Page 115 of Two for Roughing

“And you and Howie are cool?”

Damir tried to fight it, but the smile at the mention of Kilian was unavoidable. “Yes. We’re good.”

Ketchup drew away with a concerned frown. “Stop making that expression. It’s freaky.”

“You’re a child. The Sea Lions have invited us to join their New Year’s festivities tomorrow. Can you ask around if people are interested?”

“And you’re planning parties? Denny, are you sure you’re okay?” Ketchup reached out and touched his forehead. “Do we need to call the team doctor?”

“No, I need you to ask the team if they’re all right partying with the enemy,” Damir said with exaggerated patience.

“Why don’t you do it?”

“Because they’ll all say they are if I ask.” The burden of being a role model. His teammates, especially the rookies, would agree whether they wanted to or not if he suggested it.

Ketchup continued to eyeball him suspiciously, and Damir didn’t want to stoke any further trade rumors, so he asked how the rest of Ketchup’s night went and made a series of listening grunts while he described the unparalleled experience of dancing at a pretentious club when you were high as fuck. To Damir, it sounded awful, but what did he know? Ketchup didn’t enjoy planning ahead or being in charge, so it stood to reason sensory overstimulation was fun for him in a way it wasn’t for Damir.

After the flight, the bus drove them straight to Cyberian Arena for practice. They had to get a session in today since the New Year’s Eve game was a matinee, and they wouldn’t have enough time to practice beforehand. In a rare instance of good NHL scheduling, by the time they hit the ice, most everyone’s hangover was gone, leaving the team energized and buoyant. From the corner of his eye, Damir caught sight of Ketchup skating between groups, chatting to everyone. He often did that, being disgustingly gregarious, but Damir could tell Ketchup used the chats to estimate people’s interest in spending the holiday with another team.

He shot Damir a thumbs-up on their way to the locker room.

“The team will go to whatever party the Sea Lions throw tomorrow,” Damir told Kilian. It was the first they’d spoken since that morning, not because Damir hadn’t wanted to but because he’d been saving it like a rare sweet treat.

Kilian beamed. He was in the middle of unbuckling his chest protector, and he smelled of the rank combination of melted ice on hockey pads and copious amounts of sweat. Damir wanted to kiss him regardless.

“Cool, I’ll text Breezy. I should probably warn him. The Sea Lions are a lot more laid back than the Firecrackers when they party.”

Damir tried to imagine Tom Crowler doing cocaine in a bathroom and failed. “Sounds believable.”

“And, um.” Kilian bit his lip. “We’re still on for tonight?”

“Our reservation is at seven. Wear something nice.”

Kilian’s eyebrows shot up. “Something…nice?”

“Something you’ll be comfortable in at an upscale restaurant,” Damir corrected himself. He wouldn’t mind if Kilian showed up in more lace, or possibly one of those crop tops that exposed his whole stomach, but it would be distracting.

“Upscale, huh?” Kilian grinned the whole way to the shower, and Damir considered whether he could add more dates to their already-hectic schedule. Maybe after their next skating session with Valeria, when they were weak from exertion and ready to be spoiled.

The team was staying at a hotel near the arena, which meant it would be a half hour’s drive up to the city. After getting out of practice, Damir had an hour to get ready. He trimmed his beard over the hotel room sink, making the lines as sharp as possible, and patted it down with oil afterward. He leaned in close to pluck a few strays from his eyebrows, then dampened a towel to wipe off the stray hairs on his neck and chest. Would Kilian notice? Maybe. He paid such careful attention to his own appearance. Either way, knowing he looked as good as he was capable of buoyed Damir’s confidence.

He examined the contents of his suitcase. On the bright side, being a hockey player meant Damir always packed plenty of formal wear for road trips. On the downside, all of it felt like work clothing. He also packed sparingly, only one suit jacket for a three-game road trip and two pairs of pants. He’d included a nice shirt, intending it for the New Year’s Eve walk-in—a deep emerald silky number that would complement the Sea Lions’ teal-and-navy color scheme without emulating it. He could wear it again tomorrow. Damir shrugged the shirt on along with black pants before strapping on his watch. It was gold, a tad ostentatious, but it looked good. He checked the weather report on his phone. San Francisco didn’t really have seasons. If he wore his peacoat over the outfit, it would work without a suit jacket. He slid the gift he’d picked up before their flight into his coat pocket and ordered an Uber.

Damir was about to head down the hall to pick up Kilian when a knock sounded on his door.

Behind it, Lissy, Rocky, and Ketchup all waited for him. Damir suppressed a groan. “Now isn’t a good time.”

Lissy pushed through into Damir’s room. “We need to talk about last night, Denny. We can’t have the best players on the team fighting, not when we’re finally getting out of our slump.”

Damir turned to Ketchup, betrayed. “I told you everything was fine.”

“You would say the same thing if you were literally on fire,” Ketchup told him. “No offense, but you’re not who comes to mind when I think of open, honest communication.”

Remembering that morning, with Kilian still under the sheets—how tender and flayed open Damir had felt ever since—he scowled. “I do fine.”

Lissy made a disbelieving sound.

Damir turned to Rocky. “Come on. Surely you don’t want to be doing this.”