The Nature of the Game (Stick Side Book 2), page 12
“Yeah. Except usually these kinds of things happen before the season starts, so it doesn’t distract the player from the game.” Usually, but not always. Could be he was worrying for nothing. He was a damn good defenseman, and as far as he could tell, there wasn’t any reason for them not to keep him. He didn’t cause trouble (Monday’s article notwithstanding), didn’t talk back, took his job seriously, and always gave 150 percent of himself to the game. “It’s frustrating. Like giving your number to someone in a bar and waiting impatiently for them to call.”
“Can other teams call in the meantime?”
Ash smirked at Dan’s attempt at word play and spooned out more dough. “Not until the season’s over and my contract’s up.”
“Hockey politics are complicated.”
“That’s not even the worst of it.”
Sitting across from each other at the island, they continued to spoon small balls of dough onto the tray. Although it wasn’t long before Ash realized he was way faster than Dan.
Because Dan was busy eating raw dough.
“That’s disgusting.”
Caught in the act, Dan’s eyes widened. With the hood of his onesie covering his head, he resembled a teenager stealing from his mom’s wallet.
“I didn’t do it,” he said.
Ash mock scowled and pointed at the baking tray with his spoon.
Reluctantly, Dan plopped his piece of dough onto it.
Once the tray was full and the bowl empty, Ash placed the tray into the preheated oven, set the timer, and passed the bowl and spoons to Dan for him to wash.
“Why are you up in the middle of the night, anyway?” Dan asked.
“Couldn’t sleep.” Ash rubbed his hands over his face. His eyes were gritty. He could probably sleep now, but he found himself unwilling to leave Dan’s presence, no matter how much his heart told him to run far, far away. “Kept thinking about what I’ll return home to in a few days.” Among other things.
“When do you head back?”
Ash shrugged. “Not sure yet.”
“This your first hurricane?”
“Believe it or not, yeah.” He leaned his elbows on the island. “And I thought Syracuse was bad with its minus forty degree winters and snow up to my eyeballs.”
Dan finished the dishes and retook his seat. “I’d take snow over hurricanes any day.”
“Ditto.”
“Besides, snow means skiing. And snowboarding. Skating.”
“Sledding.”
Dan’s gaze became distant. “I haven’t done that since I was a teenager. Last I remember of it is taking Mitch when he was ten or so. There was this great hill by our house that was perfect.”
“I’ve never been sledding in my life. I spent my winters fishing with my dad until he moved to New York.”
“How is he?” Dan asked, the question jarring Ash for some reason. It shouldn’t have—Dan and Ash’s dad had always gotten along. Ash had just assumed that by leaving him at the airport, Dan had forgotten not just about him, but about his dad too.
As was becoming increasingly clear, there was more to Dan’s story than Ash had thought. Much more.
Ash just wasn’t ready to hear about it.
Not yet.
Maybe not ever. But definitely not yet.
The cookies eventually came out of the oven, and Dan made fun of him for burning his tongue.
“Did you eat that right off of the pan?” Dan’s expression said Are you stupid? as Ash choked and fanned his mouth. “Idiot.”
Twenty minutes later, only crumbs remained. Dan was rubbing his eyes, and Ash was finally tired enough and distracted enough that he could sleep now. He washed and dried the baking tray and put it back where he’d found it, steps dragging. “Thank you,” he said and brushed a crumb off the corner of Dan’s mouth. Dan sucked in a sharp breath, eyes darkening. Ash swallowed hard. “For hanging out with me in the middle of the night.”
“It was worth it.” Dan’s smile was soft. “Even without the cookies.”
Warmth shot through Ash, unnerving yet thrilling, shooting tingles into his heart, beating rabbit-fast. He couldn’t bring himself to step away from Dan, to pull his arm back. His fingers swept over Dan’s prickly jaw and into the curly blond hair above his ear, as soft and silky as he remembered.
Dan exhaled shakily, and warm air caressed the skin of Ash’s wrist. His gaze dropped to Ash’s mouth.
Ash backed away with a gasp. He cleared his throat. “We should go to bed.”
