Page 23 of Delay of Game
Nate watched him walk away, striding confidently, purposefully, through the crowd. A man on a mission, secure in the fact that no one who’d ever seen him hadn’t thought,god, he’s fucking hot.
The same thing happened with Hailey, Madison, Taylor, and Emily. By the time Hannah walked away rolling her eyes, Nate was extremely drunk, and Zach was looking at him with a combination of pity and horror.
“My god, dude,” he said, after they finished their latest round of shots.
Nate didn’t want to think about the tab, between what they’d drank between them and the drinks he’d bought the girls Zach had roped. Zach was drunk enough now that he was listing sideways a little, like a ship on a rough ocean. No—more accurately, like the Leaning Tower of Pisa, because neither the tower nor Zach were moving. Zach tilted against Nate, used Nate’s body for support. And Nate let him do it, which the small part of his brain he usually ignored said was a bad idea, but the rest of him liked too much to stop.
“What?”
“Is this really how you are when you go out, like all the time?”
“I don’t know, I don’t like... I don’t go out a lot.”
“You go out with us all the time.”
“Yeah, but that’s with the boys, I’m not like—not like trying to pick up.”
“Why not?” Zach said, looking up at Nate, his eyes wide, like he was seriously confused. “Anyone would like... Any girl would be like lucky to have you, you know?”
Nate thought,I’m not drunk enough for this. He said, “I, uh, I don’t know about that.”
Zach patted his forearm reassuringly. “Don’t worry, bud. I promised I’d get you laid and New Zach keeps his fuckin’ promises, all right?”
“I...” Nate’s teeth worried his lower lip and he blinked when Zach’s hazy eyes focused very sharply on his mouth. “I’d rather just go home.”
“But—”
“I’m just... Can we just play video games or something? I’m not really—I don’t really want to—” He could feel the frustration with himself rising hot and sick in his chest. If he did pick up a girl, he’d go home with her and he’d do or say something awkward and he’d hate himself in the morning and he wouldn’t feel any better anyway. But if he went home and hung out with Zach, he wouldn’t be embarrassed. It would just be—it would be like normal. “I just want to go home.”
“Hey,” Zach said, so reassuring that Nate almost melted with relief right then and there, “hey, buddy, ’course we can go home, okay?”
“Thanks,” he said, voice rough, low. God, he was an embarrassing fucking mess, wasn’t he? Amazing Zach still put up with him, really.
But Zach wasn’t just putting up with Nate—Zach was leading him right back out of the bar and down the elevator and requesting a Lyft while they both lurched in place, too drunk to stand quite straight unless they were leaning against each other. Zach kept grabbing Nate’s arm, like he wanted to make sure Nate didn’t fall over without him, a curiously solicitous gesture that warmed the pit of Nate’s stomach.
By the time they got back to Nate’s place, he wasn’t exactly sobering up, but the stress of the whole night buzzing through him still felt like being trashed twice as bad. He kicked off his shoes and dropped his keys on the little table by the door and started toward the kitchen. “You want anything to drink?”
“Sure,” Zach said, using the toe of one shoe to step out of the other one, “whatever you got.”
Nate poured them both the last of the Red Brick whiskey he had left, and said, “Cheers.” He tried not to stare at Zach drinking, the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed. His head was going to weird fucking places these days. “So...video games?”
“Whatever you want, dude,” Zach said, patting him on the hand. “I made you go out, so you can pick the game, I guess?”
“I dunno,” Nate said, and partially sat but mostly collapsed onto the couch, Zach following after him. He had most of the usual hockey player favorites, but he didn’t really feel likeCall of DutyorBattlefield. There were always the old standbys, though. “Chel?”
Of course. The old standby of hockey players everywhere: playingmorehockey on a videogame console. “Hah. Sure. But I’m playing the Cons.”
“Bastard,” Nate said, without rancor, but it was actually difficult to choose a replacement team. He always played as the Cons when it was just him, or usually when the rest of the team was here. Only Zach was comfortable enough to insist. Nate would probably choose a Western Conference team because there were less built-in rivalries, like the Edmonton Skyhawks or the Calgary Stampede. Even the Winnipeg Falcons. A team that didn’t matter at all.
Once they got settled, he let Zach pick first, but then stared at the screen for long enough that Zach started elbowing him in the side. The couch was big enough to seat four or six people, but they were sitting close enough that it was easy to reach, close enough that Nate could feel the warmth of Zach’s body leaning into his entire side.
“Come on, dude, you gotta pick,” Zach said, his bony elbow digging painfully into Nate’s hip.
“Give me a sec—”
“No, come on, make up your mind—”
“Ow—”