Risking the Shot (Stick Side #4) - Amy Aislin Page 0,2
Dean was defense. They naturally ran in different circles.
Living with them was nice, though. Dean—gently prodding him to stay on top of his schoolwork and checking in once in a while to make sure he was doing okay. Grey—acting like the younger, brattier sibling Tay had never had, even though, technically, Grey was two or three years older than him.
Oh, and the way Dean and his husband shared tender touches or little kisses or bumped hips as they cooked dinner while Tay studied at the dining room table? Honestly, they were cuter than a couple had any right to be.
When Grey had first arrived from LA, Tay had caught them sharing the most passionate of kisses in their front hallway that had been all about comfort and security. It had been hotter than any porn he’d ever watched—gay or straight. Dean and Grey were out to the team, but not publicly, so they kept their smooches and flirting confined to their home.
Tay too—the out-to-the-team thing, not the smooches thing. He didn’t currently have anyone to smooch with. But he’d stopped hiding his bisexuality from his teammates over a year ago. Coming out publicly? That was a whole other matter entirely, one he’d been seriously considering for a few months but hadn’t yet acted on. There were sponsorships and team dynamics to consider, as well as backlash from fans and season ticket holders, and so many expectations to handle. Now wasn’t the right time anyway. It was the third week of February, which meant he had to concentrate on playing the best hockey he could and focus on passing his midterms.
Stanton was the only one who was out publicly. Still, that made five players who were out to the team—their goalie was the fifth member of what Tay had secretly been calling the Queer Brigade—and how many NHL teams could say that?
“Are your parents coming to family skate tomorrow?” Stanton asked as he climbed.
“Nah.” Tay braced one foot on the bottom rung. “They’re both working.” A nurse and a firefighter, his parents’ schedules were unpredictable and irregular.
“Your sisters?”
“Nope,” Tay said, popping the p. And that was fine. Great, even. He could skate with the kids, take pictures with babies, and sign jerseys without worrying about whether his sisters were enjoying themselves. “What about your family?”
“They’re not able to fly out here.” Above, Stanton taped the streamer to the wall, pausing to admire their handiwork. “My brother was going to come and stay with Xappa since I don’t have an extra bed, but he had a team thing come up.”
Right. Stanton’s older brother was best friends with their teammate, Xappa, who, Stanton had once bemoaned, had been tasked by said brother to keep an eye on Stanton while they played together on the same team. Considering the most trouble Stanton ever got into was being late to a live show at the theater, it was slightly misguided.
Must be nice, though, to have siblings who worried about you.
A server came through the doors carrying a stack of white linen.
“You won’t see him until tonight, you know,” Stanton said when he reached the bottom of the ladder. He hopped down from the second rung.
“Who?”
“Your hunky, single dad. You think I haven’t seen you eyeing the door this whole time?”
Also in attendance at tonight’s event . . . ? A large chunk of the reason Tay was looking forward to it: the aforementioned hunky, single dad, Dakota Cotton, one of the Foundation’s fundraisers Tay was nursing a two-year crush on. Dakota was all long limbs and angular features and seductive confidence. Tay had met him several times when he’d visited the Foundation’s offices to meet with the programs and volunteer coordinator about his volunteer gigs, and each time he’d gotten a spark of recognition that made no sense and perfect sense all at once. Like locking eyes with someone from across a crowded bar and knowing you’d hit it off before you’d even introduced yourselves.
“The fundraisers aren’t coming to help decorate.” Stanton picked at a small piece of tape stuck to his palm. “This is their party. Coach asked the team to decorate as a thank you to them, remember?”
“I don’t,” Tay admitted. “If I had, maybe I would’ve been able to concentrate on the stupid streamers instead of watching the door.”
“Speaking of.” Towing Tay back to the dance floor, Stanton pulled several more crepe paper rolls out of a plastic bag and held them up for Tay to see.