Page 11 of Bro Code

“How many guys did we trade to get stuck with this asshole?” yelled number seven, as Riley fucked up a line change and sent his third-line defenseman out into a head-on collision.

“Three,” Liam Harris yelled back, as Nic Arsenault helped the defenseman up off the ice.

Riley watched Arsenault loop back down the ice toward Liam, who for once wasn’t tracking Arsenault’s every move – but only because he was busy looking daggers at Riley. Ten minutes later, when Riley was skating for the puck on a breakaway, Liam came out of nowhere and slammed him out of the way so Nic could intercept. Technically legal, but it felt overly forceful. As Liam skated away, he glared at Riley over his shoulder.

Great. Even Liam Harris hated him.

In the locker room afterward, Riley kept his head down and lingered in the shower, breathing in the steam and smell of shampoo while he waited for everyone to clear out. He came back to find the room empty, and started slowly changing into his street clothes.

He’d just pulled on his boxers when a voice behind him said, “Bit of a rough start, eh?”

Arsenault was leaning on the door jamb with his arms folded, in jeans and a zip-up hoodie. His stupid golden hair damp and slightly curly. Watching Riley with an expression Riley couldn’t read: somewhere between calculating and amused.

Riley turned back to his locker and pulled out his jeans. “What do you want?”

“Boy, great question. Short term? Probably a sando and a nap. Long term? Good career, great sex, toilet made of solid gold. Kids, maybe. You?”

Ignoring him, Riley shook open the jeans and stuck his foot in one side of them. He could feel Arsenault watching him as he pulled them on. “Enjoying the show?” he said, looking over his shoulder. “They don’t have Grindr here, or what?”

Arsenault pushed off the wall and came over. He surveyed Riley with his arms folded as Riley buttoned his fly, then sighed and clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m trying to start a dialogue so you don’t feel like every single person on this team is out to get you.”

“Uh huh. Thanks.” Seems like maybe you should start a dialogue with your boyfriend, because it definitely feels like he’s out to get me.

“I’m sorry things went down this way. For what it’s worth, I think the way they handled this was shameful.”

Riley looked down and reached for the t-shirt in his locker. Arsenault’s hand was heavy on his bare shoulder, and he shrugged it off as he pulled on the shirt and nudged the locker closed. He’d come here with his grudge against Nic fully formed and he wasn’t ready to drop it so easily. Logically, he knew that was dumb: it wasn’t Nic’s fault that Rick had been too busy with him to have Riley’s back.

Logically, he knew that. But Arsenault was the one who suggested he signed Rick in the first place.

He grabbed his duffel bag and found his phone in it, stuck it in his back pocket, and looked up.

“Great,” he said, slinging the bag onto his shoulder. “You’re sorry. That really changes things for me, doesn’t it?”

He shouldered Nic aside as he went out.

Five minutes later, he came around a corner into the lobby and ran headfirst into someone coming the other way. Riley stopped short as the guy stumbled backward, making a surprised little noise that was something like, “Woy!”

He lost his balance as his feet tangled and he fell backward onto his ass, the tablet he’d had under his arm clattering onto the floor.

“Shit, sorry!” Riley dumped the duffel bag off his shoulder and knelt to pick up the tablet. The guy he’d hit scrambled to his knees, pushing a pair of glasses up his nose with two fingers.

“Mon Dieu, sorry, sorry,” he muttered, looking around to see what he’d dropped.

“No worries, that was probably my fault.”

“No, no, it’s usually me,” said the other guy, reaching for the tablet as well, and quickly withdrawing his hand when he realized Riley’s was already there.

Riley stood up, and the guy finished looking around and stood too, meeting Riley’s eye.

Riley’s stomach lurched.

He knew this guy from somewhere. A skinny black guy with a fade and a pair of pretty brown eyes behind square glasses. He was wearing a black button down shirt with the top button open, and a Montreal Canadiens lanyard around his neck. And he was extremely fucking cute.

“Oh,” said the guy.

“Hey,” said Riley, “Uh…” Shit, where did he know this guy from?

The man watched him very obviously struggle to remember his name, then said, a little tersely, “Louis.”