The Play of His Life

by Amy Aislin

  * * *

  “Thanks for your help at the shop,” Riley said, breath puffing out in front of him in a white cloud.

  He’d sent both Sam and Henry on lunch breaks after the busy rush and now, an hour later, he was finally taking his own. Walking along Lakeshore in the middle of a Friday afternoon with Christian was surreal and yet…not. They fell into a rhythm that belied yesterday’s brief moment of awkwardness. Christian slurped his tea the same way he always had. The familiarity made Riley’s heart ache for the lost years between them.

  At the bottom of Navy Street was Lakeside Park. Ignoring the empty jungle gym, they headed along the path and, as if by mutual agreement, took a seat at their favorite bench that overlooked the lake. The day was grey and overcast and it was at least five degrees colder next to the water. The leafless trees creaked in the wind.

  Riley huddled in his winter coat, bringing his scarf up over his mouth and nose. It was really too cold to be sitting outside, but it was nice to get out of the shop for a little while. And it was doubly nice to have company. Especially the Christian kind.

  Christian sat with one ankle crossed over the other knee, sipping occasionally from his cup. The way he looked at the lake as if not quite seeing it, one arm braced against the back of the bench, sent a hot rush of familiarity through Riley. Riley kept using that word, but it was the only one he could think of to explain this sense of rightness at having Christian back in his life. Even the easy silence between them was familiar, not piled high with remorse or tension or unforgiveness like Riley would’ve thought.

  It was like they’d automatically reverted to who they’d been together years ago. Just without the sex. It made Riley grin into his scarf.

  Christian sighed. “I missed this.”

  Riley didn’t have the guts to ask what he meant by this. The cold? Their bench? Being together?

  “Miss the sound.”

  Ah. He was talking about the lake.

  “Not enough water in Vancouver for you?” Riley joked.

  “I saw whales once,” Christian said. “Killer whales.”

  “You did not.”

  “Did, too. A whole pack of them. Saw them out of my office window.”

  That sounded awesome to Riley. “And you miss this?” He waved at the water in front of them. “A nasty lake with what’s probably some really nasty fish in it?”

  “This lake has a lot of shipwrecks in it.”

  Had Riley not spent as much time as he had with Christian growing up, Christian’s seeming changes in conversations might’ve made his head spin. As it was he knew that “This lake has a lot of shipwrecks in it” was Christian-speak for, “The Pacific Ocean might have cool creatures, but this is where I grew up and this is my lake and I miss home.” It made Riley smile fondly at him. But he chickened out at the last minute and didn’t ask Christian why he didn’t move back if he missed home so much.

  “You would know something like that,” he said instead.

  “I also know that Warm Glow is a stupid name for a bakery,” Christian said. “Sounds like the name of a specialty tea shop. Or a salon.”

  Riley couldn’t help his snorted laugh. “You have as much tact as ever.”

  “Tact never got anybody anywhere.”

  That was arguable but Riley was having too good an afternoon to debate the topic.

  He didn’t realize he was shivering uncontrollably until Christian said, “Come on. Let’s walk before you freeze to death.”

  Riley wasn’t ready yet for his lunch break to end, so he was grateful when Christian led them not back up Navy, but east along the gravel path that followed the lake. And he was doubly grateful when Christian handed over his tea without a word. He took a sip and sighed in bliss as he was warmed from the inside.

  “How long have you had Warm Glow?”

  Riley had to force his attention off how close Christian was, how hot that stupid hairstyle looked, how damn sexy that dark not-quite-a-beard was. It brought out his icy blue eyes. “Since the beginning of October,” he said, distracting himself from Christian’s nearness. “Sam’s husband and I played for Toronto at the same time. She’d always wanted her own bakery, but she didn’t want the deal-with-the-people part, you know? She just wanted to bake and cook. We spent a lot of time together after I got hurt and she talked about it a lot. I needed something to do after hockey and I figured this was something we could do together. She could make the food and I’d deal with the front.”

  They turned left on Thomas Street to head back up to Lakeshore. Christian bumped his shoulder against Riley’s.

