Page 37 of King of the Crease

Each other???

“Whoops.” Des laughs awkwardly as he pulls back from a red-faced Tanner. “We were just doing a little post-game celebrating.”

“Sorry,” I mumble as I sidestep them. “As you were…”

In the bathroom, I go straight into a stall, sit down, and heave out a freaked-out breath. Did I just stumble onto their secret? Am I not the only closeted player on the Comebacks?

It reminds me of the Friends episode where Phoebe and Rachel catch Chandler and Monica making out through a window, and Phoebe can’t stop screaming “Chandler and Monica! Chandler and Monica!”

Des and Tanner! Des and Tanner!

Shit. There are wedding rings on their fingers. Are they cheating on their wives? Am I now a witness? Will I be dragged into divorce proceedings for testimony? That will undoubtedly force me to reveal my true identity. Oh, and the gossip rags will have a fucking field day with this.

No, I’m going to play it cool. We are all adults. I don’t know their lives. Maybe this is a custom in American hockey leagues. Isn’t this what happened in that television program Heated Rivalry?

“Whatever,” I mutter to myself in my coolest, most laid-back American accent. “No worries, homies.”

Christ. Never say that again, I warn myself.

I leave the stall and give myself a confident nod in the mirror. Back at the table, Des and Tanner sit there, talking to their teammates as if nothing happened, as if they weren’t just using each other’s mouths as oxygen masks.

Hank nudges over my fresh pint glass when I take my seat.

“Sorry about before,” Tanner says to me.

“About what?” I laugh it off while trying to communicate with my eyes that I know how to keep a secret.

“I usually hate PDA. Des and I are still in the newlywed phase.”

“And we really were celebrating the game.” Des throws his arm around Tanner. They kiss again, a sweet peck on the lips.

“Speaking of, you never returned my Third Eye Blind CD that I lent you for your wedding.” Hank crosses his arms.

Des’s wedding ring clinks against his martini glass. I notice now it’s the same style of ring as the one on Tanner’s finger.

“Shit,” Griffin says, staring at me. “You didn’t know.”

“You’re together? And married?” I ask the couple.

“Yup.” Des lets the P in “yup” pop.

“Oh.” Suddenly, my freakout feels like a cruel prank. “I didn’t know.”

“Bill has a strict rule that we don’t talk about our relationship at the rink. We can’t even kiss.” Des rolls his eyes. “If you haven’t deduced it by now, Bill is kind of a party pooper.”

“To avoid any uncomfortable situations, you two shouldn’t bring your marriage into the locker room. What if you have a fight and then that negativity messes with the team mood on a game day?” Bill shrugs, as if to confirm the fact he’s right.

I’m still stuck on the marriage part.

“You’re right, Bill. How dare we think for a second that our marriage is more important than being beer league champions. I’m so glad you’re here to keep our priorities in check,” Des says.

“Nobody here wants to watch you guys make out in the locker room,” Bill says. “I don’t even like watching you lick an envelope.”

“But it’s fine for Tate to run onto the ice and kiss you when we win?” Des shoots back.

“That’s different. That was the championship game.”

“Rules for thee, not for me,” Des snaps back in a singsong way.