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“I get it.” I should’ve mentored him more outside the game, so he’d develop some friendships with our teammates. “No pressure, but it’s a good group of guys.”

Kevin nodded, a small, genuine smile playing across his lips. “I’m starting to figure that out.”

The awkwardness dissipated, replaced by a different energy. He was gay. I was gay. Teammates. Sharing a king-sized bed in a snowstorm.

My stomach growled, providing a welcome distraction. “I’m starving.” I reached for the room service menu on the nightstand next to me. “Want something?”

“Sure.” Kevin shifted closer, leaning over to look at the menu. Close enough, I caught the clean, faintly woodsy scent of his shampoo.

“Victory meal,” I declared, scanning the options. “Burger and fries sound good?”

“Works for me.” That smile again. It transformed his face, making him look even more attractive than usual.

I called down the order, adding a couple of beers. While we waited, the conversation started to find a rhythm. He told me about growing up and starting his career in Minnesota, the hockey obsession running in his family, his older sister—his rock when he came out at nineteen.

“What about you?” he asked. “When did you come out?”

“High school.” I reached behind me to adjust pillows. “I was already out to my family before that. But by then I knew I was done hiding it. Figured if my play was good enough, the rest wouldn’t matter.”

“Brave move,” Kevin commented quietly.

I shook my head. “Not really. There was an out guy on the football team when I was a freshman. I was kind of like you are here. You’re not closeted, you’re private. I was private, but I also denied nothing. If someone asked me who I thought was hot, they found out I was into guys.”

Room service arrived, faster than I’d expected, given the chaos of the storm. We spread the containers out on the bed between us—burgers, a combined pile of fries, ketchup packets, napkins. A makeshift picnic. We sat cross-legged, facing each other.

We kept up our conversation as we ate. I noticed a few things about Kevin. The way his laugh started in his eyes. The happiness in his voice when he talked about his family. The small, faded scar near his left eyebrow from a high stick in college.

I snagged one of the last fries, aiming for casual. “No boyfriend back in Minnesota?”

Kevin shook his head. “Broke up about six months ago. He couldn’t handle the schedule. The travel, the attention, all of it.” He rolled his eyes slightly. “Called himself a hockey widow. Whatever. I suppose it was good it happened before the trade. What about you? Anyone special in Boston?”

“Nah.” I chased the fry with a swallow of beer. “Single about a year. It’s tough. Meeting guys who want me, not the jersey number.”

Kevin nodded, his expression understanding. “That’s why I keep a low profile. Simpler.”

I hummed in response. We finished up the food in comfortable silence.

I stood, gathering the trash onto the room service tray.

“Another beer?” I asked.

“Sure.” Kevin watched me cross to the mini fridge, his gaze steady, seeming to study me in a way I hadn’t noticed before. Or maybe I just hadn’t been looking closely enough.

Handing him the beer, our fingers brushed.

Was that a spark?

I settled back against the headboard, closer than before. The air crackled. The storm outside felt like a shield, creating this pocket outside normal rules.

“To unexpected roommates.” I raised my bottle.

Kevin clinked his against mine. His dark eyes held mine for a beat too long. “To unexpected connections.”

TWO

KEVIN

Tyler’s hands commanded my attention. Strong, calloused from years of gripping a stick and working out, yet surprisingly elegant as he moved them while he talked about the fundraiser he was missing. We’d shifted position again, back to cross-legged on opposite sides of the king bed.