Square to the Puck (Offsides #2)

by J.J. Mulder

For want of anything better to do, I look around the room, gaze meeting Anthony Lawson’s across the room. He flips me off. “He’s a huge fan,” Troy confides, which startles a laugh from me. “I’ll make sure to autograph something for him.” He snorts with laughter,

“What’s up with you?” I turn toward Lawson, who’s leaning against the stall next to mine, voice pitched low for me alone. I don’t know how he gets a read on me like that since I’m positive my face doesn’t reflect anything of what I’m feeling. He’s like one of those seizure dogs, sniffing out a medical emergency before it happens.

Part of me wonders if something is going on between them. This is also the part of me that wants to run Lawson over with my truck, so I do my best to ignore it.

“Take advantage of me, literally, any time.” He smiles, and I commit it to memory.

He clears his throat and I tear my eyes away, ashamed that he caught me staring. At his ankle, no less, like some Victorian era creep.

“And just to put it out there, I’d like to spend more time with you outside of work. So, I’ll be here as much or as little as you want me to be.”

“Here, my place, wherever. You’re the important part in that equation, not the location.”

“Oh, okay then,” I reply, because I’m known for my eloquence.

Corwin bumps his shoulder against mine and I grin around my mouthguard. Reserved as he is, that’s practically the same as him holding my hand.

“I watched British Bake Off and then went to sleep.” He says this completely without guile, as though it’s not the cutest thing I’ve heard all day.

“We could just order a pizza, if you didn’t want to go through the trouble.” He looks offended. “If you want pizza, I’ll just make one.”

“Get fucked, St. James,” Walden spits, shoving hard against my chest, trying to dislodge the arm I’ve got him pinned against the glass with. “Oh, I plan to, your mom and I always have so much fun together.” “Seriously?” I grunt over my shoulder at Nigel,

Nigel opens his mouth to call after him, and the ref points a stern finger at him. “Keep your goddamn mouth shut if you don’t want to reacquaint yourself with the penalty box.” He turns to me. “Put your dog on a leash, Sanhover.” I shoot an accusing look at Nigel who smiles at me around his mouthguard as we skate back to the bench. “That guy has it out for me.” “Gee, I wonder why that might be?”

I open the door to find Troy and Sam on the doorstep. Sam’s arms are wrapped around a large baking dish. “I told him!” Troy says, walking past me as I open my mouth to tell them it wasn’t necessary to bring anything.

Lawson steps inside and lets loose a celebratory whoop at the sight of them. Beelining over to Troy, he hooks an arm over his neck and drags his head down until he can place a kiss to the top of his head. Troy struggles, trying to pull free from the headlock. “Hey! Better not do that in front of my boyfriend.” “He doesn’t mind,” Sam puts in mildly, and Lawson laughs.

“Nothing, I just like to look at you. I don’t know how you managed it, but somehow you got more handsome in the past six years, which is saying something because you were already beautiful back then.”

“Saint, what’s up buddy?” I raise my eyebrows at him. ‘Buddy’ is new. “You want to grab a beer at Hank’s?” “Couldn’t find another taker back there, so you had to scrape the bottom of the barrel?” “Damn, you got me. Buddy was too far, wasn’t it?” I laugh,

“I cleared some space, so if you wanted to leave clothes here you can.” Reaching down, Nigel uses the arm he has wrapped around me to tug up the hem of my shirt and slide his hand inside. The calluses on his palm tickle my skin as he idly rubs my back. “You cleared some space,” he repeats. “Yeah. Two drawers and there is plenty of room in the closet for whatever you want to hang.”

“Next time I go to the apartment, I’ll grab more stuff to bring here. Thank you.” I smile against him. If I had my way, he’d have enough of his things here to never have to go back to the apartment, and then one day he’d realize that he’s been living here all along.

Jesus, I can only imagine the hell he would have raised if Lawson knew half of the shit you just told me.” “We’d be paying his bail.” “He’d probably look good in orange.”

