—thank God—and he was starting to think maybe she wasn’t there at all. Then he heard noises from his roommate’s room. A soft, very feminine exclamation and Ryan’s low laugh. Apparently Zoe had taken his suggestion, after all.
Lane closed his door, locked it, and sat on his bed. He felt weird—hot and flushed and sort of jealous. Though, when she made louder sounds, he just felt pleased that she was having a good time. He looked at the bottle of lube on the dresser, picked it up, and lay back on his bed.
He unzipped his jeans, and picked up the phone.
is it weird to get off listening to my roommate have sex with a girl?
Jared’s text came back a few minutes later.
havent you done that like a million times?
not when its zoe.
really? do you want to go join them?
Did Jared think Lane could pull that off without ruining the moment for everyone?
do u want me 2?
It took Jared a long time to answer, and by that point, Lane had already started stroking his cock, because he couldn’t not. It almost seemed rude not to.
i have to go we have a game. i trust you, do what you want. just tell me about it later.
A warm happy feeling surged through Lane. Some of it might have been because he was jacking off, but it was also nice to read that.
just gonna listen. talk 2 u l8r.
Jared responded with ok and then stop using text speak, and followed with a smiley face. At that point, Lane wasn’t sure what he was getting off on—hearing his roommate fuck his best friend, or having his boyfriend use an emoticon in a text message.
What is this? Honestly, life is so weird.
When he heard the sound of someone being smacked, he stopped, went cold, and sat straight up in his bed. He wondered how you rescued someone when you had an obvious erection. Because, oh, hell, no. Ryan did not just hit Zoe. She was like his fucking sister—
—though he got off listening to her have sex. But that wasn’t the point.
Then he heard the noise again, and a moan—male—followed by a delighted feminine laugh. Oh. Zoe was doing the smacking. Fine. That was different. That wasn’t the same at all. It was also what got him off. Imagining Ryan’s face, all red from being slapped, was hot. Hearing Zoe moaning was hot. And thinking about Jared being there, listening with him and fucking him with his hand over Lane’s mouth, saying, “Be quiet, Lane, let me,” was the hottest thing of all.
Chapter 7
They only had a few days off for Christmas, and, as Zoe was obligated to visit her parents in Georgia, Lane convinced her to give him a ride to Savannah.
She agreed, but insisted on meeting Jared and having dinner with the two of them. “Gotta make sure this guy is good enough for you, Laney,” she told him.
Before they left, she told him to wait in the living room, ran into her bedroom, and then jumped back out with her arms in the air. “Ta da. Look what I got myself for Christmas.”
She was wearing a Sea Storm jersey. Lane grinned, because that was awesome and he still couldn’t help but laugh at that logo. That water-tornado thing was just so angry, as if it hated the puck and didn’t want anything to do with hockey. Which, given the history of southern hockey teams, might be true.
But he didn’t laugh when she said, “And look whose number I got,” and turned around to show him. Because she had on his jersey, and he didn’t even know what to say.
So he said something dumb, as he usually did when he didn’t know what to say. “I could have given you one of mine.”
“But this one is a small, so it fits me. Besides, darlin’, I’ve been around you after a game, and you smell.” Zoe made him put air fresheners on top of his gear if he had it in her car.
“Well, I still could have gotten you one. I get a discount at the team store.”
“Laney, I don’t think you want to take any money away from the Storm, even if it’s in the form of a discount. Do you?”
She had a point.
“Is this weird? I didn’t even think if it would be or not. I’m gonna get a jersey from all your teams, so that I can sell them on eBay when you win that Cup thingy.”
Lane picked her up, which she hated, and swung her around in a hug. “It’s not weird. It’s great.” It was a little weird, but he’d get over it. He’d thought about getting her one, but that really did seem weird. His grin turned a little evil. “Was it a toss-up between mine and Ryan’s?”
Zoe kicked him in the shins—hard—but the glare was totally worth it. “I thought we didn’t talk about things I may or may not do with your roommate for reasons of pure physical gratification.”
“I’m not. I’m talking about hockey jerseys.” Lane snickered. “Or is he on your back enough as it is?”
Sometimes Lane forgot that Zoe wasn’t a guy on his team. Because she swore and kicked him in the shins, and sometimes said stuff about other girls’ tits around him. This was one of those times, and he could tell immediately after he said it that he shouldn’t have. She went into her room, took her jersey off, and came back in a regular T-shirt. “We should go before there’s traffic.”
