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Rachel
She’d been watching Shane Hollander since they were twelve, well before the growth spurt that changed the minds of most of her friend group. The girls seemed to collectively stop talking about him ‘looking weird’ and, instead, started talking about how he was cute but incredibly dorky. She kinda liked dorky though.
“You just have an Asian fetish,” her friend Courtney teased.
“What? Liking a cute guy who happens to be Asian is not having a fetish, Courtney. Jesus.” Rachel just thought he was so handsome, and she tried to gather the courage to tell him so. Their paths didn’t cross that often; he was always busy with his hockey stuff, and she got caught up with orchestra and her constant battle for first chair against Jinho Park who was also hot, and…. Well, okay, maybe Courtney wasn’t totally wrong about her tastes, but whatever, she had a massive crush on Bryan Goggins too, so she wasn’t going to beat herself up about finding Shane and Jinho to be her go-to daydream fodder. It wasn’t like anything was ever going to happen anyway, since Jinho hated her guts, and she only had one class with Shane, and it was Trig of all things.
Then one day, Mrs. Anderson asked her to wait as she was on her way out of math, and Shane Hollander was standing there by the teacher’s desk as well, looking nervous. Shane, as it turned out, was having some trouble with the material, and would Rachel be willing to do some tutoring?
She could barely contain her glee. An excuse to hang out with Shane Hollander after school, twice a week. He insisted on picking up Starbucks for her and actually paid attention when she spoke. His shy little smile every time she told him he was doing a good job was going to kill her. Courtney sent her articles on how to flirt and scolded her not to blow it. She studied them, she talked to her older sisters, she consulted her mother — she was still pretty sure she was screwing it up. Because she did everything they instructed her to do: she sat close and let her leg gently touch his, she twirled her hair, she laughed at his jokes, she told him he looked good in that shirt, she let him talk about hockey even though she hated hockey. She wore her cutest outfits, she did the bend & snap, she made him cookies, she mentioned a movie she was hoping to see in the desperate hope that he would offer to take her, she touched his arm when she talked to him. She did all of that, and he still ended every tutoring session with a polite thank you.
Courtney came with her to watch one of his games. She had no idea what was going on, but they won, and after the game she saw Shane and Owen Sullivan grinning and hugging each other. Then he hugged her too when he saw her, but Courtney shook her head at Rachel when she raved about it on the drive home. “Pretty sure he was more into that hug with Owen,” Courtney said, but that was ridiculous. Shane Hollander was not gay. “He may or may not be gay, but he is absolutely oblivious to your flirting,” Courtney told her after insisting on joining one of their tutoring sessions. “If you want to go out with this guy, you’re going to have to ask him yourself.”
“I can’t do that,” she insisted as the two of them watched Shane eating lunch with his teammates.
“Sure you can,” Courtney insisted. “Watch and learn.”
Rachel watched with horror as Courtney strode across the cafeteria, plonked herself down next to Shane Hollander, and spoke as she pointed to him and then herself. “What the fuck, Court!” she hissed when her friend returned.
“He’s taking me to the movies next Saturday,” she announced. “See, you just have to be direct.”
“You don’t even like him though!” Courtney rolled her eyes, and Rachel didn’t speak to her for a month. She did not want to hear about how the date with Shane Hollander went. She cancelled their tutoring sessions and spent the time working on her bowing instead. And making out with Jinho Park, who it turned out didn’t hate her guts after all, or maybe he did and that was part of why making out with him was so hot.
Shane sent her an email asking if she could please help him prepare for their final exam and she relented. He apologized if he had done something wrong and explained that he was sometimes bad with reading people. “I liked you,” she admitted. “Like, like-liked you.”
He blushed and stared at his knees. “Oh! I had no idea,” he told her.
His sincerity made it impossible to hate him. “I realize it’s not the kind of tutoring you came to me for, but for the future…. When someone keeps touching your arm and telling you you’re cute, that’s flirting, Shane.”
