“He doesn’t have anyone to go to the game with. You could go with him.” I leaned forward and set my flatbread slice on my plate. “I’m sure you two would get along well. He’s a nice guy, easy to talk to.” I smirked. “He’s a bartender on Sixth Street, and he’s very outgoing. You’d have fun.” I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of this before.
“You want me to go to the game with your ex?” He held his fork over his plate.
With a shrug, I said, “Yeah, why not?” Was this odd? “You’d get to know him Friday night.”
“Uh, let me see what my schedule’s like for next weekend.” He ate a piece of ravioli, picked up his phone from the table, and tapped it. “Looks like I’m free.” He inhaled deeply. “But since Dante is staying at your place with your roommates, just tell him we’re friends, okay?”
“What?” How the hell would that work? “Why?” Colton was over the top now. I wiped my mouth with my napkin. “He’ll figure it out. He knows me too well.”
His jaw muscle bulged for a beat. “These things get around. If he knows, he might spill something to your roommates and then they might?—”
“Colton. No one will get you in trouble, okay? My friends will be careful.” I watched his reaction.
Setting his silverware down, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Having all those people know gives me anxiety. I can’t help it.”
“Did you schedule a therapy session?” He should havegotten the information by now, right? He clearly needed to speak with someone. I continued eating my flatbread.
“Yes, I have an appointment with a guy on Wednesday.” As he ate his food, he said, “Maybe if I’d had a few therapy sessions behind me, I’d feel differently about this. But right now…” He blew a quick exhale. “I’m still too anxious about everything.”
“Okay. I won’t tell Dante about us.” But Dante would see it for sure. What would I do then? I would have to lie. But it was only another six weeks. I ate the rest of my food.
Things becameeasy between us for the rest of our dinner, and afterward, we walked the few blocks to the Scottsdale Convention Center, and Colton picked up our tickets.
“Have you attended any of Evan’s games here?” I strolled with him inside the arena and spied the concession stand. I’d only had one beer at dinner, so I could probably get away with one more during the game.
“I haven’t.” He followed me to a vendor serving craft beer. “I considered it last year, but I had no one to go with me.” He bit the side of his lower lip. “I didn’t venture out much last year, and Evan teased the crap out of me.”
“I bet.” I thought back to when I’d first met him. He’d seemed withdrawn and a little sad. His eyes now held a spark. Had I ignited it?
We ordered beers, and Colton paid for them.
After finding our seats, which were along the glass at the end of the Firebird’s bench, I dropped in beside Colton and squeezed his free hand. “This will be fun.”
The hockey players warmed up on the ice, tossing pucks around and doing various stretching routines.
I passed my gaze along to each player, looking for Evan’s last name. “Where’s your buddy?”
“There.” He pointed to a player slapping the puck back andforth with another. As he turned, Crosby appeared across the back of his jersey.
Evan glanced at us, smiled, and then skated toward us. As he got closer, his smile grew wider, and he waved his gloved hand. His dark hair spilled from his helmet, a stark contrast to the blue of his eyes.
“Damn, he’s a good-looking dude, Colton. Are you sure you’re just friends?” I bumped my elbow on his as my chest prickled. Evan was straight, right?
“Just friends, so you can relax.” He waved at Evan and then dipped his head. “I don’t mind if you’re a little jealous, though.” His gaze met mine.
“Yeah? Okay, I’m a little jealous.” I focused on his lips. Damn, I wanted to kiss him.
He squeezed my thigh, his gaze flicking to mine. “Even if Evan weren’t straight, you’d have nothing to worry about.”
As warmth rushed into my chest, a smile grew on my lips. “That means a lot, Colton.” Was he falling as hard as I was? I could only hope.
The game was crazy,with the Firebirds scoring two goals to Salt Lake’s one by the middle of the second period. These guys skated fast and hit hard, sometimes so hard I couldn’t imagine how they hadn’t gotten hurt.
As a Salt Lake forward shuffled the puck, heading toward the Firebird’s goal, Evan raced up on his left and smashed him against the boards, the crash reverberating through the small rink.
After taking the puck, he passed it to his other D-man, and they tossed it back and forth while skating away from their zone and then shot it to their winger.
“Damn, Colton. If these players represent minor league teams, the NHL players must be amazing.” I sipped my beer andfollowed the puck, back and forth between players as they skated around Salt Lake’s goalie. Football didn’t have a minor league. College filled that role, so I guessed I was at the same level as Evan.