Fabian came to his rescue. “This is Vanessa, by the way. She’s kind of alot.”
“Definitely true,” she agreed. “I like the suit.”
“Oh. Thanks.”
“What can I get you, Ryan?” Fabian asked, tilting his head toward the bar.
“You don’t have to—”
“A beer? I’m going to guess beer.”
There was a quirk to Fabian’s lips that let Ryan know he was being playful. Ryan answered in kind. “You shouldn’t make assumptions about people.”
Vanessa punched Fabian’s arm. “That’sright. You should know better. Ryan, I happen to know that the bartender tonight makes the most amazing lemon drop martinis. Give me the drink tickets, Fabe. You stay and keep yourfriendcompany.”
Fabian fixed a look on Vanessa’s face that probably said a lot of things that Ryan couldn’t translate, and handed her a strip of paper tickets. “I’ll have one of those martinis.”
Vanessa pointed at Tarek, and then Ryan. “Martini? Martini?”
“Sure,” Tarek said.
“Ah, I actuallywouldjust like a beer,” Ryan said shyly.
“Ha!” Vanessa looked delighted. “Beer it is. Tarek, come with me.”
“Subtle,” Tarek muttered as he turned to follow her.
Fabian watched his ridiculous friends make their way through the crowd to the bar, before turning his attention back to Ryan. “They might be a while,” he said. “Vanessa has a crush on the bartender.”
Ryan’s hair was tied back in a little bun tonight, which only accentuated the poofiness of his beard. “I don’t know how you write songs like that. Or play onstage in front of people.”
“Don’t you play hockey in front of, like, a million people all the time?”
“It’s not the same.”
“It’s not?” Fabian genuinely didn’t understand how it wasn’t the same thing.
Ryan shook his head. “I can play hockey in front of a crowd, but I could never, like, sing the national anthem, y’know?”
Fabian tried to picture that, and smiled to himself. “That’s because you’regoodat hockey. I’m good at this.” He gestured toward the stage. “And my audiences don’t tend to boo me when I make a mistake. I’ve heard that sports fans are less forgiving.”
Ryan’s mouth turned up a bit at that. “They can be pretty harsh for sure. And I’m not so sure I’mgoodat hockey.”
Okay. Well this was just dumb. “You play in theNHL, Ryan. Is there a higher league I’m not aware of?” He frowned. “Honest question. There actually might be one.”
Ryan laughed. “No. The NHL is the highest. But I’m not—” He stopped himself, and Fabian wondered what he had been about to say. He was startled out of his wondering when Ryan blurted out, “I like your outfit.”
Fabian smiled. He was proud of his look tonight—a sheer T-shirt with black, baroque-style velvet flowers on it, black tuxedo pants, and a whole pile of sparkly necklaces he’d bought at Forever 21. He noticed Ryan’s gaze catch on Fabian’s chest, where the piercing in his right nipple was visible through the shirt. “Thank you.”
“I feel so ordinary,” Ryan said, then immediately looked embarrassed about saying it. He ran a hand through his hair and over his beard, a gesture that Fabian already recognized as a nervous habit.
“Just an ordinary seven-foot-tall hockey star. So boring,” he teased.
Ryan blushed. “I’m not seven feet tall.”
“Did I underestimate?”
“I’m six-seven.”
