Changing the Game (Offsides #1)

by J.J. Mulder

I’m surprised he’s not a player with a body like that—I know a hockey butt when I see one.

your gay awakening isn’t an emergency.” “Sort of feels like it,” I mumble.

“I don’t like men; I know that for a fact.” “Uhm.” “Well, I like Troy, obviously. But…only Troy? I think. Objectively, I know these other guys are good looking, right? Take Anthony Lawson—women love him, but he doesn’t do anything for me. It’s like they’re all donkeys and Troy is a horse.” She lets out a snort of laughter so intense I wouldn’t be surprised if a piece of her lung came out her nose with it. “Oh my god, and you’re saying you want to ride the horse, not the donkeys?”

I’d also sent a brief message to my sister, something along the lines of I just kissed Troy Nichols and I liked it, to which she replied with an eggplant and peach emoji.

Jesus, I have a degree from Harvard and can’t manage to say what I actually want to say. We sound like a pair of teenagers, fumbling through their first relationship. Or, more accurately, a pair of dumb jocks who aren’t accustomed to talking about their feelings.

“Let’s just move forward with the understanding that there will never be a time when I don’t want to kiss you.”

You told me you don’t do casual hook-ups. Well, I don’t either. I’m not dating you with the understanding that this has an expiration date. I don’t want this to end, Troy. I want you to come home with me at Thanksgiving and meet my family. I want to play more pickup hockey with your friends. I want to sleep in your bed every night and eat bad lasagna.”

I’m not going to be one of those people that offer declarations of love after sex, but I swear to god in this moment I can feel the words like a tangible presence in the room.

Blowjobs aside, you’re the best part of my life.”

“I’m watching your lover crush it on TV right now.” “Don’t say lover,” I cringe. She laughs. “They showed footage of the teams walking in and oh my god have you seen your man in a suit? He is caked up. They literally played a full thirty seconds of the back of him as he came inside. The media team knows what the people want.”

No christening your childhood bed with anal.” “Don’t say anal, June, fucking hell.” “Cornhole, then? Packing the trunk? Back door?” “I beg you to stop.”

Was a bad hit.” “Yours or his?” “Both.” He smiles, shrugging. He’d known what he was doing. “Is good to fight sometimes, yes?”

have you always known? That you liked…” She trails off, wanting to ask if her twenty-two year old son has always been queer but unsure how to do it tactfully. “Hockey players?” June supplies dryly, and I choke a bit on the carrot stick in my mouth. She sends me a conspiratorial smile.

“Truthfully, Sam, I thought for certain you were going to be bringing home a new girlfriend, and after the nightmare with that last one, I admit I was praying for a reprieve from girlfriends.” My face is so hot you could fry an egg on it. June has her hand fully covering her mouth, like she’s having to physically contain her mirth, and even their mom looks amused as she surveys her husband. “Well, your prayers were answered because this time I brought home a boyfriend,” Sam says ironically. “What’s that?” “They’re together, Dad,” June explains, pointing at us. “Together together.” “That right?” He looks over at Sam, who I see stiffen slightly as though preparing for a blow. “Well, then, I don’t see how you could do much better than Troy Nichols, eh? Good for you, boy.”

“Did he stand there quietly, displeasure radiating off of him in cartoon waves?” I flutter my hands away from my body, and Sam cracks a wide smile. A real smile. “I swear to you, the temperature in the hallway dropped by ten degrees.” “He’s perfected the art of using silence to shout.”

“You’re getting three delicious diet plan approved meals today.” “Which means I’m getting everything off of my Christmas list.” I scrunch up my nose, thinking. “Your Christmas list was anal and food?”

“I’m going to marry you, one day,” I say, into the dark room. Sam snorts, wrapping an arm around my chest. “Of course you are. But you’re going to have to ask me a lot nicer than that.”