“I’ll try to remember that,” he laughed. She patted his hand. Something told her he wouldn’t.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Scott
Scott hated these stupid fundraisers. The stiff clothes, the bad food, the women insistently circling him and vying for attention. It was a good cause though, one that was important to him, so he was trying to stay in character and avoid thinking too much about two things that were making the evening more unnerving than usual.
The first was that the gorgeous smoothie maker he’d been unable to keep away from for weeks was there, scrambling around with trays of prissy food, looking adorably awkward. The other was that not-a-rookie-anymore smoking hottie Shane Hollander was also in attendance, also looking adorably awkward.
He managed to exchange about three sentences with Kip before he had to be ‘on’ and work the room talking to potential donors. Scott gave his speech and listened politely to Shane’s remarks before making another circuit of the room while counting down the minutes until he could leave. Shane looked at least as uncomfortable as he felt, though he could see him struggling to keep a smile on and listen politely to the stories of well-dressed older women who kept laughing and touching his arms. Scott couldn’t really blame them; Shane was an attractive guy, and he was fairly sure they… had something pretty important in common. Or at least he was almost certain that Shane Hollander had gotten up to something with Ilya Rozanov at All-Stars a few years earlier.
It was hard not to watch Kip as he moved around the room with his trays of canapes. His first impulse when they’d crashed into each other earlier in the evening was to find some excuse to leave with him, but that seemed impossible now. He couldn’t do that with Shane Hollander watching him with those puppy eyes. Even without Hollander around, was it even fair of him to pursue Kip? Kip was out and proud and dragging him back into the closet with him, could he ask that of anyone. Hollander, on the other hand, had just as much to risk as he did, and he obviously was open to… spending time with other players and could keep his mouth shut about it afterward….
Fuck it. He watched as Shane politely declined yet another tray of salmon mousse or whatever was going around and made his approach. “The food at these things always sucks, right?” he said conversationally.
“Yeah, I’m… I guess I’m a bit particular, sir. I mean, Scott.” Scott huffed a laugh at that, and ignored how very much he didn’t mind Hollander calling him sir. “Good cause, though.”
“Do you like Mexican food? There’s a new place not far from here that I’ve been dying to try.”
“Oh! I, um, sure….”
Hollander looked nervous, but he also smiled at Scott, those big eyes glittering, and he found himself saying, “Or we could order in. Lots of great stuff near my place.”
“Yeah, okay,” Hollander agreed, and so somehow Scott found himself taking a cab back to his apartment with Shane Hollander in tow. They talked hockey for the entire ride and while the elevator ascended.
At last, the grandeur of his apartment seemed to distract Hollander from hockey. “This place is amazing!” he declared.
It was now or never. Scott shrugged off his jacket and took off his shirt. Hollander blushed to the tips of his ears, which seemed promising. “Would you like the full tour now, or….”
“Yeah, that would be great! Do you know what year this was built? Is this the original brickwork? What is the e-rating on your windows?”
So, he gave Shane Hollander a tour of his apartment, while half dressed. When he tried gently suggesting to Shane that he also make himself more comfortable, maybe take off his jacket, Shane just blushed again and stammered that he appreciated it, but that it would just make it that much worse to put his getup back on when it was time to go.
Were they still supposed to order dinner, he wondered, and sit here awkwardly chitchatting over noodles? Fortunately, Hollander received a series of text messages that made his face screw up before blushing pink again. Apparently, there was something urgent he needed to take care of. At 10:23pm. Scott was grateful enough for the excuse to put an end to the excruciating evening that he just nodded and told Shane he would see him in Sochi.
The fundraiser would just be wrapping up, Scott mused, which meant Kip still wouldn’t be done for at least an hour. Enough time to get back across town and maybe try his luck again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Owen
After twelve years living in Paris, New York City felt loud, fast, frenetic. And a lot gayer than the last time he’d been there, although he was pretty sure that he had changed a lot more than the city. His previous trip to NYC had been a long weekend on his way to France, one last hurrah before he crossed the Atlantic. And back then he’d been desperate to reaffirm his (nonexistent) heterosexuality. That plan had not survived contact with Paris. At university, surrounded by beautiful boys with amazing accents, he’d discovered himself — and several of his new acquaintances — before the first month was out.
