Page 5 of Two for Roughing

Kilian watched Luca on Instagram, the mild irritation ever-present in his expression unless Breezy forced him into sociability. The injustice choked Kilian. He’d gone on a fucking epic journey of self-discovery after calling Luca “queer” and being put in his place for it, and then it turned out Luca was queer after all?

On consideration, it was good Kilian hadn’t known. If he’d gone on his clubbing expeditions with Luca and had to watch Luca hit on guys, Kilian would probably have to live in a cave for the rest of his life because it would have made him go feral. Luca was too handsome and smart; it wasn’t fair to the rest of them, let alone Kilian. He had a hard enough time getting himself hyped up to go out alone, knowing he would stick out like a sore thumb before getting behind the safety of the club entrance. Trying to find a guy to hook up with while Luca was right there next to him would be an exercise in futility.

Would Luca ever hook up with Kilian? Kilian let himself picture it, all of Luca’s focused attention. Luca was so mean. Would he be mean in bed too? Kilian would be into that. But he’d already proven to himself conclusively that he couldn’t be normal about sex with other hockey players. So on balance, it was better to never find out. No way Luca would ever stoop so low anyway.

Kilian clicked over to the next reel decisively, trying to forget Luca and Breezy and the sense of betrayal over their keeping this secret from him.

It was a mistake.

The next reel showed Tom and Phil deep in conversation on the big, comfy sectional in the den. Phil’s arm was thrown over the back of the cushions, Ben comfortable within the circle it formed. As they talked, Jax came in with a drink, which he pushed into Tom’s hands. He fell into place beside Tom, their whole bodies pressed together from knee to hip to shoulders.

How had Kilian not seen? He was supposed to know better now. He had learned better. He had immersed himself in queer culture for months on end, and he’d still missed what was right in front of his face. It figured he wasn’t even good at being gay. He wasn’t good at much of anything except hockey, and based on his first year in the pros, his skills in the rink were also debatable.

The comments on the next reel, featuring him and Cheryl Vanderbilt, agreed with his assessment. One guy with fifty-seven likes called for his trade. Another one with thirty-one likes and twenty responses wanted him sent down to the AHL.

Kilian had made thirty-seven points his rookie year, and this year, he was on pace for thirty-two. People saying he ought to have been sent to the minors were absolutely right. Kilian had no business being in the big leagues with legends such as Tom Crowler and Jax Grant. Even guys his own age like Luca or Breezy easily outclassed him.

Maybe that was why no one let him in on the secret gay Sea Lions club. He just wasn’t good enough at hockey, or at being gay.

As if on cue, Kilian’s phone buzzed with an incoming call from his dad.

“Not today, Satan,” Kilian muttered, throwing the phone face down into the cushions. He might not be a paragon of…well, anything, but he knew better than to talk to his dad during a self-pity spiral.

He ordered Chinese food and watched the WikiHow video on how to use chopsticks with the sound off for the seventh time. He made it through most of his chicken and green beans but gave up when it came to the rice and grabbed the emergency fork from the bedside table. On TV, the Bachelorette chose between Jett, who had embarrassing tattoos but nice biceps, and Gavin, who wore button-up shirts and slicked his hair back. She’d eliminated Kilian’s choice—Seth, with the muscles and the cheeky grin—in episode two, so Kilian had been booing her all day. It was good to know someone out there made worse decisions than him.

Around eight, Kilian got a text from a guy he’d tried to hook up with three weeks ago before they realized neither of them wanted to top.

Liam: heyyyyyyyy

Kilian: wat up?

Liam: u wanna hit up xcite 2nite

Kilian considered. He hadn’t been to that club yet, and while he had practice tomorrow, he had no games. Being hungover for practice was no big. And clubbing made him feel better about himself and his own attractiveness; in the dark, with enough alcohol flowing, he could usually manage to find a hookup.

Kilian: yah when?

Liam: like 11

Kilian: k

He considered briefly, then added another text.

Kilian: u kno I still won’t fuck u rite?

Liam responded with the eyes rolling emoji, which Kilian took as a “yes, you idiot.”

In the remaining two hours before leaving, Kilian did a bunch of ab exercises to combat the post-Chinese-food bloat (and hey, then he could claim he hadn’t skipped out on his weight routine entirely). He showered again, thoroughly, and wandered back into his bedroom and grabbed the cream his middle sister gave him last Christmas. He was running low; he’d have to pick up more. After coating his curls, he scrunched them with the special towel he used for his hair. When he finished, he pulled on the skinniest jeans he owned. It hadn’t been easy to find pants that fit snug on his calves and thighs but also accommodated hockey ass. He liked them enough not to give a shit that skinny jeans were out. Kilian hoped the baggy pants trend would end soon. It did nothing for his best assets, and he refused to succumb to it.

With his hair sufficiently dry and not looking too awful, Kilian pulled open the bottom drawer of his dresser and inspected his options.

He’d been decently successful in the mesh shirt last time. But he’d nearly chickened out, standing in front of the club waiting to be let in with his jacket zipped up tight so no one would spot it and wonder what a guy with his build was doing in an outfit so obviously not straight. It hadn’t been so bad once he got inside. As soon as he’d unzipped, the view of his chest and abs garnered a few appreciative glances.

The confidence boost and the three vodka shooters, done in quick succession at the bar, made him ready to dance. Sure, he might look ridiculous in the delicate nylon shirt by the standards of the world he lived in 90 percent of the time, but in a gay club, Kilian was hot enough to get groped by a dozen strangers. It was bad luck that he’d gone home with Liam, ending the night in disappointment.

He wouldn’t repeat the mistake.

Rifling through the drawer, Kilian discarded the mesh shirt. Too soon to wear it again. Otherwise, he had a few crop tops, a cheap set of three elastic chokers still on the original cardboard form, and, at the very bottom, lace.