“Why?” “No one cares about goals scored by Morgan Elsher.” A long, deep pull of my beer. Shea shook his head. “I care,” he said. He was smiling. “If we’re going to keep count of my goals this season, then we’re going to keep count of yours, too.” It just came out, slipped right the fuck out before I could stop it. For a nontalkative bastard, I sure did open my mouth around Shea. “I’ll give my first one to you.” He smiled, and it was like a million sparklers went off at once, a million little flashes of light in the depths of his eyes. The shine of him, the glow. He was incandescent. Wondrous.
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