Page 19 of The Call-Up
Double interesting. But I don’t want to travel down this path. If I ask him what his type is, it’s only going to lead to him inquiring about mine as well. And frankly, something tells me he’s not going to be all that pumped about me pointing at him and saying,You. You’re my type. You have been since the day I met you. Nope. Not doing that at all.
Ryan
Well, at least now, thanks to Nicole, we have drinks in our hands, but damn, this place is more packed than I had initially thought. There are fans everywhere. It looks like a lot of them came straight from the game.
Which is great for the team. As I look around, I can see a lot of my teammates signing bar napkins and jerseys for the gathering crowd. I know from experience, everyone on the Mules is happy to indulge the fans with autographs and quick conversation. And my single teammates like O’Shea and Roysy are happy to do anything for some attention from the women in the bar. Or Nicole, who they are always asking me to set them up with. They’re still shocked Nicole and I are just friends.
It’s true, though. I met her years ago, during my rookie season. She used to be a barista at my favorite coffee shop and we hit it off as friends immediately. She’s also the only person in this city I’ve ever told I am gay. The only reason was because she had a huge crush on me, and I liked her so much as my friend that I knew the only way I could easily let her down was to tell her the truth. Here we are, years later. It’s nice, having someone know the truth about me.
We’re barely ten feet away from the bar before another woman approaches me. She has dark brown hair, golden brown skin and is wearing a Mules hoodie that she’s cut short to make a crop top out of. “You’re Ryan Christianson, right?”
“I am,” I say. I take a sip of my beer which allows me to lift my gaze from her to Brandon. I smirk at him. Those blue eyes of his along with his innocent-looking baby face just might be distracting enough for this puck bunny to aim her heavy flirting at him instead. And who knows, maybe he prefers brunettes over blondes like Nicole.
She runs her fingertips down my forearm which brings my attention back to her. “Do you think you can sign this for me?” she asks, gesturing at the open space on her hoodie directly above her left breast.
“Sure.” I smile at her as I pull a Sharpie out of my pocket. My gaze turns intense and challenging. I watch her face light up with anticipation as I say, “But on one condition.”
“Oh yeah,” she practically purrs as she looks up at me with her big brown eyes. “Anything for you.”
“Great!” I snap back to my more playful self and pass the Sharpie to Brandon. “You can let Brandon sign first. He’s new, you know.” I wink at her.
The look of disappointment that crosses her face is unmistakable. I don’t get it. Brandon’s grown into a good-looking guy. Sure, his hair is a bit too long and shaggy, but it’s also the end of March. None of us are looking our best at this point in the season. We’re bumped and bruised. Bones have been broken. Stitches have been tied. Teeth have been lost. Beards are no longer being cared for. Honestly, we’re a mess.
Except for me. I keep a standing appointment with my barber.
After Brandon finishes signing, she sticks her chest up at me. Quickly, I scribble my name across the fabric.
She beams up at me as I sign. And now it’s time for me to gracefully remove myself from her general area. “Well,” I say as I put the cap back onto my marker. “It was nice meeting you. Have fun tonight.”
She looks slightly deflated as I grab a hold of Brandon’s shoulder again, giving him a shake as we walk away.
“Why did you try to shove her off on me?” Brandon asks. “Didn’t you think she was pretty?”
“Did you?” I ask him, genuinely curious. I’m not blind. I could see that she was attractive. Same as Nicole is. Neither woman is in short supply of men in this bar who would shoot their shot for a chance to take one of them home. But alas, as I discovered ages ago, she, like all other females, just can’t get my motor running, no matter what they look like.
“She’s not my type…” Brandon says, his voice trailing off.
And I swear to God, did he just press himself slightly against me? Interesting. I give him a tighter, playful squeeze and jostle him on our walk back towards his parents. Which is perfectly timed. Momma B has wrapped Ivanov into another hug that he looks completely stunned by. Again. This might only be the second hug he’s ever had in his life.
She eventually lets him go, then grabs onto me. “Are you having fun?” I ask through a labored breath as she holds me in a firm death grip.
“Absolutely!” She lets go of me then grabs onto Brandon and hugs him so enthusiastically that he almost drops his beer. “We’re just so proud of you!”
Big Mike reaches his hand into their embrace and ruffles Brandon’s hair with his large hand, which then causes all our teammates around us to do the same. Starting with Ivanov—it seems the Bouchards are starting to rub off on him—and ending with Danton.
Brandon groans while blushing furiously. He gives me a pleading look. One that says,please for the love of God don’t you dare touch my hair as well. I don’t follow his silent request. Mostly because everyone else has done such a good job of disheveling his strands that someone needs to step in and fix it for him.
“Here,” I say, stepping towards him as he’s released. I bring my hand to his hair, and he stiffens under my touch. The opposite of his reaction when I put my arm around him. I smooth his hair down and tuck the longer pieces behind his ears. He really could use a haircut. I should refer him to my barber. “You’re a mess.”
“Uh, thanks,” he says, looking at me with confusion on his face. He steps away from my touch and brings one hand to rub the back of his neck. His brow is furrowed, and he’s chewing his lower lip.
I’ve seen this look on his face before. It’s like he’s fourteen again and shellshocked I’m standing before him. When he was a kid, it was much easier to brush off that look. Right now, I’m not sure how to interpret it, but it makes something stir inside me. I swallow.
Big Mike claps me on the shoulder. “So, what’s good to eat here?”
Brandon
And like that, the spell is broken. Thanks, Dad. No, really. Thank you, Dad. That entire exchange with Ryan, while brief and mostly silent, was enough to make me feel lightheaded. It was the most intimate touch I’ve ever received from him and all he did was fix my stupid hair.
