by Jeff Adams
Dammit.
The team had needed my attention, and I didn’t have the will power to delay them for even a half hour. They continued to work, and I had to be available. I wouldn’t allow anyone to be stuck waiting for something from me.
Hockey was one of the few things I gave myself—an almost sacred thing. Watching a game, everything else fell away. I didn’t answer the phone in those three hours. I should’ve extended that to being with Kyle—and yet I didn’t. Not even for five minutes.
What the hell was wrong with me?
Arriving at the arena for the skills competition, I flipped the phone to Do Not Disturb. The only people who could get through that barrier were my parents, and they wouldn’t call.
My parents.
Despite how much they worked—and I worked as a teenager—they made time for things they deemed important. There was always a meal a week we’d shared together—usually Sunday breakfast before church. At least one of them had always shown up for school things—conference, science fair, graduation.
Tamara—going all the way back to when I was a senior and working myself sick on a final project—wanted me to find more balance and maybe even a boyfriend. Balance hadn’t really existed for my parents because they’d always worried about money.
“Mr. Murray?” I turned and the Detroit PR guy—what was his name?—came down the stairs. This needed to be quick. The fastest skater competition started in a few minutes. I wouldn’t miss that. “Do you mind if we talk for a quick minute? I’d love to highlight you on Instagram.”
Normally, I wanted to be prepared if I had to do anything for the media. Speaking wasn’t my strong suit, but I could pull it together when I had too and if I rehearsed. But doing this would get a mention of the company out there and that couldn’t hurt.
“Um. Okay. Sure. What did you have in mind? I just don’t want to, um, miss the next event.”
“It’ll be super quick. We can do it right here and use the rink as the background.”
I stood and remembered my super casual attire—Detroit sweatshirt with Kyle’s number on the back and jeans. Not exactly camera-ready. But I represented the team today, and maybe that was better as a local CEO who was also a major fan.
“Hello again from the All-Star Skills Competition. We’re just a few minutes away from the fastest skater competition where we hope to see our own Kyle Pressgrove take the win. I’m with Austin Murray, CEO of Austin Murray Digital Design. What are you looking forward to this weekend?”
I decided to split my focus between David and the camera, which was held by someone David hadn’t introduced. I swallowed the nerves that rattled through me anytime I did something like this and dove in. “With the All-Star Game this close to Detroit, I couldn’t resist coming down and cheering on our home team. Of course the All-Star Game is such an elite game, and I’m looking forward to the high level of hockey.”
“And how do you feel about the Arsenal’s chances for playoffs this year?”
“They’re looking good. If they keep grinding out these well-played games, I expect us to be in great shape for the post-season. There’s nothing better than watching playoff hockey, especially at home, so I’m hoping for a long postseason.”
The announcer said the skating competition was about to begin and explained how it worked. I kept myself from turning back to the ice, just in case David tossed out another question.
“Thank you, Austin, for taking a couple of minutes. We’ll let you settle in to cheer Kyle on.”
“Thank you.” I held my smile until the phone lowered.
“Thanks again.” David was ridiculously cheerful. He probably had to be for his job. I had to stop myself from taking a step back because of the intensity. “I’ll see you at the auction later.”
We nodded, and he bounded up the stairs with his assistant. I turned back to the ice and sat just as the skaters were introduced.
My voice grew hoarse from cheering as Kyle’s name was called, prompting some sideways glances from the guy that sat on my right. I didn’t care; I was a fan, and I wanted the world to know.
Gameplay was fast, but it was nothing compared to the speed these guys shot around the rink. Each skater started at the far edge of the oval, and there were cones and tires set out at the corners to mark the lane. With nothing in the way—no puck to manage or defensemen to dodge—the skaters went all out.
Was there a world record for things like this? How did they compare to speed skaters? That was something to Google later.
Kyle went fourth among eight competitors. He looked relaxed but intense as he set himself at the start line. The scoreboard screen showed him up close, and since he didn’t wear a helmet, I appreciated his handsome, determined face.
His feet were in constant motion once he started. It was a wonder, given how far he leaned over in the corners, that he didn’t wipe out—the skater from Carolina actually had. Kyle finished in 13.378 seconds, putting him into the lead.
Kyle held the lead until the final skater, who made the loop in 13.310. He’d lost by the tiniest margin. Despite that, he gave a fist pump into the air and gave the Edmonton player a clap on the back. Both guys beamed. Of course, in a competition where the gap between first and last place was less than a second and a quarter, second place was damn good.
Having seen a bit of Kyle’s personality for myself, the happiness didn’t come as a surprise. He always had it in interviews, but he had it in person too. A bit of a sheepishness sometimes, but always positive.
There was another hour to go of the skills competition, and then it would be back to the hotel to wait for the auction to begin.
A flutter of nerves bubbled up in my chest. I managed to not sound too skittish last night, but could I do it for an entire date?
What if we clicked? Could I find the courage to ask to see him again? Would he be open to that? I knew he was gay, but am I his type? Physically, he more than fit my ideal, and so far, his personality was a winner. He seemed much the same kind, confident guy he was in high school.
