“You look happy.”
“I am. I missed you. This wasn’t the same, but a hell of a lot better than a silent, lonely hotel room.”
“I wish I could kiss you,” Cross murmured.
Rusty kissed two fingertips and held them toward his phone. He couldn’t believe he was doing something so corny, but Cross brought out the sappy side in him. “Me too. Five days, right? You’ll be back to play Fargo and kick off the last homestand Wednesday. We have the evening off after playing Sacramento Tuesday night. Should I come up to your place after your game?”
“Would you like to come to the game?” Cross asked.
“Well sure, yeah, but those tickets are expensive. Might even be sold out.” Fargo wasn’t a guaranteed win for the Rafters, but a good bet. If they hadn’t clinched the playoffs by then, that might be the night.
“I get two tickets for every home game. You could use one. It won’t cost me anything. They’re just sitting there.”
Rusty had made a vow not to let Cross buy him expensive shit, but great seats to watch his… whatever Cross was, play in an NHL game live? At no cost to Cross? “Sure, yeah, that would be cool.”
“I’ll give your name to admissions. Show them your ID and they’ll get you to your seat.”
“Thanks. Yeah, I can do that.”
“You could come on down to the locker room afterward. Meet the guys. Well, besides Scott and Axel and Zykov and Goldie. The other guys.”
Rusty liked that idea, but… “Are you sure you want me to do that? If you aren’t out? I don’t want to cause a problem before you’re ready.”
“As a friend,” Cross said. “You’re Scott’s friend too. No one’s going to notice anything.”
They might if I look at you like I want to eat you after a week apart.Well, Rusty would just have to control his expression. He’d had plenty of practice at that, the first eighteen years of his life. “Sure, then. Sounds great.”
“Great.” Cross smiled at him.
Rusty smiled back. The schmoopy silence stretched out—
Beep! Whack!The hotel room door slammed open as far as the safety latch allowed. Digger bellowed through the gap, “What the fuck, Dodo! Let me in. Unless you have a guy in there.”
Rusty sighed and told Cross, “Roommate’s back. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Yeah. Do that.”
“Good night.”
Digger rattled the door again.
Cross murmured, “Good night.” Rusty’s phone went to the lock screen.
Rusty slid off the bed. “Hold your fucking horses, Digs. Let me grab a towel, and I’ll let you in.”
“Grab a towel? Do you have a guy in there?”
“I wish.” Rusty ducked into the bathroom to drag a washcloth down his chest, then wrapped a towel around his hips. He padded to the door, closed it enough to flip the latch back, then opened for Digger. “How was the bar?”
“Boring. No surprise. Not a puck bunny to be found. Wilkie has crappy taste in bars.” Digger pushed past Rusty, stopped, and sniffed. “Smells like sex in here.”
“Just me and my left hand,” Rusty told him.
“Well, take a fucking shower.”
“About to do that.” He picked his sweatpants off the floor and dug fresh underwear out of his bag.
Digger stopped Rusty as he headed for the bathroom. “Hey, I didn’t say it, but you played a great game. That goal was sweet.” He faked an announcer-voice. “There’s Dolan crossing the blue line, he dekes around the defenseman and shoots… right through the five-hole!”
