Shots on Goal (Stick Side Book 3)

by Amy Aislin

  Cody got the cookies.

  A psychology major. Cody was a goddamn psychology major. Roman had spent years making sure nobody got too close to him and now he was crushing on a guy trained to look beneath the surface. Was it his classes that made Cody notice everything or was he simply naturally observant?

  “How about this one?” Cody said, thrusting a puffy, black, hip-length winter coat in his direction.

  Given that they had a few hours until tonight’s game, they’d stopped at a shopping mall in Concord, both to stretch their legs and to pick up what Cody had called “appropriate winter attire to replace your dinky windbreaker.”

  “No, wait.” Cody hung the coat back on the rack and removed another. “This one.”

  This one was also puffy, also black, but went down to mid-thigh, had a fur-trimmed hood, and square pockets big enough to fit winter gloves in.

  “And you probably also need something a bit fancier too, right?”

  A second coat joined the first in Roman’s arms. It also hit him mid-thigh but the black material was made of wool with large lapels and was more form-fitting than the puffy one.

  “Wow.” Cody whistled low when Roman tried it on.

  Roman turned sideways to look at the way the peacoat fell across his shoulders in the full-length mirror next to him. “It looks okay?”

  “Okay? You look . . . You should just . . . always wear that.”

  The gleam in Cody’s eyes—paired with Cody’s earlier “Your nose ring is sexy”—made Roman think that he wasn’t as straight as Roman had thought. Could he be nursing a crush too?

  Or maybe he was so comfortable with who he was that he had no problem showing appreciation for the same sex.

  Either way, Roman bought the coats.

  He had no idea why he hadn’t told Cody the reason his parents had kicked him out. Cody was obviously not a homophobe. Just that being unceremoniously outed as a teen and then rejected by both his family and his peers meant that he’d not once, ever, uttered the words I’m gay to anyone but himself.

  Cody would’ve been a good first person to say it to. He was open, honest, nonjudgmental. But as they left the department store and entered the mall, Roman still couldn’t do it. Couldn’t out himself. Not with what had happened last time still hanging over his head. It had made him afraid of discovery, and eight years later he still hadn’t shed the fear.

  Cody stopped in front of Claire’s and peered at a sign that advertised free ear piercings with the purchase of a pair of earrings. “Think they do nose rings?”

  “Doubt it.”

  “Bummer.”

  “Do you honestly want one?”

  “I do kind of want to look like a naughty librarian.”

  Roman snorted a laugh. “You don’t need a nose ring to do that. Just spike up your hair a little and wear anything but a yellow T-shirt.”

  Cody glanced down at his T-shirt, visible underneath his open winter coat. “I like bright colors.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  “You have?” He started walking again, peering aimlessly into store windows.

  “You were wearing teal the day I met you,” Roman said.

  “I like teal. It reminds me of living in Florida.”

  “When did you live in Florida?”

  Cody shoved his hands deep in his pockets and smiled. “Summer before last. Mitch and I spent most of the summer between our sophomore and junior years living with Alex in Tampa.”

  Roman had to think about that one for a second. In Canada, university years were just first year, second year, third year, fourth year. Even after having lived in the States for almost eight years he struggled to remember the correct order. Freshman and senior were easy; it was the two in the middle he always got mixed up.

  “Why?” he asked Cody.

  “’Cause Alex wanted Mitch to spend the summer with him and I go where Mitch goes.”

  Cody said it so easily—I go where Mitch goes—like it was a given that they’d always be there for each other. Roman had had a friend like that once too. One he’d have followed to the ends of the earth.

  Pushing thoughts of Kas out of his mind, he said, “Want to head to the food court? Get an actual meal?”

  “God, yes. I’m starving.”

  “You ate half my snacks.”

  “I’ve got a high metabolism,” Cody said, patting his stomach. “I think it’s all the yoga I do.”

  “I didn’t know you do yoga.”

  “Mm-hmm.” He threw a smirk in Roman’s direction. “Keeps me loose and limber.”

  Loose and . . . Jesus. Get your mind out of the gutter!