“You’re still planning on staying, right?” he asks me. “If you kick me out of the house, I’m sleeping in the driveway,” I tell him honestly.

I don’t want you to regret me, tomorrow. “I wouldn’t regret anything. Not with you,” he says confidently.

I just want you to relax and…” Enjoy yourself? Feel good? Fall in love with me? Is it too much to ask for all the above? “Get off?” he fills in helpfully, and I snort out a laugh. “Exactly.” “I can tell you with absolute certainty that won’t be a problem.” I laugh again and he smiles, wide and without restraint. The way my Corwin smiles.

“I’m going to add a third finger, okay? Just to be sure I’m not going to hurt you.” “Sure, yeah. Good idea. You have a huge dick, so…”

“See? Huge,” he says breathily. I laugh helplessly. “Can I move? Are you okay?” “Carry on,” he instructs, and I fuse my mouth to his, laughter rumbling in my chest.

“So…I’m gay.” “Okay.” Lawson nods, smiling faintly. He doesn’t look mad or upset. He doesn’t even look surprised. He looks like he’s waiting for me to continue and get to the point.

Lawson lifts his head, tipping his chin to indicate Nigel, who’s busy measuring out three servings of soup. “And just so we’re clear, you ever say the word and I’ll take him out. No questions asked.” “I can hear you,” Nigel mutters. “Good. I expect you to treat Cor like the beautiful, smart, hockey god that he is.” “Have you been drinking?” I ask, while Nigel snorts with laughter. Lawson pats my arm before letting go.

“Do you feel okay?” Nigel asks, fingers tangled with mine against his stomach. “My ass or emotionally?” He laughs, reaching one hand back to smack the side of my leg. I can tell he’s still smiling when he speaks. “Both.”

Sam remains silent, listening. He slides his hand completely over Troy’s right hand and the left ceases fiddling. The clinking stops.

“I probably could have explained better.” It’s Sam’s turn to laugh. “You did much better than me, when I came out to my parents. Barely ten feet through the front door, and I pretty much shouted at my mom that Troy would be sleeping in my bed during our visit.” My lips twitch, a smile trying to form despite my mood. “That was my backup plan. Walk in and announce that Nigel St. James was sleeping in my bed.” “Tried and true coming out method,” he jokes,

“Yeah, I’m really happy.” There is understanding in Sam’s golden-brown eyes. “Found your Troy?” “Yeah. Yeah, I think I did.”

When he clears his throat, I stop and look up at him. “I was wondering if I could give you a blowjob,” he says, and I burst out laughing. Only Corwin would offer head to his boyfriend in a tone of voice suitable for a mortician offering condolences. He pretends to look offended. “Hey, I’m being serious.”

Above me, Nigel is muttering in rapid French; I hope he’s not telling me what to do, because my limited knowledge of the language does not yet include instructions on how to give head properly.

“We can try rimming if you want to.” “If you want to,” he corrects me. “Well, it sounds like you’re the one getting the ass end of the deal here, so I feel like the decision is up to you.” For the second time tonight, Nigel cracks up laughing.

“You cater to me—no, it’s true and you know it—you cater to me in bed because I have no idea what I’m doing or what I like. But you do know what you like. It’s not fair, Nigel, for everything to be about me.” “Yes,” he deadpans, “everything was about you last night when we had sex, and today when you gave me a blowjob. It’s very difficult to live like this, but I am making it work.”

Shitty self-esteem: just another thing Corwin can thank his parents for. I want to wrap him in a blanket and keep him safe, while simultaneously slapping him upside the head for being so damn clueless.

“None of what you just said was a hardship for me, and you are worth it. I love you, you fucking idiot.”

