Risking the Shot (Stick Side #4) - Amy Aislin Page 0,75
the next two games, we clinch a spot in the playoffs.”
Meaning the off-season could be weeks away, if not months if Tay’s team made it all the way to the Stanley Cup final.
“I don’t know if I can keep our relationship from Andy for that long,” Dakota admitted. “It’d be hard not to do this.” He kissed Tay’s forehead. “Or this.” Ran a hand through Tay’s hair. “Even when he’s in the room.”
“Yeah,” Tay whispered, eyes slipping closed as Dakota kept sifting his fingers through his hair, the soft strands gently falling back into place. “I know what you mean.”
Of course he did. He’d had to hide for a long time.
“How about you?” Dakota asked. “Did you decide on coming out or not?”
Tay blew out a breath that tickled Dakota’s collarbone. “We’re so close to the playoffs. It’s not the right time to come out. And if we make it to the playoffs . . . That’s not the right time either. It’s not what I want people to focus on, and it’s not something I want my team distracted by.”
“No. You don’t apologize for doing what’s right for you.”
Dakota’s heart melted into a puddle of warmth when Tay snuggled his face into his neck.
“Kota?”
“Hm?”
“I’m so tired. If you keep doing that, I’m gonna fall asleep.”
“Go ahead.” He kissed Tay’s temple. “I’ll wake you at five so you have time to go home and get your stuff before practice.”
“But Andy . . .”
“You let me worry about that.”
Not that he was worried. Andy wouldn’t wake up until close to seven.
Tay was asleep a second later.
It wasn’t a comfortable position. They were too tall for the couch, Tay was a warm, heavy, and bulky weight on his chest, and Dakota’s back wouldn’t thank him for sleeping on a couch.
It would be worth it.
The sun hadn’t made an appearance yet when Tay snuck into the house the following morning with the goal of slinking past his roommates like he’d been here all night.
Luck was not on his side.
Dean and Grey were coming down the stairs as he walked in the door.
“Walk. Of. Shame,” Grey said, much too delighted for five thirty in the morning.
Behind him, Dean’s brow was lowered in concern. “Everything okay?”
“Of course, it is,” Grey jumped in. “You can tell by the smile on his face.”
Was he smiling?
“Walk of shame,” Grey whisper-shouted as he walked past Tay on the way to the kitchen.
“It’s not even a true walk of shame,” Tay muttered, following Grey. “All we did was talk most of the night.”
“Aw. I think I like that better.”
Tay sank onto a barstool at the island, heart light as air. God. He’d almost fucked things up with Dakota because he couldn’t talk about himself, and because of his past with Fiona, Dakota had taken that as Tay pulling away when it was the furthest thing from the truth. And Tay hadn’t even known what he was doing. Hadn’t known he was causing Dakota all sorts of stress. When had the habit of switching too personal topics away from himself become ingrained in Tay?
A clang drew him out of his thoughts as Dean removed a pan from a cupboard. “Everything’s okay, though?” he asked Tay. “You haven’t been yourself the past few days.”
He’d been that obviously upset? Great. “Yeah, I’m . . .” Now he was smiling like a dope again. “Yeah.”
“Good. You eat yet?”
“No.”
“I’ll make enough for the three of us while you get ready.”
“Thanks. Uh . . .” Tay turned to Grey, who was chopping onions and veggies for omelets. “You’re supposedly a genius, right?”
“Supposedly? Who’s not taking me seriously?”
For some reason, Dean thought that was hysterical.
Grey scowled playfully over his shoulder at his husband and kicked out a leg to hit him in the shin. “What do you need?” he asked Tay.
“Someone to . . .” Tay sucked in a deep breath. “Look over a comic book I’m writing,” he blurted on a whoosh of air. “For typos and wayward commas and whatnot.”
That got Dean roaring again.
Planting his elbows on the island, Grey brandished the paring knife in Tay’s direction. “I’ll say this once, and if you ever repeat it, I’ll deny it with my dying breath, got it?”
“Uh . . .”
“I almost failed creative writing in college.”
It took Tay a second to parse through that. “Who fails creative writing?”
Grey threw his hands up. “Math geniuses, okay? This guy—” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “—was my tutor. Had to