They … hooked up? Why do I hate that idea so much I want to punch something?
Chapter Eight
LENNON
Ollie’s entire face hardens, and his gaze flicks from a barely dressed Jet to me and back again.
“Ollie?” Matt asks.
Ollie startles and averts his gaze from us to Matt. “Uh … hey.” He does this weird half wave that makes him both adorable and awkward—reminding me of the guy I kissed in Boston. I hate that I’m not the one bringing that out in him.
Jet finishes throwing on some sweats while I find my shirt.
“Lennon and I ain’t fucking, so put your big brother claws away,” Jet says. “Mr. Hot Shot forward of the New York Dragons needed a place to crash because he got so wasted he couldn’t remember his address. And I dunno if you guys are aware, but straight guys ain’t too keen on sharing a bed with a gay dude.”
Although I can’t be sure, because I can’t see from this angle, I swear Jet winks at Ollie, because Ollie’s mouth drops open to say something that never comes.
“Besides,” Jet says, turning back around to face us, “even if we were fucking, you two wouldn’t get a say, because I’m twenty fucking years old.”
“And showing off your maturity level right now,” Matt says.
“You both need to cut the big brother shit.”
“What did I do?” Noah asks incredulously.
“Please. You’re worse than this one.” Jet points to Matt. “I’m still convinced you’ve set Lennon as some sort of spy.”
I snort. “Because I’d be so good at that.”
“So, it’s just a coincidence that since he’s been here your friends don’t turn up every couple of days to say ‘hi?’ Subtlety really isn’t your strong suit, guys.”
“We’re just lookin’ out for you,” Matt mumbles.
“Yeah, uh … well,” Ollie interrupts, “as fun as this is—learning my family’s not the only dysfunctional one—umm … I’m gonna go …”
“Stay if you want,” Matt says. “I was about to go for my morning run and bring back breakfast.”
Ollie stares at me, and then his gaze flicks to Jet. “Nah, thanks. I’m good.”
“You remember where you live now?” Jet asks, and for once Ollie’s scowl isn’t directed at me.
“Yeah. Thirty-one East Twenty-first Street.”
“Fucking numbered streets,” Matt says.
“Thank you!” Ollie says. “Apparently that wasn’t a good enough excuse last night. But, uh”—he glances at me again—“I’m gonna …” He tips his head in the direction of the stairs and then makes a break for it.
“Shit,” I mutter. “Ollie, wait up.”
I run after him as fast as I can, but I almost fall down the stairs. He reaches the sidewalk by the time I finally find my feet and catch up to him. I’m barefoot, don’t have my glasses or contacts in so I can’t see shit, and I have no idea what to say when I get in front of him, because I haven’t thought it through.
He spins to face me so fast I have to take a step back.
“What?” he barks.
Yeah, what? Why did I chase him out here?
“Did you read my new article?” You’re such a loser.
Ollie’s glare doesn’t let up. “Yeah.”
Uh, okay.
“All it did was prove you still don’t know how you fucked up with the others.”
“Huh?”
He shakes his head. “They all implied I’m hiding something, and this one you’re like Hey, look at the superstar! He’s a hero. Pay extra attention to him.”
It takes a minute to understand what he’s saying, but when I do … “Wait, you think I’ve been hinting at”—my gaze darts around the street, making sure it’s safe to talk candidly—“you know what?”
“Well, what else could you mean by needing an encouraging environment to be the best player I can be, and—”
“Exactly that!” I shout and then shake my head with a humorless laugh. “This whole time, you’ve been thinking I’ve been subtly taking digs at your sexuality? I thought you were pissed because I crushed your precious ego.”
He huffs and glances away. “Okay, well, maybe it was a little of that, but, well, yeah. I don’t like how you made some excellent points that made me feel more shame and guilt over being closeted than anything my family has ever said to me.”
Ouch. I’m suddenly seeing it from his perspective, and it’s even worse than I thought. I only spent half an evening with his family, but it was easy to see how they make him feel about having to hide.
“I’m so sorry, Ollie. It was never my intention to pressure you into thinking you had to come out or—”
“I wondered how it was possible for some no-name journalist to know so much about me and see deeper than just hockey. I hated it because it made me uneasy. I lost the most important person in my life, and then here comes this article that had the power to make everything I’d worked for go away and make losing Ash completely useless. Turns out it’s because the person who wrote it spent dinner with me and my crazy family.”