Chapter Text
“Y’all.”
Bitty dipped his head so he could look at the camera from under his eyebrows.
Did that move look silly? Maybe it looked silly.
“Y’all!” he tried again, this time sounding more excited and looking directly into the camera.
No, the first way was better. He wanted his viewers to think that he was about to dish some dirt.
“Y’all.”
He tried it again and replayed it.
Maybe if he had glasses that he could pull halfway down his nose and look over the tops of them? He’d been blessed with perfect vision, at least for the first 25 years of his life, but he had a pair of costume glasses with clear lenses somewhere.
But that would change the vibe, and he’d have to change out of his rainbow-themed tank top, which showed off his tanned and toned shoulders. And he was talking about the beach, to go with the tank top.
Sunglasses. He should’ve thought of that first.
Bitty settled in in front of the camera again, aviators covering his eyes.
He dipped his head, raised his eyebrows, and pulled the glasses down just far enough for his eyes to be visible.
“Y’all,” he intoned again, then pulled the sunglasses completely off and let the words roll. “You would not believe what I saw on my beach day today. I told y’all I was taking a day trip down to South Kingstown Town Beach — a little sun, a little rest and relaxation, maybe look at the new fitness equipment they put in the park there for a future video. But all I really wanted was to lay out my towel, set up my chair and enjoy the view.
“And what a view I got! I mean, I’m sure the Atlantic was pretty and all, but you should have seen the boys on the volleyball court! Now, I don’t know if they’re regulars who show up for a game every Wednesday, or if I was just lucky, but talk about built!”
He paused for breath.
“Now, all y’all know I like to hit the gym — I have to with all the baking I do — but I would have been intimidated to go up to these guys and ask if they needed another player,” Bitty said. “I just wouldn’t have measured up.”
He gave a hint of wink to let his viewers know that he wasn’t really down on himself, that it was just that these guys were that impressive.
“Besides,” he added, “they all seemed to know each other, and they had plenty for a game. And, I gotta tell you, they were competitive. Not just bumping the ball around, if you know what I mean.
“But it wasn’t until I heard this guy at the net who spiked the ball — like, he barely had to jump! — curse in Russian — yes, I know Russian curse words, it’s a figure skating thing, we can talk about it another time — that I realized who they were. Because no one curses in Russian like Alexei Mashkov. It was the doggone Providence Falconers! Now, who would have thought I’d run into my hometown hockey team on a beach an hour away from their home rink doing some sort of pre-training camp bonding exercise!
“And if y’all are wondering how I didn’t recognize them right off, let’s just say they look a bit … different in board shorts and swim trunks.”
Bitty paused to fan himself with his hands.
“Although maybe a topless hockey league wouldn’t be such a bad idea?”
He grinned and winked before turning off the camera and switching off the lights he used to record what his parents still thought of as his “little videos.”
Maybe his videos were silly, but he was making twice as much as an influencer in both the baking and fitness spaces as he had in his first job out of college, as an assistant in a public relations firm. A firm that would have done better if they had listened to Bitty’s ideas, he still believed.
After two years there, and lots of late nights working to build his footprint on Insta as well as YouTube, then jumping on TikTok just as it was getting big, Bitty had made the leap to being a full time content creator just about two years ago. He made more than enough to afford his Providence one-bedroom, though it wouldn’t touch more than a room in a shared apartment in Boston.
The move to Providence had also been good for his brand, as he showcased his adopted city and grew a loyal following for his outdoor fitness videos in front of recognizable landmarks, and filmed himself giving out free baked goods to college students when they returned to campuses in September.
He really had been planning to take a look at the fitness area in the park next to the beach, thinking he could make a video about park-based offerings all over the area, but that had kind of gone by the wayside when he’d noticed the volleyball game.
What Bitty said in the video was true: He hadn’t recognized the Falconers players until he heard Mashkov swear, using words that Bitty only rarely heard from his Russian skating coach back in the day. But he might have edited the order a bit — it had been that outburst that drew his attention while he was looking for the best place to set up his chair.
The best place, he decided, was next to the sand court, where he could feast his eyes and cheer to his heart's content for the hockey players giving volleyball a go.
