“Sorry,” Rusty told him. “This couch is pretty beat up.”
“It’s not that bad. I’m kind of fond of it now.”
Rusty’s smile was Cross’s reward for those words. “Me too, all of a sudden. Hey, you want some coffee for the road?”
“Might be smart.” Even with the reduced traffic at midnight, Cross was going to be short of sleep tomorrow, and he needed to get home in one piece.
“Coming up.” Rusty padded toward the coffee maker, and Cross followed. He felt like he should be watching that round hockey ass in Rusty’s cheap suit pants, but instead he was noting the overhead fixture creating silver-white highlights in Rusty’s blond hair, and savoring the sound of Rusty’s voice. The deep contentment he’d found didn’t vanish as they moved around each other in the kitchen. Cross closed his eyes and took a long, satisfied breath.
Chapter 11
Rusty dropped onto his bed in the dinky hotel the team had booked, muscles aching and bruises throbbing from battling a team that’d out-hit and out-skated them. Not that the Gryphons had played well. Morty’s stupid April Fool’s prank with a used condom in the locker room before the game had set the tone, and his even stupider penalty in the third had killed any hope of a rally.
At least, Digger’s side of their shared hotel room was empty. With a whole night in the hotel followed by a long bus ride when they could sleep off the hangovers, some of the team had gone out to drown their sorrows.
Rusty called Cross on voice. He wasn’t sure Cross would pick up. The Rafters were in Chicago, two time zones later.
But Cross answered almost immediately. “Hey, you.”
“Hey. Congrats.” Rusty had checked out the Rafters’ game while riding the bus back to the hotel. “Two more wins and you’re in.”
“Don’t jinx us but yeah, looks like this might be our year.”
With eight games left in the season, the Rafters only had to win two more and they’d claim a wildcard spot. The odds were real good but still, Rusty probably shouldn’t have mentioned it. “I didn’t see your name in the highlights, LaCroix,” he teased.
“Did okay. Not great. How about you? I went out with the team so I haven’t had a chance to look.”
Rusty grinned, then rubbed his sore jaw. “Gordie Howe hat trick, dude.” A goal, an assist, and a fight— at least he’d kept the game from being boring.
“Seriously? Who the hell did you fight?”
“Don’t you want to know about my goal and the assist?” Rusty teased. Although he’d managed that part of the threesome before.
“Yeah, but the fight first. That’s not like you. Did you win? Do I want to look for the video?”
“Would you find it hot?”
Cross chuckled. “I’m searching now. Okay, got it.”
“How the hell are you finding an ECHL fight an hour after it happened?” Rusty demanded.
“I found this guy who puts up Gryphons highlights online after every game. Big fan… Wow, that Wildcats bastard clocked you in the face. Switch to FaceTime. I want to see the bruise. Are you okay?”
“Want to admire my manly scars? Sure.” Once they’d made the switch, Rusty turned his punched jaw to the camera. “It’s not that bad. I can talk and eat and everything.”
“Is your head all right? Did they do a concussion protocol?”
“Yes, Dad. I’m fine. Just a bit sore, no concussion. And I lured that guy into a five-minute major for fighting.” While getting matched minors. Rusty felt a bit smug. They’d scored twice during that major penalty. Not that it’d saved them in the end.
“Yeah, okay.” Cross still glared at him out of the screen, his eyes intent. “What did he do? Or say?”
“Nothing.” Rusty wasn’t sure he wanted to tell Cross. Then he thought that maybe, if Cross was thinking about coming out, he should hear the bad with the good. “He told me to suck his dick, like a good little cocksucker. I asked him why, was he desperate? Was his sister out of town?”
“Whoa,” Cross said. Which Rusty understood. Usually sisters were off limits.
“Yeah, but if he’s going to call out the queer, all gloves are off, right? So I chirped hard on that topic and he chased me down and punched me.”
“Twice,” Cross noted.