  It was gonna be a long day.

  Hours later, after the Glen Hill Mountaineers had barely eked out a win in overtime, Roman followed the GPS’s directions back to Glen Hill, a quiet and contemplative Cody next to him in the passenger seat. At one point he’d been following Dean, Yager, and Dan, who were in Yager’s rental car, but they’d lost each other somewhere near UNH trying to navigate dark streets back to the highway. The highway was dark too, especially in the middle-of-nowhere Vermont where there weren’t any streetlights. Roman used his high beams when he could but even then he drove below the speed limit, visions of a deer jumping into his path making him overly cautious.

  “Did you have fun?” Cody asked him sleepily.

  “Yeah. Yeah, I did. Thanks for inviting me.”

  It wasn’t only the game that had been fun, but spending time with Cody, and with Dean and Yager. Roman hadn’t been friends with them while they were on the same team, and yet now that they were on different teams, they got along as if they’d been a trio from the very beginning.

  “I’m glad you came,” Cody said.

  In the lights from the dashboard, Roman could see his eyes half-close and then pop open. “You can take a nap. I’ll wake you when we get to your place.”

  Cody straightened in his seat and rubbed a knuckle over one eye. “No, no. I’m awake.”

  “Long day?”

  “I got up at six to have breakfast with Mitch before he left for the team bus.”

  And it was nearing midnight, with still another hour to go before they arrived.

  “Let’s play a game,” Cody suggested.

  “What, like I spy? Literally the only thing I can see is your nose.”

  Cody’s laugh was the hysterical of the overly tired. “No. An alphabet game. For each letter of the alphabet, we have to name a word associated with . . .” He trailed off, tapping one finger against his chin. “Books! We’ll alternate. I’ll go first. A for alphabet.”

  “How is that associated with books?”

  “You’ve gotta know the alphabet to write the words,” Cody said reasonably. “Your turn.”

  “B for bookends.”

  “I like that. Most people go for the obvious bookmark. C for cardboard.”

  Roman struggled with d for a moment, lips pursed while he thought. Finally: “Deuteronomy!”

  “Getting fancy, are we?” Challenge entered Cody’s voice. “Encyclopedia.”

  “Formulaic.”

  “Glue.”

  “Glue? Oh, of course,” Roman muttered to himself. “Bookbinding. Hardcover.”

  “Index.”

  “Journaling.”

  They made it all the way to z, and Roman shouted, “Zechariah!” and Cody shouted, “Boom!” and they high-fived over the center console, laughing uproariously.

  “Again!” Cody said with a clap of his hands. “Hockey terms this time. Go!”

  “Athletic.”

  “Body check.”

  After hockey, they went on to vegetables, which was harder than they expected—and also boring, so they abandoned it halfway and moved to items found in a fridge, then movies, then pop artists.

  “Billy Ray Cyrus is not a pop artist,” Roman argued.

  “But ‘Achy Breaky Heart,’” Cody said as if that explained everything.

  “Is not a pop song.”

  “I
t totally is. You can dance to it.”

  “I don’t think that’s the definition of a pop song.”

  “Oh, then what is the definition, o wise one?”

  Roman opened his mouth. Closed it. Sighed. “I don’t know, okay? Fine.” He waved a hand. “You can have Billy Ray.”

  “Yes!”

  By the time Roman pulled up to the curb in front of Cody’s townhouse just after one in the morning, they’d gone through musical terms and were just starting TV sitcoms. Yager’s rental car was already parked in the driveway, but they must’ve arrived only seconds ago because the triad that was Dean, Yager, and Dan were traipsing up the front walkway to the front door with a wave in Roman and Cody’s direction. Mitch had stayed behind in New Hampshire and the team bus would bring him back in the morning.

  Cody unbuckled his seatbelt and turned in his seat to face Roman. “Thanks for driving today. And for coming.” Compared to how loud they’d gotten during their game, Cody’s voice was now soft in the silence, almost intimate. In the shadow of the streetlight, Roman saw him bite and then lick his bottom lip, and followed the movement. “I guess . . . I won’t see you Tuesday, right?”

