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“I would hope so since he doesn’t know I’m here.”
“Why are you here exactly? Spare me the salacious details, just the facts.”
Boring. “Remember how I said Noah felt guilty about me hitting my head?” When Xander nods I continue. “I left out the part where he stayed at my place to make sure I was okay. I’m returning the favor.”
“You told me, and I quote, my cock hasn’t met his ass or vice versa.” Xander gives me a stern once-over and crosses his arms in front of his chest.
“And that was true. Then.”
His eyes fall shut as he takes a deep breath, I assume to calm himself although based on the color in his cheeks I don’t think it’s working. “And now?”
“I don’t kiss and tell.”
“You literally do. All the time.”
“Yes, but I haven’t kissed him so there’s nothing to tell.”
“You’ve done something else though.” Xander arches a knowing brow, daring me to deny it.
“Is that a problem?”
“It is when the guy you’re playing with doesn’t play for our team.”
“In my defense, I’m not the first guy to show him my dick.”
Xander chuffs and rolls his eyes. “Locker rooms don’t count.”
“I never said it was in a locker room.”
“You’re telling me he’d already been with men before you started messing with him?”
“Not with men, but not a good little straight boy either.”
“What does that even mean?” Xander’s brows draw together.
“That’s up to Noah to share, if he wants. Just know I didn’t corrupt the Norse god. Ooh, dinner’s here. And more company.” I step around Xander to pay the delivery guy and take the pizzas we ordered as Luca and Justus step onto the porch, then strut back inside like my best friend didn’t just assume the worst of me. Even if I sort of deserve it. “Will you guys be joining us?” I ask the group as I make my way to the kitchen.
“Pizza?” Luca asks as he follows me inside. “Oh shit, is your season over?” He turns to Noah with a panicked expression.
“I was just telling Niko it’s not that bad,” Noah says.
“Um, excuse me, but how do we make the leap from pizza to season ending?” I set the boxes on the counter and start opening cupboards, looking for plates.
“Noah’s on a strict diet during the season.” Justus shrugs. “Pizza isn’t on it.”
“I figured a shit day might as well be a cheat day too,” Noah says. “But I’ll be back on the diet tomorrow.”
“Is this one of those ‘you have to eat bland food because you’re old’ things?” I hand Noah a plate with three slices, ignoring how way too many sets of eyes are watching our exchange.
“It’s one of those ‘a good diet ensures I can play a long time’ things,” he answers.
“Oh right. I see the difference.” I manage to keep a straight face even though I snort. “You all better grab some or there will be leftovers and I can’t be held responsible if this guy makes it two cheat days in a row.” I plop down next to Noah and take an oversized bite so I can give my mouth something to do other than talk, which I know they’re all expecting. Normally, I would, but in this case, I need to follow Noah’s lead, and since I don’t know what he wants to share during circle time, I plan to keep my mouth too full to put my foot in it.
One by one, the guys help themselves to a slice and join us on the couch, listening intently as Noah explains his prognosis, and looking slightly less pale when he assures them the timeframe for his return isn’t just getting back in goal, but being one hundred percent.
“Will you be at practice to help get Gauthier ready?” Niko asks.
I assume that’s the backup goalie.
