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Liam laughed, said goodbye, and jumped into Greck’s car. Off they went into the night to celebrate a big win that had added two fat points to the standings. I lingered around in the parking lot for a few minutes to ensure no one on the team would see me heading west to Hornell when I had said I was going home. There was something edgy about this clandestine meal that made me feel like a double agent in some old 60s spy film.
The drive out to Hornell only served to make me feel more out of sorts. Why that was I couldn’t pin down, I mean, other than the fact that I’d recommended this swanky place to Marcus for our hidden meal. This whole hatred thing was growing out of proportion quickly. Most of that was on me, I realized that now, because I’d been the one to carry a stupid grudge for years. Which meant that others picked up on the toxic vibes and now…well, now it was out of hand. Videos and fan chats devoted to Marcus and me disliking each other just felt icky. And wrong. Marcus was cool, had an amazing daughter, and had eyes that a dude could get lost in.
I had to hit the brakes to avoid driving past The Leaping Buck Restaurant. That was how foggy my thoughts were. Pulling into a space near an overhead lamp, I took note of the lack of cars in the lot. Marcus was standing just outside the door, shoulders up to his ears, his sight locked on me as I exited Liam’s car to jog to where he waited.
“Dude, you could have waited inside,” I said as I neared. “It’s super cold out here.”
“I noticed. They were cleaning up the main dining room, so I waited out here to stay out of their way.”
“Shit.” I peeked around him. The inside of the eatery was dimly lit. “Are we too late to eat?”
“Maybe?” He shrugged wide shoulders.
“Shit,” I said again. “Okay, so you totally get out of surf and turf costs. We can go to this little bar in Corning. Nice place, gay friendly, good bar food.”
“Yeah, that sounds good. Will people know who we are?”
“I doubt it,” I replied with confidence. We weren’t famous hockey stars. Yet. “Come on. I’m not letting you off the hook.” I bumped his elbow with mine. His gaze met mine and a fissure of something warm sparked in my lower belly. Something sexual. Something that was whispering to me to lean in and kiss him so his perfectly beautiful lips would warm up under mine.
The door behind us opened, warming us with a rush of heated air. I spun to find an older man, maybe mid-fifties, with thick, dark, curly hair wearing a tired but welcoming smile. He was in dress slacks with a wrinkled blue dress shirt, no tie or jacket.
“Did you two want food?” he enquired with an accent thickened with Slavic flavoring.
“I think we missed the serving hours,” I replied, and the older man shrugged.
“We have some things left. You would like?”
I shot Marcus a look. The poor guy looked half frozen. “Please and thank you. We’ll eat quickly.”
“No rush. I have books. Come in, please.” He held the door open for us, then followed in our wake after locking it behind us. “There is table here by the bar is perfect for intimate late night date.”
Marcus and I both ran over each other verbally to reply.
“Oh no, this is not a date,” we both said in tandem. The older gent studied us in confusion.
“My bad mistake. I saw you two through the door, staring at each other like lovers and thought…” He lifted a hand and rolled it around. “Apologies. Still good table by fireplace.”
Marcus and I exchanged nervous looks as our host led us to a round table by a low fire, the flames licking upward in the giant hearth lazily. The eatery was quiet, no noise other than our footfalls followed by the sound of chair legs scraping over the floor.
“Thank you. This is most gracious,” Marcus said as we sat down.
“My pleasure. Let me go warm up dishes. Do you wish for some wine from the bar?” he asked, motioning to the long bar along one wall.
“Just water for me,” I answered. Marcus nodded. “Sir, please, what is your name?”
“Jasha, I own this place.” He bowed and hurried off through a set of swinging doors.
“Jasha is aces.” Marcus sighed as he removed his toque. “Funny that he thought we were on a date.”
“Yeah, that’s super weird. Probably he didn’t have the glasses in his shirt pocket on his face when he looked out the door at us. Still, it was cool of him to reopen just for us, even if we’re not dating.”
“For sure,” Marcus replied, tossing his coat and toque to one of the empty chairs. The firelight played on his face, casting alluring shadows under his cheekbones as it warmed his lips. He wore his hair short, closely cropped, but just long enough for the flames to toss bright red and yellow highlights to his curls.
“Funny what people think. Dude was totally projecting or something.” My sight roamed down his neck to rest on the width of his shoulders as they melted smoothly into thick biceps. His long-sleeved top, Comets XXL emblazoned on the front, clung to his arms.
“Some bread. And some oil and vinegar.” Jasha arrived out of nowhere with a basket of bread, a carrier tote of two bottles, and some small plates. “We have salads coming and some chicken and dill. Two. Is all that remains. I think to take home for late dinner but would rather see you two lovers enjoy.”
Off he went to the kitchen, his step light, almost as if he enjoyed waiting on two chilly goalies. We both went to correct him, but he was gone. I shot a glance at Marcus as soft, traditional Slavic music filled the empty eatery.
