Page 101 of Cheap Shot

He arrived at Crawford’s place with food in tow about five minutes into the first period. The score was already 1–1 and there had been a fight.

“Jesus,” he said as he stood beside Crawford staring at the TV. “They started with a bang.”

“Yeah.” Crawford said, taking the food bag from him so he could shrug off his coat. “They sure did.”

“I thought fighting wasn’t allowed?” Sebastian asked as he stuffed his hat and gloves into the arm of his jacket.

He caught a glimpse of his hair which was simultaneously smashed down and weirdly poufy and wondered why he’d bothered styling it at all. Between the hats and the inevitable destruction from Crawford, it was really a lost cause.

“Fighting isn’t allowed at the Olympics, but this is just a made-up international tournament,” Crawford said, taking the food out of the bag.

“Technically I thinkalltournaments are made up,” Sebastian pointed out. He took a seat on the couch beside Crawford.

“Okay, but the Olympics has some fuckinghistoryand shit. This tourney is new.”

“Yeah, fair,” Sebastian conceded, watching Tanner Clayton pester Dustin Fowler behind Team USA’s net.

“No capers?” Crawford glanced over, looking legitimately put out.

“They should be somewhere in there,” Sebastian said, peering in the bag. He rooted around until he found a container under the pile of napkins. “Here.”

“Thanks.”

They resumed watching hockey.

“Uhh, I should get plates,” Crawford said during the first commercial break, squinting at the coffee table.

Sebastian looked down at where the toppings from his everything bagel were scattered across the surface. He’d been trying to keep them contained to the napkin he was assembling his sandwich on but it wasn’t working well. “Good call.”

When Crawford returned and handed one over, Sebastian glanced up. “Are you a neat freak or something?” he asked, amused by the idea.

Before he’d come over the first time, Sebastian would have assumed the man lived in an expensive condo with no decor and shit strewn everywhere. Not that Sebastian could reallyjudgeanyone, but Crawford really was continually full of surprises.

“I keep things pretty clean, I guess,” he said as he glanced around the room. “It’s my space. Why would I want to fuck it up?”

Sebastian began assembling his food. “I just get busy. The shop’s always my priority.”

They lapsed into silence as they watched the game.

“This so isn’t on my diet plan,” Crawford mumbled a few minutes later around a bite of everything bagel smeared with cream cheese and topped with lox, red onion, and capers.

“Sorry,” Sebastian said. “I could have gotten something else for you.”

“I could’ve said no. But this shit is good.” Crawford wiped the corner of his mouth.

“It’s not a New York bagel,” Sebastian said. “But it’ll do.”

“New Yorkers are such fucking snobs,” Crawford said with a snort. “You’re convinced that city is the center of the world.”

“I mean …” Sebastian said. “If?—”

“Motherfucker!” Crawford swore.

Sebastian glanced up at the TV screen to see Canada had scored and pumped his fist.

Crawford gave him a disgusted look. “Are you rooting for Team Canada now?”

“Mostly I’m rooting against you. You’re cheering for USA, ergo, I want them to lose.”