So he was determined to enjoy a different side of The Big Apple this trip and was delighted to discover that Etienne had brought him to a dance club next door to a gay sports bar, which seemed like a complete oxymoron to him, but meant that a lot of the men on the floor were buff as fuck.
He had played hockey back in high school and had tried very hard not to find any of his teammates hot, but the fact was he had a type. And lots of guys who fit that type were currently writhing around sweaty and in various states of dishabille under the flashing lights. A particularly glorious set of biceps caught his eye and he ran his gaze over the entire man with frank curiosity. The guy couldn’t dance for shit — he was sort of bouncing out of time with two equally uncoordinated men. One was a ridiculously built short stack, the other a scrawny twink, and all three were laughing and moving in a way that telegraphed just friends. Biceps did the world’s dorkiest twirl, bringing his face into better view, and—
Holy shit.
Biceps was Shane Hollander.
Owen vaguely remembered his mother telling him that Hollander had gone pro. Owen had barely registered the information; he had quit hockey his senior year, unable to take one more season of dropping pants surrounded by his teammates, and had more or less forgotten about his old buddy Shane. Back then, Shane Hollander had a tragic haircut and a habit of hiding himself as much as possible when not on the ice, peering out angrily at everyone in the cafeteria from behind a biography of Bobby Orr. The guy on the dance floor in front of him looked confident and happy and really fucking hot.
Sorry, I did not see the vision, he mused to himself as he started winding through the crowd. He was an ugly kid but he’s a sexy man, and they knew each other. They should get reacquainted. Thoroughly.
There might be a slight complication though. Owen noticed there was a fourth man in the group now, and he wasn’t dancing politely two meters from Shane Hollander. Instead, he stepped up behind Shane, put one hand on his hip, the other on his chest and then kissed the shell of his ear. Shane’s previous dance companions seemed to take this in stride, turning to face each other and continuing to groove mostly in time with the beat. In contrast, the new guy had rhythm, and was guiding Shane’s movements to the beat as he whispered something to him that made Shane lick his lips.
If he was going to have any chance, he needed to move fast, before the guy dragged Shane out by his belt loops. Owen had never imagined seeing Shane Hollander’s eyes damp and lust-blown, but now that he had, he definitely needed to see more.
“Shane? It’s Shane Hollander, right?”
For a moment, Shane tensed up, and the other man’s arms tightened around him protectively. It occurred to Owen that if Shane Hollander had gone pro, he was probably used to being recognized, might have a history of randos approaching him at clubs. Owen put a hand on his chest. “Owen Sullivan. We went to school together.”
Shane’s demeanor changed instantly. “Oh my god, Owen! Wow! I haven’t seen you in, like, a decade.”
Yahtzee! Shane seemed delighted to see him again; his glowering bodyguard seemed far less charmed. Eli or something? It was hard to hear in the club, so Shane suggested they grab a drink at the sports place next door, which was definitely quieter but just as gay — with a massive signed poster of Shane in his underwear on the wall. Obviously, he had missed a lot while he was away. Eli wandered away as he and Shane caught up, and Owen used the opportunity to scoot a little closer, let his ankle rub against Shane’s, to pointedly drop stories about his sexual exploits in France. Shane blushed and stuttered a bit and didn’t flirt back exactly. But he didn’t flinch when Owen touched his arm or lightly smacked his hand, and he did agree to exchange numbers.
Eli returned with a basket of chips, and Shane offered to get them another round. Eli said something in a foreign language that made Shane roll his eyes, and then the two of them were alone. Eli raised an eyebrow at him and stuffed a few fries in his mouth. “He is not going to fuck you. He does not even realize you are flirting with him.”
