“I’ll buy season tickets. I’ll go to every game.”
Scott sat down hard on his bed. “Not the same.”
“I know. I’ll miss you too. I’ll miss everyone.”
“Does Coach know?”
Eric sat next to him. “No. No one knows.” It was a lie, but he didn’t want to tell Scott that he’d confided in Kyle firstagain. That would open a whole new line of questioning. And hedefinitelydidn’t want to tell Scott that Rozanov knew. Scott would never recover. “I’m going to tell Carter as soon as we’re all back together. I don’t want him to hear it from someone else.”
“Okay, well. Be sure, before you tell anyone else, all right?” Scott said.
Eric nudged him. “You make it sound like I’m rushing into this instead of finishing an eighteen-year career.”
“It’s too soon.”
Eric patted Scott’s thigh. “I’m retiring, not dying.” He stood up, and Scott did the same, immediately wrapping him in a tight hug.
“You’d better be at every game,” Scott said.
“I will.” What else would Eric have to do? It’s not like he’d bebusy.
“I don’t know if this TV is big enough,” Maria quipped.
Kyle snorted. Kip had invited him and Maria over to watch the All-Star Game. He had moved into Scott’s Manhattan penthouse a few months after they’d started dating, which had been a definite upgrade from living with his parents in Bay Ridge. Complete with a giant wall-mounted television.
“The players are basically life-size on this thing,” Kyle said.
“Hey,” Kip said, plunking a bowl of Doritos on the coffee table, “sometimes you need to see every drop of sweat during a hockey game, and every sequin during an episode ofDrag Race.”
Maria pointed at the television with her beer bottle. “Look. They’re showing your ugly fiancé.”
Scott’s absurdly handsome face, with its square jaw and vivid blue eyes, filled the screen. He was talking to another player during a break in play, laughing at something the other man said. Eric hadn’t played yet in this game, because as one of the three goalies on the Eastern team, he was only going to be playing the third period. The broadcast had only shown at the beginning of the game, when each player had been announced individually. He’d looked heart-stoppingly gorgeous under the dramatic lights with his mask off, waving at the crowd.
Kyle had seen quite a bit of Eric over the past couple of weeks. After their mind-blowing afternoon in his bedroom, he had craved Eric every minute they were apart. Given the number of times Eric had invited him over, it seemed the feeling was mutual.
But it was just sex. That was what Kyle reminded himself every time he left Eric’s house, even though most of those times, he’d been leaving in the morning. Other than one afternoon hookup, he’d spent the night with Eric every time after, wrapped in his strong arms in that heavenly bed. They would always talk after sex, snuggled together and fighting sleep. The talking was almost Kyle’s favorite part.
Almost.
“I had another customer last night who suggested we have a proper whiskey menu,” Kip said during a commercial break.
“Yeah, I had two of those on Thursday,” Kyle said, grateful for something to talk about that might cool his blood a bit. “I’ll pass it along to Gus, but, you know.”
“He’s not going to do anything to change the place.”
“Nope.”
“What the hell is wrong with your boss?” Maria asked. “Why doesn’t he want his bar to be good?”
“I don’t know,” Kyle said. “He’s a nice enough guy, but his heart hasn’t been in the place for a long time.”
“I wish he’d at least consider new tables,” Kip said. “Almost all of them wobble now, and they’re kind of permanently sticky.”
“He could at least refinish them,” Kyle agreed.
“I wish you were in charge,” Kip said. “You have great ideas for that place.”
Kyle flushed a bit at Kip’s praise. Secretly, he’d like nothing more than to be in charge of the Kingfisher. “Yeah, well. I guess it’s popular enough the way it is.”