Blinking, Dan looked like he was coming out of a trance. “Yeah.” His voice was hoarse. “Bed. Yeah.”
They kept their steps light on the stairs, staying quiet. Three in the morning and nobody stirred in the B&B except them.
“Think you can sleep now?” Dan asked, voice intimately soft in the hallway outside his room. The dim wall sconce made his eyes shine.
“Yeah. I’m beat. Good night, Dan.” Ash headed for the stairs to the third floor. “Enjoy your king-sized bed.”
“There’s room enough for two. If you want to share.”
Pausing on the steps, Ash’s hands clenched on the railing, tension arcing between them. Burying the instinct—the desire—to stay, he meant to turn Dan down—
But Dan’s posture was stiff and unyielding, braced for impact. Braced for Ash to reject him.
And Ash couldn’t do it. Didn’t want to, if he was being honest, even though he should.
“Okay.”
JUNE 2003—SIX YEARS AGO
It was a couple of weeks before they could make Dan’s Thai chicken curry. Dan had a family thing one weekend, and then Ash had to fly to Syracuse for some PR stuff with his team the week after. So although they met for lunch a couple times a week, Dan still found his thoughts straying to Ash more often than not.
After an extensive Google search, it became clear that discovering one’s sexual orientation later in life was not unusual. Not that Dan considered himself later in life at the ripe old age of twenty, but didn’t most people figure it out in their teenage years, or before? Not according to the internet.
So yeah. Not unusual. And freaking out about it? Apparently, that was also a thing.
Not that Dan was freaking out about being attracted to his own gender. He was merely . . . confused. Why hadn’t he discovered it sooner? Had he been attracted to men before but ignored it? Repressed it? Misinterpreted it as admiration for talent or physique or lifestyle? Mitch had come out to Dan as gay when he was eleven, and yet it had never crossed Dan’s mind that he might be the same.
Well, not the same. Bisexuality wasn’t the same as being gay.
So, okay. He was bisexual. According to the internet, anyway. Although there were some forums that said labels weren’t needed.
Dan liked labels, though.
Bisexual it was.
Why had it taken Ash for him to figure it out? Did it really matter?
Part of him thought he should’ve been worried about being attracted to men. Or perhaps freaking out more. Or anxious about coming out. But . . . Mitch. Mitch was gay, had never freaked out about it, and was one hundred percent okay with who he was. And he was the most important person in Dan’s life. He could’ve been attracted to three-headed Martians and Dan would’ve loved him anyway. Therefore, if Dan was fine with Mitch being gay, then he should, theoretically, be fine with himself being bisexual.
And he realized, with some amazement, that he was. A little bit of anxiety, sure. But mostly the knowledge settled over him as if he’d always known. And maybe he had.
His cell phone rang and he flipped it open. Ashton Yager flashed in the small display screen.
How had he known Dan was thinking about him?
“Hey, Ash.”
“Hey, are you still coming over?”
“Yeah, why? Oh, shit.” Dan caught a glimpse of the time in the bottom corner of his desktop computer. “I’m late. I’m so sorry. I got caught up in work. I’m leaving now.”
“Are you . . . at the office?”
“Um, yes?” The empty, silent, dark office that would’ve been creepy had Dan never spent a weekend here before, trying to catch up on work.
“Dude.” Ash’s tone held confusion bordering on derision. “It’s six thirty. On Saturday night.”
“You work Saturday nights,” Dan mumbled as he saved his work.
“That’s the nature of the game. That’s different. Get out of there. Right now.”
“I’m going, I’m going,” Dan said through a chuckle, heading for the kitchen where he’d stashed the groceries he’d purchased earlier. “I’ll see you in about a half hour.”
It was more like forty minutes later by the time he knocked on Ash’s door. His armpits were sweating, and it had nothing to do with the summer heat.
“Hey!” The door flung open and Ash stood in the doorway. He was so huge his shoulders took up the entire space.
Dan gulped. “Hey.”
“Let me take some of these.” Ash unburdened Dan’s arms of a couple of the grocery bags and waved him inside. “Did you buy out the grocery store?”