  Was it Roman’s imagination or did Cody sound disappointed? “Right. I’ve got a team thing.”

  “So I’ll see you . . . next Tuesday, then?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay. Cool.”

  “Cool.”

  Cody had inched closer somehow, or maybe Roman had, because they were only inches away, Cody’s eyes dark and questioning. Roman wanted to reach out and run a thumb over his glistening lower lip, touch the barely stubbled skin of his jaw. Cody’s gaze met his, and because Roman apparently didn’t catch on fast, it only hit him then—not only was Cody not a homophobe, but he was also most definitely not straight.

  A tendril of tenderness unfurled in Roman’s sternum.

  Inching back slightly, small smile on his face, Cody said, “So . . . bye?” as if he was as reluctant to get out of the car as Roman was to let him leave.

  “Bye, Cody.”

  The grin Cody shot him before opening his door and stepping out was knowing, secretive, and made Roman want to call him back in and kiss him stupid.

  “Oh!” Cody paused before slamming the door closed. “We never got you any gloves. Or a scarf.”

  “That’s okay. I’ll—”

  “Here.” Removing his own scarf, Cody climbed back into the car, leaving the door open behind him, and wrapped the scarf around Roman’s neck. To Roman’s total shock, Cody pressed a kiss to his cheek, and with an irreverent smile and a wink, said, “So you’ll think of me every time you wear it.”

  He was gone a second later.

  Cody considered himself a fairly confident person. He was comfortable with who he was. He didn’t get nervous during class presentations. He didn’t have guilty pleasures because he owned up to what he liked: apple turnovers, bright T-shirts, yoga and all. He got along with everyone. He knew his own abilities and limitations.

  Asking someone for help, however, was outside his comfort zone.

  He suspected it had something to do with how he’d stopped asking anyone for anything important after his dad kept refusing to come home. Being rejected sucked. Little things like inviting Roman to Mitch’s hockey games or asking Mitch to leave his fucking rank gym bag anywhere but the front hallway didn’t count.

  Trying to convince speakers to come visit a community library in Nowhere, Vermont, made his voice shake. Bad enough that he’d volunteered to do this in the first place . . . Bad enough that he was asking them to do it for free, or, if pressed, for a nominal fee . . .

  They didn’t have to laugh in his face. He might as well be eleven again, on the phone listening to his dad explain why he couldn’t come home for Christmas again this year.

  He’d spent some of his weekend identifying possible speakers and had come into the library today an hour earlier than he normally did to complete some phone calls. But after two hang-ups and an “Am I being pranked?” he was done. With twenty minutes to go before he had to lead Tiny Tot Storytime, he left the offices and headed upstairs to the attic to get some work done on his project.

  Storytime wasn’t the same without Roman. True, Roman had only led two, but it was enough for Cody to get used to seeing him on Tuesdays. Taking a seat next to the box of books he’d left half-unpacked last week, he pulled out his phone, took a picture of the chaos, and sent it to Roman with the caption hope you’re having more fun than me. He didn’t expect a response; Roman had some kind of team event tonight in support of a women’s shelter. And usually sorting through boxes and organizing books, digging around in the library catalog, was fun for Cody.

  Today he was distracted, and even the boxes of books in the attic couldn’t hold his attention.

  He’d kissed Roman. Not, like, kissed kissed, but a kiss on the cheek was still a kiss. The hell had possessed him to do that? He didn’t even know if Roman was fucking gay—or, at the least, not straight. But there’d been something there, something in the way Roman looked at him while they’d shopped. In the way his eyes softened when Cody laughed. In the way his voice had gone all quiet and tentative when he’d dropped Cody off at home after Mitch’s game. Something there said I’m interested, and Cody, high on however many rounds of the alphabet game and almost delirious with exhaustion, had given in.

  And Roman hadn’t pushed him away. On the contrary, Roman had sucked in a sharp breath and his eyes had flared in the light of the streetlamps. To Cody, it had looked like he wanted more than a simple PG-rated peck on the cheek. Cody would’ve stayed to give him more except that he’d freaked himself out at the giant-ass risk he’d taken and fled.

