Sugar and Ice - RJ Scott Page 0,34

the music, and even though I wasn’t fully into the kind of music that Colorado made, he had a touch of clever words and heavy beats, close enough to some of my favorites that I would’ve loved to see his band play one day.

Of course, that was if he wasn’t in prison for owning an illegal pet in the state of Arizona.

It was late when we landed, and still no call from Vlad to go to his room. After jerking off in the shower, and then jerking off a couple of hours after to the memories of what we’d done, I pulled together the courage to text him, a simple, wanna talk about the game? No one could think that was anything other than one teammate reaching out to another, but he replied thirty-two minutes later with a simple not tonight.

Fuck knows what that was about.

Our free day in Toronto was all about the CN Tower, dinner, six of us attempting to not look like hockey players all standing on the glass walkway of the tower and staring down at the large whale painted on the roof of the Aquarium. The yellow sign said the glass would take the weight of three-point-five Orcas, which of course led to teasing about weight, particularly when it came to the part about the glass holding the weight of one thousand and ninety-one beavers, which we all found hilarious. This wasn’t my first time up the tower, and I was confident to stand in the middle and watch through the clouds as they cleared and passed by to reveal the tiny ant-like people below, but it was my first time with new friends, and I loved it.

Of course we got recognized, took selfies with fans, signed some autographs, and received some gentle teasing about being Raptors. But I had the one that would go down in history as the worst place to be recognized—in the bathroom, for God’s sake. Given I was holding my dick and taking a piss when the guy said hi, it was kind of unfortunate, but at least he and I laughed over not having a pen available. One pair of washed hands later, I found out that he was a Calgary fan, and my stomach fell. We exchanged notes on the Calgary game and I stayed ever so polite and I didn’t once call him an opinionated asshole when he called my line the SHiT line.

I even shook his hand, and when I joined the guys who were waiting in the gift shop trying on hats, they took one look at me and they must have known.

“You were ages,” Ryker commented, yanking at the cap which couldn’t quite contain his soft fluffy bangs unless he pushed them up and under.

“Calgary fan,” was all I said.

They nodded in silent understanding, then changed the subject. It was how we dealt.

At least Vlad came to dinner with us in the evening, but he wouldn’t glance my way or indeed anyone, and he had this grumpy Russian thing going on. Colorado was subdued, and Coach Carmichael was trying his best to get the group into a happy space.

Tomorrow was an afternoon game with Toronto. On a Saturday. Kids, lots of kids, family, and you could bet the arena would be heaving. This, after all, was the home to the Hall of Fame, and the fans were dedicated.

I just wished that Vlad would… what? Come to my room, text me to go to his to talk strategy, at least give me the benefit of at least acknowledging me. Because if he didn’t, then did that mean it had been a one-night thing? Were we done at one fuck and a blowjob, and other interesting things?

We were good against Toronto, in fact better than good. The SHT line wasn’t quite as shit as the Toronto fans had hoped. With Alex out with his lower body injury, Sam moved up to the JAR line, and somehow they clicked, and we had Lewis, one of our third line and we clicked as well. It was poetry, and we drew level at two goals each with only three minutes left in the game. Vlad was an animal, he was everywhere, he was large and intimidating, Andre was laser focused, Ryker was a freaking genius and got our first goal, our penalty kill rocked, and I scored the second goal.

Take that, interviewers who think I’m shit and not worth being a Raptor.

The clock ticked down. We wanted the full