Owen rolled his eyes. He wasn’t entirely sure that was true. “Can you blame me for shooting my shot?”
“You did not do this when you were young,” he pointed out, pushing the chips across the table.
Owen scoffed. “The last time I saw him, we were seventeen or something and he didn’t look like… that.” He waved an arm toward the bar, where Shane’s shirt was riding up to give him a glorious hint of toned, golden abs. “He was a dork with fuckass bangs back then.”
Eli or whatever his name was broke into a giant smile and threw a hand over his mouth to muffle his laughter. “What?” Shane asked as he set a fresh mojito in front of Owen.
“I was just telling Owen here about meeting you for the first time.”
Shane smiled shyly and bumped their shoulders together. “Oh, yeah. We were like 17. Just a couple of kids really. It’s kinda crazy to think about,” he added, and Eli dropped a kiss on his forehead and stared pointedly at Owen over the top of Shane’s head. Shane huffed a little laugh and smiled up at Eli for a solid 45 seconds.
Yeah, Owen was forced to agree, he wasn’t leaving with Shane Hollander tonight. But he had the man’s phone number, and they would both be in Ottawa soon. His day might yet come.
(He could play the long game. 🥁)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“This is from the place I mentioned last week,” Luca explained as he handed a sweating plastic cup of green glop to Shane. Shane gave it a somewhat skeptical look. “Kale, spinach, mango, and I had them add chia seeds and ginger.”
“Thank you, Luca.”
“Stop trying to seduce my husband.” Ilya grinned at both of them.
Shane rolled his eyes; Luca turned red. “Yours has Biscoff in it,” Luca announced as he handed the cup to Ilya.
“This is why you are my favorite,” Ilya announced. “I forgive you for flirting with my beautiful husband.”
“Ilya. Luca is not flirting with me.”
“Like you would know.”
“Shut up,” Shane groused, taking a tentative sip of his drink. “Oh, wow, this is really good.” He glared at Ilya. “And I do so know when people are flirting with me.”
“Detroit. Last month. The guy who wanted threesome.”
“He did not!”
“Old friend from school in New York who thinks you are much hotter without ‘fuckass bangs’? Remember this one?”
“What? He was not flirting, Ilya.”
“Bartender at Elmo’s last week,” Luca added. The man had ‘accidentally’ splashed a drink on Shane and then proceeded to very thoroughly try to towel him off.
“You are both imagining things.”
“Hollander does not understand flirting. Shirtless man tries to show him bedroom and he asks about sconces.”
“Oh my god, I did not ask Scott Hunter about his sconces!”
Ilya and Luca both stared at him. “Scott Hunter? SCOTT HUNTER?? I was talking about first time you come to my house—”
“Oh, yeah, I guess I kinda blocked out a lot of that day. Sorry.”
Luca took a sip of his own smoothie to try to cover how very invested in this conversation he was. “No, no!” Ilya wagged a finger. “We are not changing the subject. When did Scott Hunter give you half-naked apartment tour, Shane?”
“I don’t know, years ago. It was after some fundraiser. I think his suit was just really uncomfortable.”
Luca choked on his smoothie. “I will kill him,” Ilya said at the same time that Shane muttered, “Do not threaten to kill him.”
“So how did you know that Ilya was interested?” Luca asked.
Shane looked down at his shoes and cleared his throat; Ilya gave a grin so wide that his face would ache. He patted Luca on the shoulder. “You are too young for this story,” he said. “But let us say that, if you want to flirt with Shane, smoothie is too subtle.”
“You’re such an asshole,” Shane moaned.
“You love me,” Ilya crooned.
“I guess,” Shane muttered.
Luca sighed as he followed them to the jetway. “Did you get the story?” LaPointe whispered as they watched the older men head to the back of the plane, still sniping at each other with ridiculously lovestruck faces. He shook his head. Those airport smoothies had been really expensive too. But he was still determined to solve the mystery. Maybe next time he would put vodka in the smoothies.