  “That’s nice that you did that for her,” he said, and Riley couldn’t help but notice—not for the first time—how good Christian smelled. “But is it what you wanted?”

  “I like it,” Riley said. And even to his own ears it didn’t sound convincing. “It was something I needed at the time. Like I said yesterday, I needed to distance myself from hockey for a bit. And I actually like working the front. I meet a lot of people that way.”

  “You’ve always been a people person,” Christian said.

  They reached Lakeshore and, “Hey Riley!” someone shouted from across the street. Another greeting came from their left. Christian’s smug smile wasn’t lost on Riley.

  “Local boy makes it big in the pros?” he said.

  Riley huffed a laugh. “More like, local boy makes it big in the pros and then comes back home to contribute to the local economy.”

  Christian’s gruff laugh reached right into Riley’s belly and warmed him up even more effectively than the tea. If they could have more days like this before Christian went back to Vancouver after the new year, maybe Riley wouldn’t have to live without his best friend for the rest of his life.

  In the middle of their neighborhood, about halfway between their houses, was a small pond that froze over every winter. Riley was already there when Christian arrived at three o’clock on Christmas Eve, lugging his very, very old hockey gear and a tiny dog.

  “Trevor!” The dog took off at Riley’s greeting, making a beeline for him. Already wearing his gear, Riley couldn’t crouch to greet the little shih tzu, so he bent at the waist and gave the dog a pat on the head.

  Christian stopped at the edge of the pond and admired the way Riley’s jeans molded to his deliciously tight ass. Riley may not play in the pros anymore, but he still had an incredible goalie butt.

  “I see you two know each other,” Christian said, mildly offended at the dog’s abandonment. Trevor clearly preferred Riley over Christian.

  “Your mom brings him into the shop all the time.”

  Christian grimaced. “You still see my mom?” Riley had mentioned something of the sort the other day, too.

  “All the time. I see her more than I see you.”

  Riley stiffened for a second as he seemed to realize what he’d said. Christian stood looking at him, unimpressed. Because really, who was it that ran out after they’d hooked up the last time, after his dad’s funeral?

  Riley gave him a tight smile that said something like, Yeah, well, the phone works both ways, dude.

  Impasse.

  They’d have to talk about it sometime, but today wasn’t that day.

  “You gonna stand there all day,” Riley said, “or are we gonna play?”

  The mirth in his eyes told Christian that yes, Riley was aware of the double entendre he’d just uttered.

  Oh, they were going to play, all right.

  They didn’t bother with skates; the frozen pond was too bumpy for it to be safe. But Riley had brought his old hockey net, so at least they had a real goal.

  Christian put on his gear—it was a bit of a tight fit, but it’d do—grabbed his hockey stick and a puck and moved to center ice.

  “Trevor,” Christian said, and pointed with his stick. Trevor moved off the ice to nose at some dead plants poking through the snow against a fence.

  “Think you’ll finally get one past me?” Riley asked, pulling on his mask.
Christian would not call that smirk sexy no matter how much it made his blood sing.

  “Finally? You must be forgetting all the previous times I scored on you.”

  Now there he went with the double entendres.

  “Ha! If by ‘all’ you mean ‘never.’ Bring it, Dufresne. Bet you can’t get one past me.”

  “Bet? Okay.” Christian nodded once decisively. “If I get one past you, you tell me where you get your delicious magic chocolate from.”

  Riley shrugged, all casual-like. “Fine.”

  “And if I don’t get one past you?”

  Christian could see Riley contemplating his answer, and even through the cage of Riley’s goalie mask Christian could tell Riley’s eyes were on him, assessing. They swept Christian up and down. Christian could almost feel the heat in his gaze as if Riley had reached out and touched him. He obviously had been wrong a few days ago…Riley was just as affected by him as he was by Riley. The heat shimmering between them, even from ten feet apart…. Like he could reach out and grab it, stuff it in his pocket. He was sure Riley was going to bet him a blowjob or something and his cock started to stiffen in his jeans.

  “I want to know the reason you haven’t moved back here,” Riley said.