He’d tried not to cross into obvious ogling. Really, he had. But what did they expect, with their eight-packs and dump truck booties and biceps almost as big as Bitty’s well-developed thighs? They were out in the sun, on the sand, enjoying what their marvelous bodies could do, and frankly, those who noticed Bitty’s appreciative looks (or the stares of the women who had also gathered) didn’t seem to mind. A couple of them looked twice at Bitty, not flirting, just like they thought they knew him from somewhere.
Besides, unlike the women, Bitty had resisted the urge to pull out his phone and start recording. It would be legal; they were on public property, after all. But that felt too intrusive.
Only the captain, Jack Zimmermann, the Ice Prince himself, had looked … mildly irritated … by Bitty’s presence. He hadn’t said anything, or even approached Bitty, but his scowl was enough to get Bitty to pick up his chair and move along when the game seemed to be drawing to a close.
It wasn’t like Bitty had planned to join the small group digging in their bags for pens and scraps of paper to ask for autographs; he’d long since gotten past being impressed by celebrities. Especially minor, local celebrities.
But maybe he would have tried to strike up a conversation with Mashkov, or one of the others who looked like he might recognize Bitty? Mashkov might have stopped if Bitty greeted him in Russian, and Bitty was pretty sure he could still manage that …
The quick reel didn’t take long to edit — he was just sitting in his makeshift studio — and then he posted it.
Now to plan his next baking video for YouTube. It was the end of summer, and all kinds of fruit were in season. There were so many things he could do, he thought, pulling up his spreadsheet of recipes he had featured in the past and planned to feature in the future.
It was evening before Bitty checked the notes on the reel he had posted. Plenty of likes — that was good — and comments asking why he wasn’t sharing the view with them. Not an amazing reaction, but he hadn’t expected that from this. It was more relationship-building with his local following, a chance to be relatable with people who followed him.
One comment stopped him, though, from someone with the handle SmallPotatoes: I thought that was you! You should have join us!
There was no way that was really Alexei Mashkov, famously known as Tater to friends and teammates. Was there?
Bitty clicked the heart next to the comment, then hovered his cursor over it. The comment already had half a dozen likes. Bitty clicked to see who they were.
Four were regular followers, people who interacted with Bitty all the time and presumably agreed that he should have asked to join the game. Two, though … could those really be Falconers? Huh. The usernames could go either way.
Maybe … maybe he could come up with a Falconers-themed dessert? Something with blueberries? A blueberry tart, with lemon curd for the yellow in the Falcs logo? He thought he had enough blueberries, but he could pick up more at the market if he needed to. There was white in the logo, too; he’d have to think on that.
Two days later, Bitty was ready to bake. He’d downloaded a coloring page of the Falconers logo — good thing it was sleek and stylized, without much detail — that would help him make a stencil.
First, he had to make a basic lemon tart, so he set himself up at the counter next to the window with a bowl of lemons next to flour, butter and powdered sugar.
“Hey, y’all!” he said brightly to the camera. “I don’t know how many of y’all follow my Insta —” he paused, planning to add text to the video before he released it with his Insta handle “— but you should, because you can hear all about the wonderful things that happen to me, like seeing the Providence Falconers playing beach volleyball.
“And if you don’t believe hockey players are in great shape, well, after seeing them in beachwear, let me tell you, I thought I was in great shape when I played college hockey but they are on a whole other level. Anyway, seeing them inspired me —” he paused again, the better to give his audience time to think about what he might have been inspired to do “— to make a Falconers inspired dessert!
“Now, I’m going to show you how to make a lemon tart and use blueberry jam and whole blueberries to make the Falconers logo, but you can use the basic idea to make whatever kind of design you want. For me, it’s important that each element adds to the flavor profile; that’s why I went with the classic combination of lemon and blueberry. You could also add a touch of creme patissière with vanilla, but for this demo, we’re just gonna pretend that there’s no white in the logo.”
And pretend that Bitty hadn’t tried and failed to make the white creme patissière stay put where there were flashes of white on the logo when he practiced the bake.
“Now, the first step is to make our tart crust,” Bitty said. “So combine your flour, sugar and salt. Then we’re going to rub the butter in until it looks mealy. This would be faster with a food processor —”
When the crust went in the oven to parbake, he started the lemon curd and walked his viewers through that. He assembled a simple blueberry jam while the tart baked, then cut the yellow portions of the logo out of the stencil while it cooled.
