Risking the Shot (Stick Side #4) - Amy Aislin Page 0,41
“Why, why, why, for the love of God, why would you read that voluntarily?”
“He’s a science and math nerd,” Dean said with his head in the fridge. “Can you add broccoli to the list?” he said to his husband. Back to Tay, “At first I thought it was just marine biology—”
“Seahorses,” Grey whispered like a crazed killer spotting its prey.
“—but it’s all of it. He’s also a math genius.”
“Really?” Unable to believe it, Tay stared at Grey’s bent head as he added broccoli to the grocery list. “Where were you when I was taking chemistry last year?”
Grey pouted like the man-child he was. “Aw, I missed chemistry?”
Letting the fridge slam closed behind him, Dean came back over to the island, edging his broad D-man shoulders in next to Grey. He stole the pen from Grey and added more stuff to the list. Tay couldn’t read it upside down.
“What do you actually need help with?” Dean said.
The music on the little kitchen radio changed to a Whitney Houston song. Grey bopped his hips, bumping into Dean’s with every other move.
Living with Grey and Dean was . . . interesting. If you didn’t know them, the two men seemed like polar opposites. Dean, laidback and quietly confident and über competent. Grey, mercurial and chatty and bold. Turned out they fit together like the colors of a rainbow. They were both homebodies who valued their privacy, so the fact that Dean had invited him to stay here instead of Tay having to live out of a hotel room for weeks said a lot about the man’s generosity.
Tay had never in his life seen two men demonstrate so much warmth and love toward each other. Casual touches, lingering glances, kisses that ranged from fun and flirty to deep and sensuous. And they weren’t shy about showing affection in front of Tay either.
And Tay, being the shameless voyeur that he was, couldn’t take his eyes off them when they got all touchy-feely. Screw it, he could admit it—he didn’t even try. They were beautiful together.
What they had reminded him of what his parents had. Trust, mutual respect, open communication, and an intrinsic sort of knowing who their partner was. It was that something special Tay had grown up around and that he’d always wanted for himself.
“Tay?”
“Huh?” Ripped out of his thoughts, he focused on Dean.
“What do you need help with?”
“Oh. Where would you take a guy on a first date?”
Again with the twin blinks. Definitely a married thing. They shared a look. “In this city?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Playdium!” Grey said like one would shout a bid at an auction.
“Um. Not quite what I had in mind.” He didn’t think a giant stadium packed full of kids and teenagers playing video games would appeal to Dakota. “Where’d you guys go on your first date?”
Another shared look passed between them, this one conveying how stumped they were.
“We didn’t really date in the traditional sense,” Dean said slowly. “We were friends first and it sort of . . . evolved from there.”
“Yeah.” Grey smirked. “He wouldn’t let me fuck him until he was in love with me.”
Dean shook his head, an amused tilt to his lips. “That’s not quite how it happened, but close enough, I guess.”
At any other time, Tay would ask for the details out of sheer curiosity. Now, when he was in make-this-the-best-first-date-ever mode, was not the time.
Catching on to his frustration—Tay’s balled fists gave him away—Dean said, “What neighborhood does he live in? Maybe see what’s around there that looks good. That way he doesn’t have to go far. Sorry, that’s all I’ve got.”
It actually wasn’t bad advice.
Later, Tay sat in the locker room dressed in his home game uniform, tapping away on his phone after Coach’s usual pregame speech, bookmarking yet more restaurant websites. He had over a dozen now and was still no closer to choosing one. On his thigh sat the puzzle piece Andy had again secreted into his backpack without him noticing. So far, it hadn’t inspired him much, but the sight of it was enough to make him grin.
Phone between his hands, he nudged Stanton’s shoulder. “Where would you take a guy on a first date?”
“Hm.” Stanton pursed his lips, glancing up briefly from where he was taping his hockey stick. Finally, someone who was giving it some thought. “I don’t know. Depends what they’re into. Is he the fancy-restaurant type? Casual dining and a movie? Trivia night at the local pub? Batting cages? A walk through the Entertainment District?”