Page 42 of The Tryout

Still, Avery has made this season infinitely better than the last, and I don’t want to be the one standing in the way of his well-earned celebration.

“Yeah? You sure?”

I nod, and he breaks into a smile.

We return to the hotel briefly to drop off our equipment with the team manager and change into different clothes.

I, of course, had no intentions of going out tonight and pretty much have more sets of the same clothes to choose from – sweats, sweats, and more sweats. Avery, on the other hand, is able to pull out a tight pair of jeans and a short-sleeved button-up, managing to look somehow effortlessly put together. I take in the way his shirt fits, clinging to certain parts of him, drawing my eyes in.

“I…don’t really think I have anything to wear,” I say while looking into the corners of my duffel as though new clothes may have appeared there in the last thirty seconds.

“You should wear that blue t-shirt. It makes your eyes pop and your shoulders look great in it.”

Said eyes are wide with shock. Avery notices my shoulders? Without further question, I strip off the slightly ratty black t-shirt I put on at the rink, switching it for the blue.

“Do you get cold easy?”

Not even sure of the answer to that question, I shrug.

“Here, what about these shorts? I’d give you a spare pair of jeans, but I’m not sure they’ll fit you. These at least have a drawstring.”

In spite of the fact that Avery sees me fully naked at least ten times a week in the locker room, I can’t help my newfound awareness of him as I push down my sweats and put on the shorts. It’s no better once the shorts are on, knowing that they belong to him. I tighten the drawstring and he’s right – they fit fine.

Turning around to show him the final look, I see a smile on his face as he nods briefly.

“You look great. Let’s head out.”

At the bar, I’m a little surprised to see Novak at one of the booths. Even on the road, he usually prefers to go home after games to call his wife. I head his way while Avery heads to the bar. Settling in next to him, I offer a small smile.

Tomas Novak was one of the first guys to really make me feel welcome in Des Moines. Even though he’s a defenseman, he’s also one of the main veterans on the team and it’s a job he takes seriously. He gives off serious Dad Vibes, which makes sense given that he and his wife Elena have three little girls at home.

“Rook! Good to see you out.”

I smile back.

“Pretty sure I’m not a Rookie anymore.”

He shrugs at this.

“When you get to be my age, anyone who can’t legally rent a car is still a Rookie.”

I blush at that as Avery comes to the booth. In front of me, he places two glasses, a water and–

“Is that a Diet Coke?”

Avery smiles broadly.

“Yeah! It’s your favorite soda, right?”

He’s not wrong – about once a month, I’ll indulge in a pack, trying to stretch them out over the course of several weeks. I blush again under Novak’s gaze, taking a sip of the drink.

“Be right back.”

Before long, he returns with a pitcher of beer and two glasses, pouring for himself and Novak. I appreciate that he doesn’t even ask if I want one, already knowing and respecting my answer.

For an hour, we sit there talking about everything and nothing. Novak tells a story about one daughter’s latest recital in which no one knew the steps to the dance – even the teacher. He asks Avery if there’s any truth to the rumor that he knew Jamie Carter at UCLA, and we both enjoy hearing a couple stories that will most certainly not be in Carter’s inevitable 30 for 30 documentary.

“Hey Lawson, I think you’ve got a fan at the bar,” Novak says, eyes gently shifting in the direction of a woman with long, dark hair who does seem to have her eyes on Avery.