Page 116 of Two for Roughing

“’Course I don’t,” Rocky said heavily. “It’s the A, bro. Gotta take care of the team’s emotional well-being and shit.”

All three of them at once? Overkill, in Damir’s opinion. “Kilian and I are fine,” Damir said. “No cause for concern.”

“Not believable, try again.” Lissy crossed his arms over his broad chest.

“How is it not believable?”

“You keep calling him Kilian!”

Damir stared at Lissy. “It’s his name.”

“Yeah, well, my name’s Jacques, and you never call me by it.”

Damir checked his watch. Six twenty-five. They had to be downstairs for the car in five minutes, and he was stuck here talking about hockey nicknames? No. Absolutely not. “Look, I have to go. We can talk about this later.”

“Where are you going?” Ketchup asked. “There’s a 10:00 p.m. curfew. You care about those.”

“Out,” Damir snapped.

“He’s all dressed up,” Rocky pointed out, examining Damir from head to toe. “Is it a sponsorship thing? Or is he meeting the coaches?”

“Shit, Denny, you did ask for a trade, didn’t you?” Ketchup asked. “I hoped I was wrong.”

Lissy frowned, his eyes going large and liquid like an overgrown puppy. “Is it that bad? I thought you and Howie were bros after how you—”

“No, I didn’t ask for a trade, you—”

Another knock on the door mercifully interrupted Damir before he could insult his team captain. Damir opened it to find Kilian with both hands in his pockets. The hallway lights reflected on the shiny curls of his hair. He must have done something special with it. A thrum of excitement shot through Damir at the thought of getting to witness the full extent of Kilian’s hair care routine. He’d like to know what all the bottles were for and maybe massage shampoo into Kilian’s hair someday.

He’d dressed similarly to Damir in suit pants, though his were gray. His dress shirt, crisp white, was unbuttoned far enough that Damir could see the raised bump of his clavicle, which he had absolutely done on purpose. Damir would live to regret telling him how much he liked to bite there.

He smiled at Damir, and Damir noted how the plush curve of his mouth glistened. His eyelashes looked darker too.

Damir licked his lips. Kilian must have read his mind about the lip gloss, or he wanted it badly enough himself to buy some. Next time, Damir would get it for him. He wanted to choose what color Kilian would use to drive him insane.

“You look…”

“You, too,” Kilian said. “Sorry. Was I supposed to wait for you to pick me up? I’ve never really done the whole date thing.”

“Me neither,” Damir admitted. “I was going to pick you up, but…”

Kilian peered over Damir’s shoulder. “Oh. Any chance they didn’t hear me?”

“No,” Ketchup called.

In wondering tones, Lissy added, “Oh my God, they were never bros.”

Damir patted down his pockets. He had his wallet and his phone. He had his gift. “We’re leaving,” he decided. “They can show themselves out.”

He plucked the keycard out of the slot in the wall, dousing everything behind him in darkness. Then, he reached for Kilian’s hand and pulled him toward the elevator, the door clicking shut behind them.

“So,” Kilian said after the elevator doors whooshed closed. “Good work so far on keeping this low-key while your visa stuff happens. Ten out of ten. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Ketchup would have found out sooner or later; he lives with us.”

“True.”

“You think they’ll be…okay?” Kilian said it casually, but Damir could see the tense line of his shoulders.