It was a bit of a frosty ride, which meant she was really mad. Lane felt bad, but he also didn’t know why she was so angry, so he finally decided to ask her. “Usually when you’re mad at me, you tell me why. Two or three times. In a row.”
Zoe was quiet, staring straight ahead out the window. “I don’t know,” she said. “It just made me mad that you said that.”
Lane wished girls would explain why sometimes they had a million words for the same feeling, like mad and angry and upset, and sometimes they didn’t use enough words. “But why?”
“I’m telling you, Lane. I don’t know.”
“Then how do you know if you’re mad or not? Maybe you’re not.”
“No, I am.” She sighed. “I think. Maybe. Look, I don’t... I guess it was weird, hearing you talk about me like that. If that makes any sense.”
“Sure. Sometimes it’s weird to hear you with my roommate.” And sometimes it wasn’t—but he definitely wasn’t going to point that out.
“You’re never, ever supposed to mention that. Remember? You’re supposed to go to Riley’s.”
“Last time it was one in the morning, though.”
Zoe was turning as red as her hair. “Shut up, Lane.”
“No, look. Zoe, I don’t know what ‘talk about you like that’ means. So unless you tell me, or explain what this is about, you can’t be mad at me.” That seemed perfectly reasonable to him.
Not so to Zoe, who glared so hotly at him, he was surprised he didn’t burst into tiny flames. “Oh, I can’t?”
“Well, you can, but you shouldn’t.”
“Oh my God, Lane.”
“Are you just mad about having to see your parents?” Lane suggested, unaware of the hole he was digging for himself.
“Right now, I’m mad I can’t run you over with the car.”
Lane leaned closer. “You’re going really fast, Zoe. You don’t want to get a ticket. Maybe you should let me drive if you’re upset.”
Zoe took the next exit, slammed the car to a stop at a McDonalds, and said, “Call Jared and tell him to come get you, and get the fuck out of my car.”
“You’ll just feel bad and turn around.”
“Lane, stop telling me what I feel about things. Ugh. This is why I date girls. They might be crazy, but they don’t say things like let me drive until you’re not upset.” Zoe’s lip quivered, and for a minute, Lane thought he’d made her cry.
He was so horrified by that thought, he would have walked to Savannah if it would make her feel better. “Zoe,” he started very carefully, wondering if “I’m sorry if you thought I meant you couldn’t have feelings” was the right or wrong thing to say. But then she made a noise, and he realized she was giggling.
Relieved, Lane beamed at her, but it turned into confusion as she kept giggling, then laughing, and then burst into tears. This was terrible. He was glad he was gay, because a guy would just punch him, and then they’d go on and pretend that fixed everything that was wrong.
She put her head on the steering wheel. “I’m just.... If you knew how all of that sounded, you’d know why this is funny. God, Lane, you are so lucky you’re gay. Girls would beat you with that stick of yours.”
“Do you mean that like how you slap my roommate, or—wait, is that a funny crying sound or a mad one? I can’t tell, Zoe. Here. If you punch me, can we just go back to driving?”
Zoe didn’t hit him, but she did make him get her a peppermint milkshake before she’d get back on the road.
“I guess I don’t want you to talk about me like you guys must talk about the girls you bang,” she said. That was exactly how the guys he knew would say that. He didn’t point out that he’d never banged a girl in his life, and didn’t plan to start. “I don’t want you to think... anything. I feel weird knowing you’ve been there, and I just... I don’t know, Lane. Do you think badly of me for sleeping with him?”
“No. Am I supposed to?”
“Well, I don’t want you to, but you know. It was just, it sounded like, when you said that... you don’t say stuff like that, Lane.”
Lane sighed. “I do, though. You don’t hear me around the guys on the ice, or at a game. I say stupid shit like that all the time, Zoe. I’m a hockey player. Hell, I called something gay the other day and meant it like stupid. And I’m gay.” He had no problem saying that now. At least to her.
“Do you talk about me like that?”
“No, I’m not sleeping with you.”
“That’s the only reason you’d stand up for me, huh?” She looked mad again.
“What? I don’t understand. There’s nothing wrong with you sleeping with Ryan, you can sleep with whoever you want to.” Lane hoped they got to Savannah quickly, so Jared could point out that he was totally right, and they could do some guy stuff. And then Jared would fuck him. Girls were so confusing. He felt bad for straight guys.