Role Model (Game Changers, #5)

by Rachel Reid

“Is Chiron coming on the ice?” Ilya asked. “No, Coach told me to keep it to the dressing room only today.” “Fascist.”

Over the next week, Harris was visited by Troy three times. He felt like Ebenezer Scrooge, except instead of spirits, he got a sullen hockey player who was, like, the Ghost of Christmas Mixed Messages.

Harris: Wanna drive around and look at Christmas lights? “What the fuck?” Troy said into the empty room. He wasn’t seven years old. Why would he want to look at Christmas lights? Except he liked the idea of being in Harris’s truck, listening to whatever music Harris was in the mood for and seeing what his eyes looked like with Christmas lights reflected in them.

“Why is that good? Don’t you want things to cook faster?” “So you can come home to a meal that’s been cooking all day! It’s like a little husband.” That actually made Troy laugh. “That’s bleak.” “Said like someone who’s never known the love of a slow cooker.” “I don’t want to hear how you thank the slow cooker for dinner.” Harris laughed so hard Troy thought they were going to drive off the road. “It’s the best relationship I’ve ever been in. Easily.”

He wasn’t against gay bars, obviously. He’d just never been to one. And now he was going to go to his first gay bar with Ilya Rozanov, apparently.

“People like Kent stand in the way of other people being happy. For no reason. I am always glad to punch people like that.”

“I’m not drunk,” Troy promised, straightening. “I’m just...eager.”

Shane Hollander shoved Ilya hard against the glass, and Troy almost laughed at the way Ilya was grinning about it. Ilya shoved Hollander back, which made Hollander’s linemate, Hayden Pike, step in.

“You saying you’re not sweet on me?” Troy murmured into Harris’s ear as they walked into the kitchen. “You’re the bee’s knees, sweetheart.”

Troy spread his arms out on the bed, and found Harris’s stuffed giraffe in one corner. He grabbed the toy and held it over his face. “I think I’m in love with him, Mr. Neck-Neck.”

“Amazing,” Ilya said. “Like a Disney movie.” “The one where the prince gets hugged by a sweaty oaf at the end?”