  Then he’d taken a second giant-ass risk on Sunday and texted Roman—mostly because he wanted to talk to him, partly to make sure they were okay—and they’d been texting ever since.

  So. Conclusion? He still had no earthly idea if Roman was interested or if he’d just seen what he wanted to see.

  And did it matter anyway? He’d applied to grad school. In a different state. What was the point of starting something if he was just going to leave in a few months?

  The door to the attic banged open, making him jump. Mitch strode in, curly brown hair tucked under a beanie with little tufts escaping over his forehead and at the base of his neck, hands tucked into the deep pockets of his winter coat.

  “Jesus,” he said, taking in the attic. “There’s no way you’ll ever get this all done.”

  “That’s probably true.” Sitting on the floor, Cody leaned back against a box, legs out in front of him. “Eileen doesn’t expect me to, just as long as I make some kind of a dent.”

  The attic was all dusty wooden beams, lightbulbs hanging horror movie-like on strings from the sloped ceiling, boxes and boxes and boxes of books, and yet more piles and piles and piles of books, a rickety folding table Cody used as a workstation that held his loaner laptop, and a tiny circular window barely bigger than his head that currently looked out over the cloudy evening sky.

  “It’s fucking creepy in here,” Mitch said. He sat perpendicular to Cody, back against a box.

  “You should see it at night with all the lights off.”

  “No, thank you.”

  Cody nudged Mitch’s booted foot with his own. “What are you doing here? I thought you were going with Alex to the airport?”

  “Nah. It’s always harder that way. He left about a half hour ago.”

  “Sorry, man.”

  “It’s okay.” Mitch bit his lip; it did nothing to hide his grin. “I’ve got a free weekend in a couple of weeks. He wants me to come to Toronto so we can house hunt together.”

  Cody straightened. “Say what?”

  “Right? I mean, I know I won’t live there full-time, but he still wants it to be our home.”

  “Aww.” Shooting upward, he grabbed Mitch by the shoulders and drew him in for a hug. “I’m so happy for you.” He’d never admit to the fear that made
his chest freeze when he thought about how they were slipping away from each other the older they got.

  “My nose is squished in your armpit,” Mitch muttered.

  Cody squeezed him close before letting him go. “I knew before I even met Alex that he’d be good for you. I love being proven right.”

  Mitch nudged Cody’s booted foot with his own. “Asshole.”

  Cody settled back against his box again with a grin.

  “How about you, though?”

  “Huh?”

  Mitch nudged his foot again. “What’s going on with you?”

  “Nothing?”

  Expression turning skeptical, Mitch crossed his arms over his chest. “This morning after we parked on campus and went our separate ways, I said, ‘See you later,’ and your response was ‘Green.’”

  Green? What the— “Oh, Jesus.” Cody covered his face with his hands and loosed a humorless laugh. Green. The color of Roman’s eyes. They weren’t bright green like Alex’s, but light and murky, like an olive. The color made it look like he was constantly peering into someone’s soul.

  “What?” Mitch said. “Tell me.”

  Lifting his hands away with a groan, Cody said, “I sort of maybe possibly have a little, tiny, insignificant crush on Roman.”

  “Roman? As in Kinsey?”

  “One and the same.”

  “He’s—”

  “I swear, if you call him an asshole again . . .”

  Mitch’s lips flattened. “Give me some credit. I was going to say he’s cool.”

  “Sure you were.”

  “Fuck you,” Mitch said mildly. “When have I ever lied to you?”

  That was true. Cody blew out a breath. “Sorry.”

  “What do you like about him?”

  “I—” He cut himself off, really thinking about his answer. It wasn’t often that he crushed on anyone. The last time had been in freshman year when he’d crushed hard on a guy he’d been partnered with for a project in Introduction to Psychology. What was it about Roman that made him take notice? “I like that I can tell him anything and he won’t judge me. I like that he always seems surprised when I smile at him or laugh at one of his jokes. And I like that he tries so hard even though he pretends he doesn’t care.”