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//You should find another partner I don’t know that I’m up for it [DELETED]

//It sounds like fun but [DELETED]

Ultimately, he ended up sending a very different one.

I’ll be there in twenty

Lynwood’s house was a spacious brick home just outside the city. The driveway was overflowing with cars, and he could already hear the ruckus coming from the backyard. Henri thanked his Uber driver, made sure to tip him well for having to work a holiday, and wondered why the fuck he was here.

“You could be at home,” he grumbled to himself in French as he picked his way to the front door. “You could be enjoying a quiet evening with no one to perform for and the luxury of turning off your brain. Instead, you’re going to embarrass yourself at some stupid American party game.”

He’d looked up ‘cornhole’ on the drive. It wasn’t as bad as he’d feared, but was it worth leaving his warm sofa?

“Baps! You made it!”

As Everett rushed over and lifted him in a bone-crushing hug, Henri knew he’d have given up a lot more than a quiet night at home for this. He melted into the hug as much as he could melt into a hug when he was concerned about bruised ribs, and was rewarded with the smell of cologne.

“C’mon.” Everett let go but didn’t release him fully, pulling him behind like a rag doll down a long hallway, through a kitchen crowded with food and drinks and paper plates, and out to a backyard lit with rows and rows of fairy lights.

“What the fuck?” Henri laughed because the lights didn’t seem to fit Lynwood at all. The man couldn’t even match his gym wear together, often combining clashing colors, and his game-day attire could be kindly described as ‘bland’ or ‘uninspired.’ Having any outdoor lighting at all surprised Henri, never mind something this whimsical.

“One of LW’s exes decorated the whole place. Don’t worry, you’re not wrong if you think LW has no style. He’s just got good taste in women.”

That…was strangely comforting.

Everett pushed him to one edge of the yard where a line of teammates were watching the current round of cornhole. It was exactly what his search had made it seem. He watched Walsh overthrow again and again, thinking he would likely fare as poorly. If only he could use a hockey stick to toss the bags, he might do okay.

But then again, so would everyone else, and that would probably defeat the purpose.

“So.” Everett slung an arm around his shoulder and pulled him close. Henri appreciated the warmth and the way Everett’s breath tickled his ear. “We’re next. Then we’ll go grab some food. I made sure they saved some cornbread.”

His belly twisted uncomfortably. Henri bit his tongue because there was no way he was admitting that he’d already eaten a pound of brisket. It felt like a betrayal.

Five hours later, well into the night, Henri let Everett drive him home again. They’d lost three rounds of cornhole before finally winning one (which Everett celebrated with the same enthusiasm one might celebrate a playoff sweep). Henri ate the famous cornbread, though he discreetly picked out the jalapeños, and tried several other dishes made by his teammates. He was surprised at how many of them were edible and was glad for the copious amounts of booze on hand to wash down the ones that were less so.

And when Everett tousled his hair before pushing him out of his car at 1 a.m., Henri was luckily just sober enough not to do the stupid thing of inviting him up to his apartment. The problem was he didn’t think he’d be able to resist the chance a third time.

Nover

Do I need to schedule an intervention

Dylan

For who?

For you

What? Why?

I’m scoring

I know you were thinking about one when I had that goal drought

I did but yes you fixed it

No I mean about baps

I cannot have another Sokolov incident