Page 101 of Two for Roughing

Kilian smiled at her. “I think I’ve said this, but a lot of classic menswear isn’t for me. I’ve had the shirt for ages. I just never wanted to wear it in case it looked too…well, gay. So why not?”

“Any reason why tonight?”

“The Monarchs are always best-dressed on the ice. I thought I’d give them some competition off it.”

“Hey!” Petterson called from the locker room. “You do not like our jersey?”

“Your mask is baller, dude,” Kilian shouted in response. “But the Monarchs jersey is unbeatable, sorry.” He’d always thought so, with the big orange-yellow-black-white cell pattern covering the front of the jersey. It was also a source of constant mockery in the league that the LA guys repped butterflies. He hoped he hadn’t made it worse.

A few more questions about the game followed, as well as one or two about the Sea Lions, which he no commented when they got too personal, and then Kilian was done.

He hit the showers with the last few stragglers. (Matheson, always Matheson. He was shit at changing quickly, getting distracted by whatever was going on around him. Kilian spared a grateful thought that Matheson didn’t live with Damir, or Damir would get impatient and hangry waiting for him.)

Kilian had to stop thinking about Damir—a difficult feat when he was standing by Kilian’s stall, showered and changed with his damp hair dripping onto his collar, glowering at the entire room.

“You,” he growled at Kilian.

“Huh?”

Lissy bounded up to Kilian and threw an arm around his shoulders, heedless of Kilian’s nudity apart from the towel he had wrapped around his waist. It likely meant nothing to Lissy, but Kilian was thankful for his continued lack of boundaries. He could have done without the meat-tornado he referred to as the helicopter, but in a weird way, being subjected to the psychosexual torture straight guys took for granted in the locker room made Kilian feel as though nothing at all had changed.

“Howie,” Lissy announced seriously. “You are my hero.”

“Again, huh?”

“Big Russian bear! Amazing! Who knew!”

A lot of people, but Kilian let it slide.

“Tonight is the night, Howster.” Lissy gestured expansively.

“The night for…”

“The night we take you out and douse you in champagne to celebrate both your point streak and the endless fodder for ridicule you have gifted us with.”

They were in LA. Might as well. The coaches had announced no curfew for two of the four nights on the trip as a reward for the team’s hot streak (and in all likelihood because they knew it would be an exercise in futility on New Year’s, the final day of the trip).

“Sounds good,” Kilian responded. “You got a place in mind?”

“Have I!” Lissy immediately expounded on the club, a hyper-exclusive three-story location with a rooftop bar and DJs with record-label contracts. Kilian tuned him out to focus on getting dressed.

“When are we leaving?” Damir asked.

Lissy turned to stare at him. “Did I really hear those words from your lips?”

Damir made a face as though he’d sucked a lemon.

“Rocky, I need you to check. Are my ears attached?”

Damir crossed his arms.

“Still there, boss.”

“Did our very own Denny just…volunteer to go out with us?”

“A decision I am regretting more and more with every moment,” Damir assured them all. “If the rookies drink too much again, it is not my responsibility.”

What a liar. He had half an eye on Fulls even as he said it.