“It’s not just you. Sorry if we let you think that.”
“It’s okay. I should have figured.” He sighed. “Fabian was talking about a pizza place he wanted to go to tonight. You guys could come too, I guess.”
Shane’s current diet meant he could eat basically nothing at a pizza restaurant, but he nodded enthusiastically. “Sounds great. Let’s do it.”
“Okay.” Ryan turned to look at one of the piles of equipment along a wall. “So...can we get whatever we need and get out of here now?”
Shane realized that he’d basically trapped Ryan in a small space and unloaded a bunch of weirdness on him, which probably wasn’t an ideal situation for someone with clinical anxiety. “Yes. Sorry. Shit, Ryan. I’m being super fucking weird. I’m just...”
“Nervous?” Ryan guessed.
“Yeah. But excited too.” Shane laughed shakily. “I’m sort of glad you walked in on us last year.”
Ryan’s face told him that he was not glad that he’d walked in on them.
“And I’m really looking forward to meeting your boyfriend,” Shane said. “I didn’t get the chance to last year.”
Ryan finally smiled at that. “He’s nothing like me. No one can believe we’re together.”
“I know the feeling.”
* * *
The pizza place turned out to be more of a bar that served pizza. A gay bar that served pizza.
Shane hesitated as they approached the entrance. Ilya noticed.
“Problem?” Ilya asked.
Shane attempted to school his features into the face of someone who was chill and up for whatever. “Nope.” He walked confidently through the door.
He was on a date. With his boyfriend. In Montreal. No big deal.
His boyfriend who, incidentally, looked super fucking hot. Ilya was wearing a teal tank top with a faded floral print that showed off his muscular arms, as well as the loon tattoo near his left shoulder that Shane still couldn’t believe Ilya had gotten. He’d surprised Shane with it a couple of months ago and had blamed being bored while Shane was in the playoffs, but Shane knew it wasn’t something Ilya had gotten out of boredom. The tattoo meant something, to both of them. It represented their time together in the summers, at their home on the lake.
Ilya was also wearing loose-fitting gray shorts and black slip-on sneakers, and looked so relaxed and summery that Shane was tempted to drive them both directly to the cottage and make love to him on the grassy shore.
“Over there,” Ilya said, breaking Shane’s fantasy. He was pointing to a table against a wall where Ryan Price was sitting beside a much smaller man.
When they reached the table, Ilya immediately took charge. “I like that shirt, Price. Purple is good on you.”
“Oh. Uh. Thanks.”
“And you are Fabian, yes?”
“The one and only.”
Shane hadn’t really put any effort into imagining Ryan’s boyfriend, but he never would have pictured him looking like this. Fabian Salah was pretty. He had warm, golden skin and silky dark hair that was cut short on the sides, but long enough on top to fall into his dark eyes, which were decorated with makeup. He was wearing a black lace tank top that fit close to his slim torso, and had a heart-shaped diamond pendant hanging from his elegant neck.
He was, like, really blatantly not straight in a way that Shane wasn’t used to. The kind of man who, when Shane had been younger and still figuring himself out, he would look at and think “I’m not gay because I’m not like him.” It wasn’t a good way to think about anything, but even as a gay man who was in love with another man who he had gay sex with, Shane couldn’t help the knee-jerk reaction of uneasiness in Fabian’s presence.
Which just proved that Shane needed to spend more time around other queer people. Particularly, queer people who didn’t play hockey.
“I am Ilya. This is my... Shane.”
Shane tried to ignore how cute that was because otherwise Fabian’s first impression of him was going to involve a big, goofy grin. “Hi, Fabian,” Shane said, shaking his hand as he sat in the chair opposite him. Fabian’s fingernails were painted periwinkle blue. “Nice to meet you.”
“Same.” The single word did something funny to Shane’s insides. Fabian radiated an effortless sensuality that was distracting, to say the least.
“I like your hair,” Shane tried, because it was true. Fabian’s hair was cool.
Fabian’s lips curved into a smile that was warm and teasing at the same time, not unlike the way Ilya often smiled. “Thank you. I like your glasses.”
“Oh. Thanks.”
“He thinks they are a disguise,” Ilya quipped. “Like Superman.”
“Well!” Shane protested. “They can’t hurt. Also, I can’t read a menu without them. So shut up.”
Ilya lightly tapped his sneaker against Shane’s ankle under the table, which made Shane realize his leg had been bouncing nervously. He stilled, but Ilya kept his foot pressed against Shane’s.
“Ryan has told me all about your camps and your charity,” Fabian said. “It’s wonderful. I play fundraisers for youth shelters and mental health initiatives in Toronto as often as I can.”
“You’re a musician, right?” Shane asked. “Sorry, I know almost nothing about music.”
“He’s amazing,” Ryan said earnestly. “You should see him perform. He’s playing a show on Friday night here in town if you—um. I mean.”
“I can put you on the guest list,” Fabian said easily. “Don’t worry about it if you choose not to go.”
“I already bought tickets,” Ilya said. “For us both.”
The hell? “You did? You didn’t tell me.”
“Surprise.”
Shane wasn’t sure how to feel about this. He and Ilya never went anywhere together, and this particular outing seemed pretty far outside Shane’s comfort zone.
“What kind of venue is the show at?” Shane asked as casually as he could. “Like, a club, or...”
“He wants to know if it is a gay club,” Ilya said helpfully.
Shane stepped on Ilya’s foot. “No.”
“It’s just a bar. Club. Whatever,” Fabian said with a wave of his elegant hand. Then he leaned in and, with a mischievous grin, said, “But it will be gay by the time I’m done playing.”