  Instant boner-killer. No way was he telling Riley shit. Meant he’d have to work his ass off to get the puck past him. Riley hadn’t played pro in two years. He was probably out of practice, right?

  Wrong. The fucker stopped all twenty-six shots—yes, Christian counted—with seeming ease.

  A kid, maybe five or six years old, wandered over from the house across the street to watch them play, so Christian kept his frustration to himself.

  “What the f—heck?” He shot the puck one last time. It ricocheted off a post and embedded itself into a snowbank. Riley cackled like asshole he was.

  So much for keeping his frustration to himself.

  The kid—who looked like he was going to fall over and roll into the street he was wearing so many layers—took a step onto the ice, slipping and sliding in his snow boots. “Can I shoot, too?”

  “Sure, kid.” Christian handed over his hockey stick and, after a little bit of instruction, let him shoot the puck at Riley willy-nilly. The stick was much too big for him so his shots went wide most of the time, but when they didn’t Riley—because he was Riley—let some of them in.

  “I don’t think I’m very good,” the kid said after another shot went right instead of straight.

  “Is it your first time playing?” Riley asked.

  The kid nodded.

  “Well, there you go. You just need practice. Want to switch places with me? Try and stop some goals?”

  Christian watched the kid slide over to Riley. Riley removed his goalie pads so he could crouch to the kid’s level and impart some goalie wisdom. Christian wondered for probably the hundredth time since Riley got hurt why the man hadn’t gone into coaching. He was so likeable and he loved people. It just seemed like a natural fit.

  Christian joined Trevor on the side of the rink and wondered why this kid wasn’t paired with an adult. Had he run away to come watch them play? Sure enough, across the street a man stood at the end of his driveway, shaking his head. Christian lifted a hand to acknowledge him.

  The man waved back. “Sorry about my son.”

  “No worries,” Christian called back. “We were done anyway.”

  It was always amazing watching a kid pick up a hockey stick for the first time.

  He watched Riley shoot the gentlest of shots at the kid. Some breezed by him, but when he managed to stop the puck, he smiled like Riley hung the moon and sun.

  Which was basically how Christian felt about Riley, too.

  “How come you know so much about hockey?” the kid asked Riley.

  “I’ve been playing since I was seven. I used to play in the NHL, for Toronto.”

  The kid’s eyes went huge. “That’s my team!”

  Christian couldn’t help but chuckle.

  “Do you know Patrick Finnegan?”

  Patrick Finnegan was the new right-winger on Toronto’s first line, poached from Detroit.

  “I do,” Riley said.

  “You do?” Christian asked. Riley looked at him like, of course.

  “He’s my favorite player!” The kid practically yelled it.

  “Jeremy!” the kid’s father said. “Dinner!”

  “That’s me!” The kid slid across the ice to give Christian his hockey stick back. “Bye Mr. Hockey Player!” And he was gone.

  Riley turned and pointed his stick at Christian. “I won the bet. Pay up! Start talking, T.”

  “I can’t,” Christian said. Riley narrowed his eyes. “Seriously. I’ve got to get home for Christmas Eve dinner with my mom.”

  “Fine. But don’t think I won’t collect.”

  Christian started removing his gear. “I’ll come by later to say hi to your parents.”

  “They’re not here, dude,” Riley said, picking up his goalie pads from where he’d dropped them in the snow. “They moved to Florida last winter with my grandparents.”

  Christian’s mom had told him that but, “And they didn’t come back for Christmas?”

  “Nah, they’re on a cruise with some friends.” Riley took off his mask, blond hair sticking up in every direction. “They’re coming for a visit in a few weeks so we’ll celebrate Christmas then. Dude, stop scowling. I’m twenty-seven, not seven. I can handle a Christmas by myself.”

  Nobody should spend Christmas alone. Especially not Riley. “What are you doing tonight?”

  Riley looked at him. “Making myself a grilled cheese and watching Die Hard on TV?”

  “No.” Christian ignored Riley’s sputtering—it really was cute that he thought Christian was going to let him spend Christmas Eve all by himself. In French Canadian culture, Christmas Eve was just as important as Christmas Day. He picked up his gear, grabbed Riley’s net, whistled for Trevor, and started the short walk home. “Let’s go, Riles.”

