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The Spirits pulled their goalie to add an extra player on the ice, but Orion scored into the empty netter. The final buzzer rang with a 4-2 in favour of the Cats. Ishir lined up to bump helmets with Petey, who was in net that night, with a wide grin on his face, the guys jostling him around or bumping him on the chest as they passed.
The locker room was rowdy—it was their fourth win in a row, and the confidence was palpable. They were second in their division, and there was a feeling in the air that they could do even better than they had the previous year. Ishir wasn’t the kind of player to produce a lot, but he knew he was making a difference defensively—a goal was rarely scored against them when he was on the ice.
Zee stood right in front of Ishir as he was undoing the laces of his skates, making him sit back. Heat spiralled inside the pit of him at the expression on Zee’s face.
“We going out tonight?” Zee asked. His voice would sound casual to anybody else, but Ishir knew him better.
“Sure,” Ishir replied, matching his tone.
A sharklike grin took over Zee’s face. Ishir had no idea why his friend was so excited forIshirto get laid, but he wasn’t going to question Zee’s feral brand of friendship.
Ishir let Zee sort out the details. Bergy didn’t protest too much when they disappeared after dinner, waving them off with a snort and a weirdly significant look thrown in Ishir’s direction.
The bar Zee chose was incredibly colourful, strands of beads hanging over the walls, the drinks colourful and served in massive fishbowl glasses.
“This place is ridiculous,” Ishir said as they nabbed some stools and a pair of menus.
“I know. Kinda mad they don’t make straight bars this fun.”
“Gay people own colours, so. You can have cream and beige and, like…navy.”
The bartender appeared, leaning over the bar. “Navy is the straightest colour on the spectrum; you aresoright.”
“And maroon,” Ishir pointed out.
“Urgh,maroon,” the bartender spit out. Their hair was incredibly long, tied in a braid and resting over their shoulder. “You two decided what you want?”
Ishir ordered something citrusy and Zee something sweet before watching the bartender toddle off to make the drinks.
Ishir didn’t bring up why they were there. He let himself be swept up in conversation—about how their dryer wasn’t working properly. About if it was normal for their electricity bill to be a hundred and thirty dollars. About the pictures posted online of Orion and Gabby holding hands in Williamsburg and how stupid the concept of paparazzi was. They ordered two more cocktails each, the alcohol going straight to Ishir’s head.
He was in the middle of arguing why, exactly, the new dating show on Netflix was stupid when Zee interrupted him.
“How about that guy?”
Ishir snapped his mouth shut, confused. He followed Zee’s gaze to a tall, broad-shouldered man standing with a group of people at the fringes of the dance floor, and it dawned on him what Zee was suggesting.
He was picking someone up for Ishir again. Someone to fuck him. Not just an Alpha, but aman, Ishir didn’t fail to notice.
“Oh,” Ishir mumbled, feeling his face flush.
“You don’t like him?” Zee asked, staring at him with eyes that scavenged for every single scrap Ishir revealed of himself.
“No, I mean, he seems nice,” Ishir hedged. The truth was, he didn’t know how to say the truth.
That this felt less like one friend helping another and more like Zee was explicitly choosing someone tofuckIshir. As if Zee owned him and could lend him out at will.
Most of all, he didn’t know how to say he liked it.
Ishir inspected the guy again. Zee had good taste in Alphas—the guy was handsome but not douchey. He was gesturing widely with his hands, his friends laughing along.
“I think he’s busy,” Ishir pointed out. He didn’t know why he was being so resistant to the idea, but embarrassment, hot and honeyed, was eating him up inside.
“We can go dance near him, see if he’s interested,” Zee suggested.
Ishir locked eyes with him. Electricity buzzed over his skin, raising goosebumps all over it, breath sticking to his throat.
Maybe it was the drinks or the madness of the moment, but Ishir found himself saying, “Sure. Okay.”