“I brought all the ingredients.”
“I can see that.” Ash pulled a small bag of sugar from one of the bags. “I do own sugar, you know.”
Dan shrugged and deposited his own bags on the kitchen counter. “Just in case.”
“We also have vegetable oil. But not most of this other stuff.” Bell peppers, a bottle of fish sauce, a can of coconut milk, and shallots joined the vegetable oil and sugar on the counter. Dan unpacked his own bag, adding more ingredients to the mix.
“Okay,” Ash said, examining it all, hands on hips. “Where do we start?”
They divided up the chopping and measuring, spreading it out on the kitchen island, which was bigger than Dan’s tiny kitchen alone.
“Thanks for suggesting we do this here.” Dan cut the chicken breasts into strips. “You were right—we definitely wouldn’t have had enough space at my place.”
“That’s for sure. Pretty sure I take up the entire space at your counter.”
“Damn.” Dan paused as he suddenly remembered. “I forgot beer.”
“Dude. Give me some credit.”
Ash’s dad’s apartment was spacious. It was essentially a long, rectangular room that opened into a combined sitting/dining area. Behind it was the kitchen, and then a narrow hallway led to what Dan assumed were a couple of bedrooms and a bathroom. It wasn’t decorated in any particular shade; the couches didn’t match the chair, the curtains looked like they’d been flown in from the eighties, the living room carpet was a faded pale pink, and the kitchen dishes were all mismatched.
It appealed to a certain part of Dan that had grown up in his mother’s carefully organized world. When he voiced his thoughts to Ash, Ash smirked and said, “You mean you haven’t always lived in that tiny apartment?”
“I grew up in the Hamptons, in a hideous mansion that’s been in my family since before I was born.”
“ ‘Hideous’ and ‘mansion’ seem like an oxymoron.”
“It’s a big, dark, gothic-looking thing. Reflects my mother’s personality perfectly.”
“Ouch.” Ash dug into a cupboard for a pan. “I take it you two don’t get along?”
“If by getting along you mean frigid conversations over family dinner, then sure. We get along.”
“Don’t you work for her?”
“Yeah. Add frigid conversations over spreadsheets too.”
“I’m sorry.” Ash gathered all of the chopped and measured ingredients and laid them out next to the stove. “Did something happen to make your relationship that way?”
“No.” Dan dumped the cut chicken into the pan. “She’s always been cold, almost like she didn’t want children and only had them for appearances’ sake. She’s very contained, very proper. Obsessed with how other people see her, and by extension us—her family—as well as the business. She’s not as cold with me as she is with my brother, though. Something about his desire to go pro doesn’t sit well with her.”
Ash turned the burner on under the pan. “Is that why you went into the family business? Do you have instructions for this?”
“Yeah. In my back pocket.” Dan turned his back on Ash to wash his hands in the sink.
Fingers deftly slid into his pocket and plucked out the folded instructions. Gasping at the contact, Dan held still for a moment, dick twitching in his pants. Jesus, what a time for an erection. In front of a guy who could knock him out with one punch. Not that he’d gotten any homophobic vibes from Ash, but still. Better to play it safe.
Although, if he were looking for further evidence that he was attracted to Ash, well . . . here it was. Metaphorically waving its hand hello.
So not the time for bad sex jokes.
“No,” he said, answering Ash’s question as he dried his hands. “I joined the family business because . . . Actually, it was always assumed that I would, which is why I’m taking business and accounting in college.”
“There’s nothing else you wanted to do with your life?”
“No. Well . . .” Dan’s shrug was awkward. “I wanted to work with wood. Shop class was my favorite in high school, and I took woodworking classes after school at an art center. I’ve even got a small studio in one of the sheds behind the house.”
“No shit.” Ash was grinning as he poured the vegetable oil into the pan. “What kind of things do you build?”
“Smaller household items, mostly. Jewelry boxes, small coin bowls, and . . . Actually, here.” Dan reached into the last bag he’d brought and came out with a small brown box. He handed it to Ash. “This is for you. As a thank you. For tonight. For your hospitality.”