“You want to be careful cutting, because it’s actually the cutout pieces that we need,” he said. “I mean, you need the whole thing, really. We’re going to lay the stencil across the tart like so, and then put the cutout pieces right back where we took them from.”
He did that, and then said, “Now peel the big paper off the tart, leaving the cutout pieces where they are. That makes it so you get them in the right place. Then you cover everything except the paper pieces with the jam.”
After the jam was spread, Bitty carefully peeled the paper cutouts off, then covered the jam with individual blueberries.
“I know it’s a little time-consuming,” Bitty said. “But it’s the only way I've found to make it neat. The first time I ever did anything like this, it was after one of my college friends who was an artist took a mosaics class, and I made a mosaic tart that she designed. This is pretty basic compared to that, but y’know, I think it looks okay!”
Bitty tilted the completed tart towards the camera and smiled.
“If you enjoyed this video, please click the like button and think about subscribing here and on my other platforms! And if you make something inspired by this, post photos in the comments!”
Bitty held the pose for another couple of seconds before stopping the recording and turning off the fill lights.
He looked at the pile of dirty prep dishes, groaned and started running water in the sink. While it was filling, he took a couple of photos of the tart for his Insta feed, with a link to his YouTube channel, then put it in the fridge to stay cold.
He had a plan for a TikTok video, too: He was going to take the tart to the Falcs complex and compare it to the logo on their sign. Why not? His Providence fans would love it.
But dishes first.
It turned out to be the next morning before Bitty got to the Falconer’s training center, and it wasn’t first thing, either.
First, he forgot how much more quickly the sun was already going down in mid-August, and by the time he cleaned up, made dinner for himself, ate it, and cleaned up again, dusk was approaching and he wasn’t going to carry lights around for a TikTok video that was going to last less than a minute and probably only get engagement from his Providence-based followers.
Then Lardo called and asked if he was planning to do anything besides watch trashy TV on his couch because it was Friday night and Shitty was busy.
“You’re a lifestyle brand, Bitty!” she said. “You need to have a life!”
“I have a life,” he said. “And I have a workout video to do in the morning.”
“Bitty. Brah. Shitty is going on and on about this case he’s prepping. I just need to get out of here. Can I come see you?”
“And sit on my couch and watch trashy TV?”
“If that’s what you’re doing, sure.”
“I do want to try this recipe for watermelon margaritas …”
“I’ll be there in an hour,” Lardo said. “And no cooking shows.”
“Not even Nailed It?”
When she arrived, they settled on an old season of Project Runway. The watermelon margaritas went down almost too smoothly, and when Bitty got up to make another round, Lardo followed him to the kitchen.
“Could you grab the ice and the bag of watermelon chunks out of the freezer?” Bitty asked, setting the glasses on the counter so he could measure tequila and lime juice into the blender.
“This is why it’s great having friends who cook,” Lardo said, turning to the fridge. “You’ve got all the gadgets.”
“Haha,” Bitty said, shaking his head. “Pretty sure my MooMaw has a blender that’s older’n me. And Ransom and Holster have one.”
“Only for making drinks,” Lardo said. “And didn’t you give it to them? When your sponsors gave you this fancy new one?”
She paused, peering into the refrigerator compartment.
“What’s this?” she said. “Is that … is it the Falconers logo?”
“You recognized it?” Bitty was pleased and more than a little proud. “I made it the way we made that pie back when you were doing mosaics.”
“I mean, I knew you were a Falcs fan, Bitty, but …”
“Oh, now you tell me you don’t watch my reels?”
“What?” Lardo said.
“I did a reel Wednesday — you know, the day I was going down to South Kingstown? And who do you think I saw?”
“Wait … the Falconers … was it Zimmermann? You know how much Shitty likes him. I wouldn’t be surprised if Shitty wanted to use a hall pass for him.”
“Shitty?” Bitty giggled. Maybe only one more margarita. “He’s straight. I thought. Are you telling me I had a chance?”
Lardo laughed, and passed him the bag of frozen watermelon.
“You wanted a chance?” she said. “I didn’t think he was your type. Like, at all.”