He also worked hard, and that meshed with me too. Obviously, he had practices and quite a bit of travel during the months-long hockey season. What did he even get up to during the summer?
I shook my head and pushed my glasses up. This was a ridiculous train of thought. I had no time for a relationship. Hell, even if I had time, I didn’t really know how to have one—the hazards of being a controlling workaholic.
Deciding what our auction date could be should be my focus, not thinking about a second one.
The options were many, but I wanted to make sure to do something we’d both like. Technically, the dates were supposed to happen Saturday night after the game or Sunday while everyone was still in Chicago. My flight didn’t go out until Sunday night, so we had a bit of time.
The nerves tried to flare up once more, but I tamped them down. No matter what happened, I’d get to enjoy some time with my favorite player.
Five
Kyle
As if I wasn’t nervous enough, the pushing and shoving backstage didn’t help. I don’t know what happened with Layne, but trying to keep a hockey player from going off on somebody is never easy—even more difficult when you’re not supposed to mess up how you look.
Just one more thing in a surreal day where I skated my ass off in an arena full of people and a nationwide TV audience. The whole event shot by, and I had a blast. A couple of hours later, I couldn’t contain my giddiness. Yes, I lost. But I had no more speed to give, so I had nothing to regret.
Mom had hugged me so hard when I caught up with her and Bobby afterward. She didn’t even let Bobby mess with me about just barely losing.
Thank God this event was sold out. Mom had tried to get Bobby to bring her along as they were leaving. I couldn’t handle Mom watching—it’d be too weird.
Since Layne dropped out after the altercation, I ended up going on sooner—only by five minutes, but it still amped my anxiety about a million times higher. The spee
d of my heart confirmed that.
The place looked jammed to capacity as I walked out. At least on the stage I didn’t have the press of the crowd against me. We should’ve rehearsed with the frenzy of the cheering people and super loud music. It was all much closer in this small space than in a large arena.
After brunch, I’d snagged Bobby and Sebastian to figure out my walk. They’d agreed I should think James Bond suave with a wide smile and as much warmth as I could muster. Thankfully, Sebastian explained that the Pressgrove brothers’ smiles could win over anyone. He went on to do a couple of walks that looked good on him and then I’d tried.
Bobby had snickered, but at least they’d given me something I didn’t feel too self-conscious about doing. It’d been a major relief they decided I didn’t have to groove in any way.
I second guessed everything as I waited in the wings.
“And here we have Kyle Pressgrove from the Detroit Arsenal.” The emcee, Booker Blake, gave me my cue. G gave me one last bit of encouragement from our place backstage.
I strode to the middle of the stage, turned to the crowd, held it for a moment, and then put my James Bond strut or swagger—Bobby and Seb couldn’t decide what to call it—to work to travel the catwalk. Booker kept talking. I tried not to focus too much on what he said in case he said something embarrassing.
“You know this guy’s got good stamina because he’s here and smiling after nearly winning the fastest skater competition. It means he’ll be an energetic date.”
And then I paid too much attention. Heat rose in my cheeks—the last thing I needed.
I turned twice, slowly, trying to make eye contact with some of the guys as I did. Bobby said the more I connected, the better the bids. I unbuttoned my jacket, dropped my hands to my sides, and hoped I had the look Bobby wanted. I couldn’t find him to get any sign.
“We’ll start the bidding at the minimum one hundred dollars. Who wants a date with this power forward?”
Someone make him stop.
Several paddles went up, and I tried to not look too shocked. I worried about getting one, but this many ratcheted my embarrassment further. A bright red face was not a winning trait.
“Come on, Kyle, move around. Let everybody see what they’re bidding on,” Booker chided me.
I’d planned to stay right at the end of the walkway, focusing on some of the guys as they bid. I wish I’d paid attention to what other people had done.
I moved though because I didn’t want to give Booker the opportunity to pick on me. The guy had been an amazing player but his tendency for biting remarks and trash talk was legendary.
There were people pressed against the catwalk, some holding hands up, and I shook a few, fist bumped others.
“Who wants to go to two hundred?”
Were there even more paddles this time? I wasn’t sure.
“Let’s go three hundred.”
Slightly fewer went up.
Good. The sooner we got down to one, the sooner I’d be allowed to leave the stage.
“How about four?”
That whittled it down to five. I finally found Bobby and Seb, sitting along the wall, and I got a thumbs up. That relaxed me a bit.
Thank God Mom didn’t come.
And thank God Bobby didn’t have his phone out filming. It’d be bad enough if David streamed it for the team.
“Five hundred?”
One dropped out. Damn. How much were people willing to lay out for a date? Charity sure, but five hundred?
“Remember there are more guys coming up, so if this gets too rich for your blood, you’ll have other opportunities to nab a hockey player. Who’s got five fifty?”
Only two went for that.
I moved back to the end of the catwalk, and Booker joined me. One paddle belonged to an older gentleman who seemed to be egged on by two friends. The other bidder…
Holy shit.
Austin.
Why would he bid on me? Sure, we’d hung out yesterday—at least until he’d decided a call was more important.