Could he sound anymore awkward?
“For your hospitality,” Ash repeated with a smirk. “You make it sound like you’re a guest at my hotel.”
“Shut up, asshole. Just open it.”
Ash did, pulling out a sun catcher shaped like a crescent moon with a round crystal hanging from the top. His eyes widened as he brushed a thumb over the logo of his AHL team that Dan had painstakingly burned into the moon’s widest part. The entire sun catcher was about the size of Dan’s palm, and the widest part of the moon was only about an inch wide, meaning the logo was itty-bitty. If someone didn’t know what it was, it probably looked like a bunch of squiggly lines with an S in the middle. Dan was proud of it nonetheless.
“You made this?” Ash asked softly.
Dan’s shoulders hiked up to his ears, the awe on Ash’s face too much, too potent. “Yeah.”
“You even put the year I started playing for Syracuse. How’d you know it?”
“You must’ve told me at lunch at some point.”
Dan had looked it up online.
Same thing.
“This is amazing. These are the kinds of things you make? You should sell them online.”
Dan waved a hand. “I doubt there’s much money to be made in that kind of thing.”
“Is that why you went into the family business instead?” Ash left the kitchen to hang the sun catcher on a hook in the window in the living room. “Looks good here, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Dan echoed hoarsely. “It looks good.”
They finished preparing dinner, making enough to feed six people. Or two people, if one of those was Ashton Yager. By the time they finished eating, there was just enough left for one person—Ash’s dad, who, according to Ash, was due home any minute.
“That was the perfect amount of spicy,” Ash announced as he transferred the leftovers onto a plate for his dad, then brought the pan to the sink. “My mouth is on fire. It’s amazing.”
“It’d probably feel better with my tongue in it.”
Standing at the sink, Ash froze, hands in the water, Dan’s words playing on repeat in his head.
It’d probably feel better with my tongue in it.
It’d probably feel better with my tongue in it.
It’d probably feel better with my tongue in it.
Yes! Ash wanted to scream. Yes, it would! He’d spent weeks pretending that Dan was just a friend, that he didn’t feel anything for him beyond friendship. Catching Dan’s eyes lingering on him more than once didn’t mean anything. Ash was a big guy; people looked twice all the time.
But the way Dan looked at him . . . There was heat there that Ash hadn’t wanted to acknowledge, and not because he didn’t feel the same way. Dan was . . . Frankly, Dan was beautiful. Ash had been surrounded by athletes his entire life—he’d certainly admired another guy’s physique before. Had even been attracted to guys before, in a yeah-I-could-do-you kind of way.
This was more than that. He was attracted to Dan on a deeper level. Dan was shy even though he pretended he wasn’t. Slightly awkward, though he covered it well. Generous and kind. A bit of a nerd, though you wouldn’t know it by looking at him. And the hint of vulnerability made Ash want to protect him.
No, the reason he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge what was between them was two-fold: First, they lived four hours apart. Second, Ash played professional sports. One did not come out in professional sports unless one wanted to be bullied and ostracized.
Nobody said he had to come out, though.
And since Dan had thrown down the gauntlet . . .
Ash turned from the sink to do exactly what Dan had suggested—stick his tongue in his mouth—only to find Dan on the other side of the kitchen, the island between them.
“I’m sorry.” Dan’s eyes took up half his face, and he held his hands up, ready to defend himself against . . . against Ash? “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that.”
If he hadn’t meant to say it, then . . . “What did you mean to say?”
“I . . .” Panicking. Dan was panicking, his breathing fast and choppy. But why?
Ash took a step toward him. “Dan—”
Dan took a step back, eyes getting bigger, if that was even possible.
Ash held his own hands up, sudden clarity stopping him in place. “I’m not going to beat you up for being gay.”
“Bisexual, apparently,” Dan whispered. “If that makes a difference.”
“Yeah, well.” Ash lowered one hand, keeping the other raised. “Same here.” No apparently about it, though. He’d known he was bisexual for a long time but never felt the need to act on it. Or come out. Why did his sexuality have to be a defining characteristic of who he was?