Bitty considered while he added watermelon chunks to the blender. He’d had his share of hookups in college, once he finally came out, and even a boyfriend for a year after graduation. At first, he was willing to at least entertain the idea of dating (ha! Dating! Like that was what happened at kegsters) pretty much any guy who seemed interested, and, well, not scary.
Over time, he had found that some guys attracted him more than others. Tall and muscular, but who didn’t like guys like that? And Shitty, at least when he was playing, fit that bill. Mostly.
Athletic. Smart. Interested in … something. It didn’t matter so much what — as long as it wasn’t like right wing politics or something. Shitty fit that bill too, and Shitty had been one of his most supportive teammates, especially when he was a freshman and wasn’t sure how he fit on the team or even at Samwell.
“Bitty?” Lardo was asking. “You … weren’t into Shitty, were you? I never got that vibe.”
Bitty shook himself from the reverie he’d fallen into, and turned on the blender. When he turned it off, he chuckled and said, “No, of course not. I mean, I never even thought about it because I was sure he was straight. And even if he wasn’t, I like guys who are …”
He paused again while he poured their drinks from the blender.
“Better groomed?” Lardo asked.
Bitty shrugged, leading the way back to the living area.
“Less chaotic, I was going to say,” he said. “I mean, I don’t want to speak ill of your guy. So he really isn’t straight?”
Lardo sat on the sofa, careful not to spill her drink.
“Wait,” Bitty said. “Don’t answer that. Of course I shouldn’t be asking you to out anyone, let alone Shitty.”
It was Lardo’s turn to shrug. “I don’t think he’d care. He is straight, mostly. But you’ve heard him go on about Zimmermann’s ass.”
“Well, I can say Zimmermann’s behind shows to advantage in a pair of board shorts,” Bitty said. “But maybe his abs are his best feature. But the other Falconers —”
“Wait — you saw all of them?”
“I don’t know about all,” Bitty said. “Certainly not every player who will be at training camp? But most of the core guys? They were playing beach volleyball, and they were a sight! So, anyway, I talked about it on Insta, and I think maybe Mashkov commented, and then I wanted to talk more about that, so I came up with the idea for a tart I could make for a video, and tomorrow I’m gonna do a TikTok comparing it to the real logo on the sign outside their training center. You know, cross-platform synergy.”
“So we can’t eat it?” Lardo asked.
“Not yet. Maybe you guys can come for dinner tomorrow and we can have it for dessert. Should still be good.”
Bitty got up early, banishing his incipient headache with two ibuprofen and lots of water, a travel mug full of sweet, creamy coffee and peanut butter and banana on whole wheat. What could he say? Elvis Presley was right about some stuff.
He left for the gym before Lardo was up, taking his camera and tripod to record his attempt at a new personal best on his deadlift. He’d cleared 300 pounds two weeks ago; he was going to push to 305 today.
That done, he did a light upper body round and a half-hour of cardio before heading home.
Lardo was up, sitting at the table with her laptop, sipping a pink smoothie.
She held it up. “Watermelon, banana, yogurt. Want some?”
“I was going to make pancakes,” Bitty said. “But sure. What’s your plan for the day?”
“You mind if I hang out?” Lardo asked. “I have some work I want to do, but I can do it here. Then Shitty can take the train up before dinner, and we can head home.”
“Not at all,” Bitty said. “He won’t mind?”
“Nah,” Lardo said. “If I’m around when he’s busy getting ready for a big filing like this, he goes one of two ways. He keeps ranting about what he’s working on so I can’t get any work done, and then he feels guilty, or he gets so absorbed he doesn’t talk at all, and then he feels guilty.”
“You mind helping me out?” Bitty said. “I do want to get this TikTok done.”
So Bitty had a witness later that morning when he stood next to the logo on the sign for the Falconers training center, holding the tart and critiquing his own work.
“It would be better with the white highlights,” he said to the camera that Lardo was holding. “But it’s definitely recognizable. I count it as a win! Find the recipe and video of how to make it on my YouTube page!”
Lardo had lowered the camera as Bitty turned to put the tart back into the cooler at his feet, when a booming voice said, “Hey! You’re that guy!”
The voice was loud but friendly — and unmistakable, so Bitty was smiling as he turned and looked up.
