Common Goal (Game Changers, #4)

by Rachel Reid

“I don’t know what you see in that guy,” Kyle said dryly. Kip sighed dramatically. “I know. But a man reaches a certain age, sometimes he has to settle, y’know?” “Twenty-eight. Is that the age you mean?”

“It’s kind of you to marry that gorgeous millionaire athlete.” “I know,” Kip said solemnly. “I’m very brave.”

“Could be having more fun if any of these boys knew how to flirt,” Kyle grumbled. “I know. What a waste, right? This place is full of tens, and they’re all worthless.”

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.

Kyle spotted Scott in the crowd—it wasn’t hard because he was six-four and looked exactly how Kyle had always imagined Achilles.

Straight men. Another weakness of his.

“Where did you study?” Eric’s lips twisted in a way that suggested he was embarrassed by what he was about to say. “Harvard.” Kyle blinked. “You have a Harvard degree?” “Yes.”

“So. Mocktails,” Kyle said, breaking the tension probably only he felt. He clapped his hands together. “Do you have any allergies?” “Cats,” Eric said. Kyle frowned. “Oh. I’ll have to change the recipe then.”

“A little. Maybe. Not that I’m not happy for Scott, but I’ve been thinking about my own wedding, I guess.” The teasing sparkle was back in Carter’s eyes. “You can remember back that far?” “Shut it.” “I forget. Was Holly a war bride? Was she your nurse after the Germans shot you?”

“I think I’ll head home,” Eric said, because checking out the very young man tending bar was definitely a sign that it was time to leave.

“Gotta rest those old bones,” Carter joked.

The frigid rain worked like an ice bath, though, easing the sparks that had been racing through Eric’s veins since he’d first laid eyes on Kyle tonight.

The truth was, he’d been...aware of Kyle for some time.

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.

Eric was lucky enough to have had a front-row seat to witness Scott’s happiness as he finally allowed himself to live and love the way he’d always been afraid to.

“I’m not obsessed with Kip. I just...like the idea of Kip. And me. Together.”

But those two are committed. Like, my parents have renewed their vows twice and I don’t think they’re as committed to each other as Scott and Kip are.”

“Straight, old, and married. Isn’t that exactly your type?” Kyle flicked a sesame seed at her. “I also like them gay, young, and engaged. I’m very open-minded.”

“I might wrap myself in a blanket and binge that Alyssa Edwards Netflix series.”

I know that these are gay books, but there is an unprecedented amount of gay faggotry in this one

In fact, Eric was very sure that Kyle was hopelessly in love with Kip, based on the way he’d gazed longingly at Kip at the party.

He would practice flirting, practice dating, practice being intimate with another person. With a man. Maybe. But first, flirting.

“Nice save,” Rozanov said calmly as he skated by. “Plenty more where that came from.” Rozanov turned back and grinned. “I doubt it. You are a hundred years old. I could hear your bones creak.”

Scott truly did love hanging out at the Kingfisher. Maybe after nearly thirty years of hiding, he was making up for lost time by openly hanging out in gay bars. Kip had done that for him. Or rather, the love Scott felt for Kip had done that. It had been strong enough to push Scott out of his comfort zone and into a better life.

Eric wondered what that felt like, to love a person so deeply that you become braver for it. Become better.

Eric wasn’t sure, even now, if he’d ever truly been in love with Holly. It was entirely possible he didn’t have the ability to love at all. Not the way Scott loved Kip, or Carter loved Gloria. The love his friends felt for their partners shone out of them, lighting up their faces when they talked about them.

Eric knew that Scott truly believed there was a not-too-distant future where hockey would be every bit as inclusive and welcoming as the bars that Scott now frequented. Eric wasn’t sure if the future of their sport was quite that rosy, but if hockey culture changed at all, it would be largely due to this man sitting beside him.

Maybe going on a date or two, or kissing a man; anything that might make his bisexuality seem real.

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.

“Good evening, boys. Kip, when you’ve finished the lap dance, your booth in the corner needs another round.” Kip slid out of Scott’s lap, cheeks pink. “It wasn’t a lap dance!”

“I can make one without alcohol,” Kyle offered. Ilya looked delighted. “Yes! A virgin Scott Hunter.”

“He looks like Hunter a bit. But younger.” He paused, and grinned. “Much younger.”

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.”

“To love, then. And”—he glanced at Eric—“to being brave.”

“You know,” Ilya said with a weird little smile. “You were not the only one to think so that day.”

Ilya’s smirk was far too knowing. “Yes. You go talk to Kyle. Would you like me to hold your wedding ring?”

And if Eric didn’t want a one-night stand with Kyle, then what did he want? A boyfriend? No, of course not. But maybe...a friend. Eric couldn’t deny how lonely he’d been, beyond the time he spent with his teammates, especially these past few months.

Also, it had been over a year of celibacy. Even with his relatively quiet libido, he was feeling the ache. The need for human touch—a kiss, a caress, anything. Someone to travel with or, hell, watch a movie with.

“Party at Benny’s! Come on, boys, it’s his ninetieth birthday. Let’s go hard.”

“I know he’s, like, old. But he mostly hangs out with twenty-something-year-old hockey players. He’s cool.”

“Is that Maria?” Kip asked, still laughing. “Holy shit, has she been in your bedroom this whole time?”

I like tall men, and I’ve been with four of them who fucking sucked.

Doesn’t mean I’m not gonna keep trying to find that perfect, tall, probably Finnish prince who may or may not play for the New York Admirals.”

He’d wanted to be irresistible. He’d wanted to be Helen of Troy, and have important men fall over themselves to win his favor.

“Because it’s always great at first with these guys. Then they get scared or whatever and flee. And then I’m scooping up the pieces of my heart again. No thanks.”

“Hi,” Maria said. “Maria is here.”

Maria removed her coat, and Kyle stifled a laugh when Eric’s eyes widened at the sight of her outfit. Maria had come to play tonight. Her breasts were pushed up to show maximum cleavage over the deep-V neckline of her black sweater dress.

“Well, what should have happened was that he spotted you across the room, and then parted the crowd with his massive shoulders and thighs so he could get to you. Then he should have swept you off your feet and carried you back to his place for six days and seven nights of lovemaking.”

“Kip and I have been trying to get you two together for months.” “What?” Kyle sputtered. “Together? Why?” Eric asked, much more smoothly.

“I have a bit of a weakness for...older men.” He swallowed. “How much older?” “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe forty. Or”—Kyle smiled mischievously at him—“forty-one.”

“You are gorgeous, though,” Kyle said easily. “If you didn’t know that.” “Thank you.” Return the compliment, Eric!