“Seven fifty?”
Wait. What?
I needed to pay attention. Both paddles acknowledged that increase.
“You know I’m not the guy on the ESPN cover, right?” Thankfully that got some laughs and helped break my anxiety.
“Nine hundred,” Austin shouted out as he held his paddle higher.
“Yeah, Kyle! Go, man.” G’s voice rose over the din of the crowd as he called out from backstage.
I fought the urge to bury my face in my hands. The blush became uncontrollable. I got no relief from Bobby or Seb, who just smiled and nodded excitedly.
“Okay, we got nine hundred over here.” Booker pointed toward Austin.
The other bidder talked with his friends—a lot. Reading expressions from this distance was difficult, especially with the lights constantly moving over the audience.
He raised his paddle high and shouted, “Nine fifty.”
“How about that. A bidding war. Can we get a thousand dollars for this speedy hotshot?” Booker waved his hand next to me as if I was a letter for Vanna White to turn.
“Eleven hundred.” Austin again.
Waves of nervousness radiated out from my chest. I contained shudders as best as I could. Not much rattled me, but man, I’d never experienced anything like this before.
“Twelve hundred.” The other bidder didn’t relent.
The crowd cheered.
This was crazy. Great for the charity though.
“Fifteen hundred.” Austin sounded defiant.
With the money he must make, could anyone in this room beat him?
The men conferred again, and one seemed to be emphatically trying to make a point. Whether it was to bid or not bid wasn’t clear.
“I’ve got fifteen hundred for Kyle Pressgrove, number forty-two for the Detroit Arsenal. I need at least fifteen fifty to continue.”
I looked around and tried to give a nonchalant shrug before focusing on the bidder with a choice to make. I shot him a questioning look as I pointed between the two of us.
Why not have a little fun with it instead of standing here stressed?
He stared at me, and I thought he might go for more.
“That’s fifteen hundred going once.”
Yes! The countdown to the end.
More discussion.
“Going twice.”
The guy shook his head and put the paddle behind his back as if to stop himself from raising it.
“Sold! To paddle number two forty-one. Congratulations.”
I pointed to Austin and gave my widest smile. He smiled back and nodded. Hanging with the hometown guy. That’d be cool.
Everybody applauded and whistled while I took a bow.
Booker stopped my departure, grabbing my arm. “How’s it feel to have that little bidding war?”
Here we go. I didn’t want to talk. What was I supposed to say?
“Kind of weird, to be honest. I’d hoped I’d be able to get some money to Hockey Allies, but I never imagined this. I appreciate it, and I know Hockey Allies does too. In fact, I’m going to double that final bid to support them even more.”
The audience loved that. I’m glad I thought of it. All the guys should do the same. Maybe some would follow my lead.
“That’s excellent, Kyle. Thank you on behalf of Hockey Allies. Now go meet your date, and we’ll see if anyone else can top your bid. Let’s bring out Slater Knox!”
Six
Austin
Holy shit.
I did it.
I’m committed now to hang out with my favorite hockey player for at least an hour.
I attend all kinds of meetings and dinners, but this has me more jittery than any business meeting.
I’d leave the phone off too. The world won’t fall apart if I’m not reachable for an hour… hopefully.
Making my way to the cashier to pay up, several people congratulated me, shook my hand, and wished me well on the da
te. I just smiled and nodded.
Thankfully, the cashier was stationed in the lobby just outside of the ballroom, so the noise dropped to a bearable level.
The guy who kept the bidding going came up next to me and stepped in front of me, friends at his sides, before I’d reached my destination. “Congrats. I so badly wanted to bid more. Luckily, this one talked sense into me because the other one was going to let me keep going. I’m Tom.”
We shook hands as we finished introductions. “No hard feelings then?”
“Noooo.” The length of the word added to how happy he was to have been stopped. “Spending that much would’ve been ridiculous, although maybe worth it to sit across the table from Kyle and look at his dreamy face.”
“I’m not going to need to separate you two, am I?” Kyle arrived with a charming smile that made my insides quiver in the best way.
“Nah,” Tom said. “Just congratulating Austin.” He regarded Kyle for a moment that threatened to become awkward because of the silence. “Could I maybe get a selfie with you to mark the event?”
“Of course. As long as the winner doesn’t mind.” Kyle winked at me, as if I might actually object.
“Sure. I’ll even take it.”
Tom handed over his phone, and I snapped a couple.
“Hey, perfect.” David showed up with his phone in hand. “Can I get a couple with the three of you? Kyle with the guys who battled over him.”
The briefest flash of irritation crossed Kyle’s eyes, and then it was gone. I hoped I hadn’t done something wrong.
“If these guys are okay with it,” Kyle said.
Neither of us minded, and David put Kyle between us. The woodsy cologne Kyle wore filled my nostrils, and I subtly breathed in deeply to ensure I’d remember it. Did I miss that yesterday or was it just for the event?
Kyle held us close, arms across our shoulders. I focused on smiling as the warmth of his hand cut right through my light sports coat. He exuded energy and warmth, and combined with his wonderful smell, I was a little lightheaded.