“Might help if he keeps it up and you need a restraining order.” He stopped the recording. “Unfortunately, this probably can’t be used in a court. Oregon’s a two-party state for recording and he didn’t consent. A restaurant might be considered a public place where privacy doesn’t apply, but I’d have to ask a lawyer.”
“I don’t want to get a court involved.” Rusty looked miserable. “He hasn’t really done anything.”
“Still, it’s one more option.” Cross really wanted to erase that look from Rusty’s eyes. He didn’t deserve this on top of everything else he’d handled in the past year.
Rusty was special. In those first days last summer, after the loss of his brother, his family, and his trust in his coach, he’d been silent and hollow-eyed. He’d worked hard on the ranch, and even harder on the rink, as if trying to muscle his life back under control. Cross had wanted to support everyone, from Scotty to Rusty’s teammate Dale who’d shared the hostage experience with him, but Rusty maybe most of all, because of how alone he’d seemed. Sometimes, he’d pulled Rusty into an over-the-top celly on the ice with hugs and back slapping, even if all the kid had done right was muscle Scott off the puck, because Rusty looked like he needed someone’s arms around him. Even just a hockey buddy ten years older than him.
Casey had put Rusty in touch with an online counselling service for low-income folks, when he refused to take money from any of them, and maybe it’d helped. Or maybe it was just time and work and character, but by the end of the summer, the boy who’d almost buckled under harsh blows had become a man who said, “I know I can make it and I’m going to give it my best shot,” hopped into a rickety truck, and drove two thousand miles to do just that.
Rusty didn’t deserve to have Tyler making him doubt himself now. Cross offered, “Hey. I could have my lawyers look into him, track down his past? Guy like that, I bet he has some skeletons in his closet that we could use.”
“No! Don’t do that.” Rusty chewed on his lower lip. “I don’t want to use your money or your connections or whatever. Just, I appreciate you being here with me. You made it easier for me to blow him off.”
“Glad I could help.” Cross regretted making the lawyer offer out loud, because now that Rusty had said no, he couldn’t bring in an investigator under the table. Although… If he casually mentioned Tyler’s name to his family security director, as someone Cross might have to interact with in the future, the background check would happen without him having to make the request. He could tell Rusty it was all part of the sucky side of being wealthy. Overzealous security. Not his decision. Yeah, that could work.
He said, “For now, let me get you another Pepsi. You can tell me how your season’s going.” He’d kept a casual eye on the Gryphons, but not as close as he might’ve.
“I should head home.” Rusty still looked miserable. “Game tomorrow.”
“Evening?”
“Yeah.”
“Then you have time. Stick around for a bit.” When Rusty began to shake his head, Cross leaned toward him and set a hand on Rusty’s jean-clad knee.Big mistake.He pulled back immediately, but the sense-memory of powerful muscle and body heat lingered in his palm. “I drove two hours to get here. I don’t want to get right back in my car.”
“Oh. Yeah, sorry.” Still, Rusty hovered in his seat, leaning forward.
“Plus,” Cross pointed out. “There’s a chance Tyler’s out there, waiting, watching, ready to cream his jeans at the sight of you running out as soon as he was gone. Making it all about him.”
Rusty glowered. “What should we do?”
“Hang out here for, like, an hour, and then leave as if nothing’s on our minds. All smiles. This is a date, after all.”
“All right.” Rusty sat back and lifted his empty glass. “I’ll get refills.”
Cross was going to offer, but then a thought occurred to him. “Great. Make mine a Coke this time.”
When Rusty had his back turned, going to the bar, Cross used a napkin to scoop up the shot glass Tyler had used and stuck it in his pocket. He’d leave a table tip to cover the theft, but fingerprints might be useful. For that casual background check his overzealous security was going to force on him. Fuck, he was lying to himself. Whether Rusty liked it or not, Cross was going to find out all he could about Tyler.
He looked up to watch Rusty returning and smiled. “Thanks. Now, tell me about your team. The good, the bad, and the fucking ugly. Any chance you’ll make the playoffs this year?”
“We’re kinda fucked.” Rusty wrinkled his nose, as he resumed his seat. “Our offense sucks.” He began detailing all the things the Gryphons were doing wrong, and while he didn’t look happy, at least his mind was on hockey and not Tyler.
Cross would take that as a win.
Chapter 4
Rusty left the arena last, after the Gryphons lost six-two a week later, waiting until all his teammates and coaches and most of the fans were gone. He was in no mood to sign autographs, if anyone wanted his after that damned drop pass he’d fucked up. He also didn’t want an audience if Tyler had decided to come back.
He’d spent the week jumping at shadows with nothing happening, and he fucking resented that. Then that morning, he’d ignored three more calls with voice mails from a new random number. He’d played the beginning of one, just enough to hear that familiar voice, before deleting it and blocking that caller too.
So much for hoping he got the message. What did I ever see in him?
Okay, sure, objectively Tyler was hot as hell, and when he wasn’t being weird, he’d made Rusty feel appreciated. But seeing him next to Cross? The manicured eyebrows and fake green eyes and smooth tan couldn’t compete with a solid hunk of smokin’ hot, ripped and glowering defenseman. Cross was twice the man Tyler was.
Having Cross there fake-boyfriending and defending Rusty had been an odd mix of great and embarrassing. Better to remember the hour afterward, talking hockey and slowly relaxing. Their knees had bumped a couple of times, accidentally. Once, when Cross was describing a play, his fingershad brushed Rusty’s hand. That shouldn’t have been hot, but Rusty had sucked down a big ice cube, trying to cool himself off.
When they left, heading side by side to their separate vehicles, there’d been a moment when Rusty had debated suggesting heading to his place. Maybe for a blow job to thank Cross properly for showing up for him. He’d turned and met Cross’s eyes, and for a second, he thought maybe Cross would be into it. Would a straight guy choose to play boyfriend like that, instead of just wingman? Cross’s gaze had dropped to Rusty’s mouth and Rusty had stepped closer.
