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“Hm,” Nolan said noncommittally. There was no reason for him to help King win that souvenir cup.

“If he’s ten years younger,” King said, “that narrows the pool significantly.”

“You have the ages of every member of the team memorized, do you?”

“No, but Google does.” King whipped out his phone.

“Wha—Hey! That’s cheating.”

“If there were rules, you should’ve mentioned them before we agreed to this deal.”

Nolan sighed and resigned himself to losing three hundred bucks plus tax.

When he tuned back into the game, one of LA’s defensemen had stepped down the boards to keep the puck alive.

“Careful,” King murmured next to him, eyes on the game.

Too late.

Eli, who’d hopped over the boards seconds before, sent the puck sailing past the D-man into open ice, and the defender found himself left behind while the play raced in the other direction. Deeley exploded past the defenseman on Eli’s tail.

Two Trailblazers against the remaining defenseman.

Nolan rose to his feet. Around him, so did the crowd. “Pass it, Eli,” he yelled as if Eli could hear him. “Your angle’s off.”

Maybe Eli could hear him—or maybe he was just good at what he did—because almost faster than Nolan could blink, Eli passed to Deeley, who sank the puck into the net.

The crowd erupted.

“Fuck yeah!” Nolan exclaimed.

Eli skated up to the Trailblazers’ bench for fist bumps, and as if he’d known exactly where Nolan was this entire time, he met his gaze with a grin and an up-nod.

“So, Eli Parker, huh?” King said casually.

“Shhhhh.” Nolan glanced around, but it wasn’t like anyone was paying them any attention as they re-took their seats.

“Guess I didn’t need those three guesses after all.”

“Go back to Toronto.”

King loosed a loud laugh. “I’ll take my souvenir cup now.”

“At least wait until intermission.”

They did, and as they waited in line at one of the arena’s concession stands, King said, “Why him?”

“Why not him?”

“Don’t deflect.” King bumped their shoulders together. “Why him?”

How was Nolan supposed to answer that? How did he describe the feeling that bloomed in his chest when Eli looked at him like he was the only person around for miles, even when they were in a crowded room?

“He’s not your usual type,” King said as they inched along in the line. “Good for you.”

“You’ve said that before. What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Your usual type is staid, sophisticated, smart, and . . .”