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Oof. If Kyle had one weakness—and he didn’t; he had many—it was confident, attractive older men. Also, confident, attractive younger men. Also, men.
Eric noticed people. He always had. His ability to observe everything and everyone around him was an integral part of his goaltending career. Despite this, he wasn’t often attracted to other people. But he was definitely attracted to Kyle.
Rozanov was sitting calmly, observing the room with the same bemused little smile that infuriated his opponents on the ice. It had to be practiced, because it was a masterpiece. A smile that simultaneously said I am figuring out exactly how to torture you and I don’t care about you at all.
“Your wife left you, yes?” Jesus, he was blunt. “We separated.” Ilya smirked. “Okay. But she divorced you?” “It was mutual.” “Yes. And now you hang out here?” Eric almost never blushed, but he came dangerously close just then. “To keep Scott company, like I said.” Ilya nodded in the direction of Kyle, who was now behind the bar. “Lots to look at.” Eric clenched his jaw. How the fuck was Rozanov so perceptive?
“I can make one without alcohol,” Kyle offered. Ilya looked delighted. “Yes! A virgin Scott Hunter.” “Jesus fucking Christ,” Scott grumbled.
Ilya shook his head. “This table is a mess.” “What do you mean?” Ilya leaned forward, uncomfortably close to Eric. “You want to fuck Kyle. Kyle wants to fuck Hunter’s boyfriend, but maybe also you, since Hunter and his boyfriend do not see anyone but each other.”
Ilya looked a little stunned by Eric’s snark. Then he grinned. “I did not know you were so interested in me.” “I’m not. At all. It was a shocking amount of Cherry Coke for a pro athlete to consume. It was memorable.” “You know,” Ilya said with a weird little smile. “You were not the only one to think so that day.”
The idea had struck him when he’d woken up that morning. He, Eric Bennett, would celebrate his forty-first birthday—his final birthday as an NHL player—with a big, fun party. Because if not now, when? He had a house to himself, he had friends who he loved like family, and he had, frankly, a bit of a crush on someone. Someone who might enjoy a fun party.
Rozanov and Hollander. The two rivals’ names still sounded weird next to each other. “Who knew Rozanov had such a big heart?” Eric said. Scott smiled. “I had a hunch. I think he might secretly be a big softy.” “He does a damn good job of hiding it.”
He wanted Kyle to take charge and do whatever he liked, but he didn’t know how to ask. He didn’t want to ask. For once in his life, Eric didn’t want to be the one in control.
Eric’s groan was so loud he instinctively covered his mouth with his arm. “Uh uh,” Kyle said, wrapping a hand firmly around Eric’s wrist and pulling his arm away. He held it in the air above Eric’s head, which was an entirely new intense sensation. “Don’t hide those beautiful noises from me. I earned those.”
The possibility that Kyle might get to again have this man—the same man who was right now being loudly adored by an arena full of excited fans—was exhilarating. He wanted nothing more than the chance to take him over, and then completely take him apart. He suddenly understood why Kip had been sexually obsessed with Scott for almost three years now. This was heady fucking stuff.
Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander were sitting across from each other, and kept catching each other’s eye and smiling. There was a mutual fondness there that Eric still couldn’t quite believe. They were such famous rivals but, he supposed, they were also human beings who were more than their hockey skills. Obviously they had found things to like about each other and had become good friends.
Rozanov slid into Wyatt’s chair. “You have not announced your retirement,” he said, cutting to the chase. “Your powers of observation never cease to amaze me.” “Why not?” “I wanted to wait until after this weekend.” “You don’t want a big deal?” “No, I don’t.” Rozanov grinned. “This is why we are different. I want a farewell season. A parade. Everyone crying at every game.” “I’m sure you’ll get it.”
Eric wasn’t sure if he should share personal information with Rozanov or not, but something told him to trust him. “Not that it matters, really, but I’m bisexual. I mean, it seems like you already guessed that, but if you want that kind of rep at your camps...” Rozanov’s face lit up. “Bisexual! This is great. Did you fuck that blond teenager yet?” “He’s not a—” Eric bit his tongue. “He’s twenty-five.” “Twenty-five was a long time ago for you. Do you remember twenty-five?”
At that moment, Shane Hollander approached their table. “Hi, Eric.” Shane was basically the opposite of Rozanov: serious, polite, and quiet. “Shane. Nice work in the obstacle course.” Shane smirked at Rozanov, who had not done nearly as well in the same event. “Thanks. It was pretty easy, honestly.” Rozanov glared back at him with eyes that
“And it has nothing to do with the fact that Kyle is clearly crushing hard on someone?” Maria accused. “I’m—no, I’m not!” Kyle sputtered. “Uh huh. I’m just saying, there might be more than one person in this room who’s fucking a New York Admiral.”
Eric moaned when he had his first bite of pancake. “Oh my god. These are so good.” “Right? You shouldn’t deprive yourself of pancakes.” “I don’t know if you’re a good influence or a bad one.” “Clearly good. Before you met me it was a dark existence of no pancakes and weak orgasms.”