  Riley was muttering to himself but Christian could hear his footsteps behind him.

  “T, I need a shower. I probably smell like the inside of a gym locker.”

  Hmm, good point. Christian stopped, reversed course, and trudged along the quiet street in the opposite direction. Riley was still talking to himself. Or maybe to the dog. Something about stubborn oafs and intruding on Christmas and tall idiots not letting him get a word in.

  He was surprised when, from behind him, Riley told him to stop in front of a small, white, clapboard house. Riley’s parents’ house was still a few houses down. “What are we doing here?”

  “I moved in here after my parents sold their house,” Riley explained, arms full of goalie gear, his mask hanging around his wrist by a string.

  Christian’s jaw dropped. “You moved into your grandparents’ house? Are you crazy?”

  “Don’t even start that shit.” Riley took the net out of Christian’s hands. “Come on, Trevor.”

  Christian froze on the sidewalk as Riley used the keypad to open the garage door then walk into the garage. He set the net in a corner before going into the house, the dog following like a faithful servant, the traitor.

  Standing alone on the tiny sidewalk, Christian shivered. The wind was a knife in his bones and now that he wasn’t moving he could really feel it. The street was dead quiet, as if not another soul lived here. The sun had set twenty minutes ago and the sound of the lake’s waves gently lapping the shore and the wind in the trees combined with colorful Christmas lights reflecting off the snow sort of made it seem like he was the only survivor in a Christmas horror movie.

  The door Riley had shut behind Trevor opened again. “Are you coming in or not?”

  “Hell no.”

  Christian couldn’t see Riley roll his eyes, but it was in his voice when he said, “I promise it’s not haunted.”

  “Oh, yes, it is.” He had nightmares about this house.

  “Ever think that maybe your Ouija boa
rd ghosts will like it here? And they’ll want to stay and not bother you anymore?”

  Huh. That made a weird kind of sense. Maybe if his ghosts found buddies they’d leave Christian alone. Huffing, he followed in Riley’s footsteps. Up the driveway, through the garage. He hesitated only briefly before stepping over the threshold and into the house. Ignoring Riley’s amused smirk, he dumped his gear on the laundry room floor next to Riley’s goalie pads.

  “I’ll only be ten minutes, max,” Riley said. And stripped. Right there. In front of Christian. Socks, jeans, sweater, undershirt. It all ended up on the floor. At Christian’s feet. Leaving Riley standing in front of him in nothing but his boxer briefs. And before Christian could look his fill, admire that tight ass in all its glory, those muscular thighs, that washboard stomach, the defined chest, Riley winked at him and walked out of the room.

  He winked. What the ever loving goddamn hell did that wink mean? Ha ha, you can look, but you can’t touch? Or, Hey, T, the shower’s this way.

  Did Riley want Christian to join him in the shower? If so, why didn’t he just say so, instead of leaving Christian here guessing? Because had that been a real invitation, Christian would’ve been naked in a hot minute.

  Or maybe that wink was just a friendly See you in a few minutes kind of wink. And yeah, fine. He was fooling himself. Coupled with a mostly-naked Riley and a sexy grin, that wink definitely wasn’t friendly. Well, it was. It was just friendly in an I want to do you way, not a Hey there, friend way.

  Looking down at the erection tenting his jeans, Christian sighed, miserable. He spent so long debating whether or not to join Riley that he eventually heard the shower turn off. Wait, when had it turned on?

  What a waste of a perfectly good opportunity to get naked with Riley. Idiot.

  Naked with a wet Riley. Golden skin glistening with water. Christian would mouth water droplets down Riley’s chest, over his stomach, to what Christian knew was an impressive cock. Where he’d lick the water off it before taking it in his mouth and—

  Something brushed against Christian’s leg and he jumped, so deep in his fantasy that he’d forgotten he wasn’t alone in the house. His first thought was Ghost! But it was just Trevor, nosing around the dirty laundry pile.