“Alexei Mashkov,” he said in his most winning voice. "Здравствуйте! I’m Eric Bittle.”
“And you speak Russian,” Mashkov said, diverting from his path towards the training center entrance to approach Bitty. “But so formal!”
“не очень русский,” Bitty said. “And my figure skating coach insisted on proper respect. Though I did learn a few curse words from her, too.”
“You’re the one on the Internet!” Mashkov said. “And you were at the beach. I told Jack you played hockey!”
At that, Mashkov turned to look over his shoulder, and Bitty saw Jack Zimmermann lurking on the walkway to the door, his face blank.
“Good Lord!” Bitty said, fighting the embarrassment that was bubbling inside him, threatening to turn his face beet red. How much of his content had Mashkov seen? All since Wednesday? Or had he seen him before?
“I’m not a stalker!” Bitty blurted, because if he was wondering about Mashkov and now Mashkov had seen him twice in a week, what must he be thinking? “I just … I make videos and things based on what’s happening in my life. And I saw y’all Wednesday — well, you know that — and then, since I bake and all, and I was thinking about the Falconers, I decided to make a tart with y’all’s logo?”
Bitty bent to get it back out of the cooler — the edges were definitely getting a little rough with all the handling — to show it to Mashkov.
“Anyway, I wanted to compare it to the real thing for a TikTok video,” Bitty said, feeling himself deflate a little. Mashkov would think it was silly.
Mashkov was delighted.
“Blueberries!” he said. “I love blueberries! Since I was a child.”
“Really?” Bitty said. “You want — wait, I promised my friend we could have it for dessert tonight. But I could make another one this afternoon if you want to take this one …”
“You mean it?” Mashkov asked.
“Of course,” Bitty said, placing it back in the cooler. “Take the cooler too.”
Mashkov looked at Lardo.
“You don’t mind?” he asked. “Not really?”
“Brah,” Lardo said. “You don’t know Bitty here. If he says he’ll make another one, he will. Maybe two.”
“Only so I can compare and see which is better,” Bitty said.
“Bitty?” Mashkov asked.
“It’s what my old team calls me,” Bitty said.
“Oh, a nickname,” Mashkov said. “I call you Bitty, and you call me Tater. Like my team does.”
He gestured at Lardo, still holding the camera. “You want a picture?”
“Sure,” Bitty agreed.
“Jack can take it,” Mashkov said. “He likes to take pictures. Jack! Come here! We need you!”
Zimmermann shook his head, like Mashkov — Tater — was being too dramatic, but he approached and held his hand out for the camera.
“Lemme just switch from video to still,” Bitty said. He made the change, and handed the camera to Jack. “It’s autofocus, and you just press this button here …”
“I’ve got it,” Jack said.
He ended up taking a few: one with Bitty and Tater and the tart for Bitty’s Instagram and TikTok post, one with just Bitty and Tater, one with Bitty and Tater and Lardo.
“Jack should be in one,” Lardo said. “So we can show Shitty that he was actually here.”
“Oh, Lord, yes,” Bitty said, remembering what Lardo had said the night before. “Shitty — sorry, that really is what he goes by — is a really big fan, Mr. Zimmermann. Lardo, you stay there. I’ll take it. If you don’t mind, Mr. Zimmermann.”
“Jack,” he said. Which seemed like a yes, so Bitty started to step forward, but Mashkov said, “No, I can take picture. It’s not just Jack who can press the button, no?”
So Bitty arranged himself on Jack’s right with Lardo on Jack’s left. Where Mashkov had gently laid an arm around each of their shoulders, Jack stood like a statue. He wasn’t scowling, wasn’t smiling, was just there, like a model of masculine physical perfection.
Bitty was packing up the camera and Tater and Jack had headed for the door, with Jack saying something about “nutrition” and “training camp,” when Tater turned back.
“Bitty!” he said. “I need your phone number to return the cooler!”
Recipes:
Note that these recipes are not exactly what Bitty makes; he likes to take creative license.
Inspiration for Falconers tarts: https://www.seasonedkitchen.com/lemon-ginger-blueberry-tart"
Watermelon margaritas, similar to this: food.com/recipe/frozen-watermelon-margarita-38932