“You can’t love me, and you shouldn’t just say that,” Corwin protests, voice shaking. “I can, actually, and I do. Probably going to keep saying it, too, until the message gets through your thick head,” I respond, and he scowls. “I love you, despite all those hardships I’ve endured in this relationship.” “So, you’re going to tell me you love me, call me names, and then make fun of me? Nice.” “Welcome to the rest of your life.”

“You can’t use declarations of love to win an argument.” “I didn’t. Your argument is fucking ridiculous, so I win by default.” I shrug. “Declarations of love are just an added bonus.”

I want to touch you in public, without wondering if it looks platonic enough. I want the freedom to kiss you anytime, anyplace. I want to marry you and invite the entire goddamn team to the ceremony.

“Hey, I wasn’t invited to dinner,” he protests, before I can answer. “That’s because you don’t have a boyfriend,” Troy explains. “I could get a boyfriend.” We all stare at him in silence, and he shrugs. “Not like I haven’t already been wondering what all the fuss is about.” “Oh my god,” Nigel mumbles, leaning his cheek against my shoulder.

“Yeah,” I tell Sam, and Troy smiles at me, “we’re in for dinner. You guys have a place in mind?” “The perfect place. It’ll be a little bit of a drive, but nobody will bother us there.” “We should go next Sunday,” Troy suggests. “Not giving me a whole lot of time to find a boyfriend,” Lawson muses, and Troy chucks a pillow at him.

“I’ve had a ring for months, but I couldn’t decide how to ask him. I need to just do it. He’s not going to care if we’re just at home when I ask.” He looks confident for a few moments before his eyes find mine once more, anxiety creeping back in. “Right?” “Right. You know Sam better than anyone. Trust your gut.” “My gut absolutely cannot be trusted,” Troy says, and we laugh.

I’ve had a long career, and this is by no means my first disappointing loss. It feels different, though; I feel like I’m seated at a funeral, not in a locker room. It dawns on me, suddenly, that this is how I imagine it feels after you play your last game.

“This isn’t a good contract, St. James, it’s a great one. This is what we’ve been looking for your entire NHL career.” “Did you tell South Carolina I’d take less money?” “You are the only bastard who has ever told me to ask for that, you know that, right? Yes, I told them you’d take a pay cut. Every revision I sent was denied.”

“No, I am. I’ve already done a few days and the players are great. Not a huge fan of the head coach, though.” Corwin screws up his face, thinking. “Who’s the head coach, now? They fired the last one, right?” “Right. Nico Mackenzie is running the program now.” Lawson moves his shoulder in an agitated motion, like he’s trying to dislodge a fly. “He’s an arrogant, egotistical asshole.” Corwin’s eyebrows are in danger of disappearing into his hairline. “That’s a strong impression of someone you’ve only just met a few days ago.” “Yeah, well, he’s got a strongly dislikable personality.” “You’ll win him over,” Troy says confidently. “Or dump his body in the ocean,” Lawson mutters under his breath.

It had been his idea to have everyone over to celebrate Troy and Sam’s engagement, the pair of whom were currently having a good-natured argument about when and where to have the wedding. “We could do it right now. I’m ordained,” Lawson puts in, and I burst out laughing. Of course he is.

Troy releases Corwin, only for Sam to take his place. I go to stand next to Lawson, who leans his shoulder into mine. “He was never a hugger before you came along,” he mumbles over the lip of his beer bottle. I send him a knowing look, thinking of our earlier conversation.

“Wow,” he says, “they really hate each other.” We both look over to where Lawson is standing, arms crossed, arguing with Nico Mackenzie. They’re on the far end of the ice, over by one of the goals. We can’t hear their words, but it hardly matters. They’ve been arguing about everything, all day. If Lawson says the sky is blue, Mackenzie says it’s grey and off they go.

“Did we?” “You shouldn’t have used Simmons to replace Tony.” Troy, out of Morgan’s eye line, mouths Tony? at me. “He’s weak with his glove; shitty puck control.” I can feel my lips twitch and have to fight the smile. This must be the mouthy little shit Lawson was telling me about.