Page 36 of Delay of Game

“Yes,” Nate replied, automatically, and took a step backward. It was weird how sex had changed things. Normally, Zach would have already been hanging out in his room, or Nate would have been in Zach’s room, because even on the road they spent most of their time together. It was the longest he’d been alone during a regular season in a long time, and he knew exactly how sad that sounded even just in his own head.

He took another step back, and Zach took a step forward, completely negating his efforts.

“Hey, buddy.” Zach’s eyes were fixed solely on his face and that was probably a good thing. Normally, Nate would have felt self-conscious but for some reason he couldn’t look away to worry about it.

“Uh...hey. What’s up?”

“I was thinking,” Zach said, and grinned at him. This was a more regular Zach grin, one of the ones where Nate knew he was making fun of himself. “Yeah, I know, bad idea, but I was thinking...”

Nate’s normal reaction when Zach said something self-deprecating about his own intelligence was to cuff him on the arm and tell him to knock it the fuck off, but his mouth was too dry to say anything.

“So—I’m just gonna come out and say it. We hooked up twice, and we won twice, right?” He waited expectantly, and when Nate finally nodded, slowly, he beamed. “So it’s obviously good luck, right? Like a pregame ritual.”

“Uh...”

The smile didn’t falter, exactly, but Zach hesitated a second. “Uh, and if it’s good luck, we should keep doing it, right? Like...why mess with success?”

Nate felt a little like he was listening to another language, one that was almost adjacent to English but somehow didn’t make any sense. “You want to keep hooking up with me before games...for good luck?”

“Ferda, dude. And it makes perfect sense, right? We snapped our losing streak after the first time, and I blew you last night and we won and you got a hatty tonight, so I’d say that’s, like, a pretty good sample size so far, right?”

Nate stared at him, trying to see whether Zach was fucking with him. After the way things had ended last night, hehadto be fucking with him. But Zach stared back, all wide brown eyes and completely guileless smile, and it was clear that he was actually being serious.

Of course, it did make sense.

The first two times had been a drunken mistake on Nate’s part. Well, not a mistake, but definitely a drunken lowering of his inhibitions. But there had to have been some kind of reason Zach would want to do this withhim, when he could have had anyone. And they were both completely sober this time, which was...a step. And hockey playersweresuperstitious as hell.

The more he thought about it, the more it actually did make sense, even if it was a bizarre kind of sense.

He wasn’t sure how it made him feel.

Nate supposed it was good to be needed.

Still, it didn’t feel that great.

“So what do you say?” Zach pressed on, arms crossed over his chest. He looked nervous, although Nate had no idea why he would. It was just Nate. And he doubted Zach was rejected by anyone very often, let alone in times when the success of the team was riding on it.

“I mean—if you really think it would help.”

“’Course I do,” Zach said, like he was offended Nate would even question him. “You’re my good luck charm. So we’re good?”

“Uh...yeah. We’re good.”

“Sick,” Zach said, and extended his fist for Nate to bump.

Nate obliged with their secret handshake, warily, but before he could askare youreallysure about this?or anything like it, Zach was kissing him, sloppy and enthusiastic, and Nate was a weak and helpless bastard who couldn’t help giving in.

When they finally pulled apart for air, Nate must have looked about as confused as he felt, because Zach said, “Cap, come on, we’re playing Carolina tomorrow.”

“Oh—you want to—now?”

“You got other pressing business?” Zach said. His voice had dropped a little, a husky tease, and his thumb traced a line over Nate’s stomach and hooked into the waistband of his boxers for a second before dipping lower. “I can leave...”

“I—uh—oh, god. No. Please don’t.”

And then Zach was kissing him again, and Nate let himself have this, however stupid it was to do it.

Later on, lying on his back and trying to catch his breath, Nate was pretty sure he had beard burn on one of his thighs. It was marginally uncomfortable, but he had the unaccountable urge to press his fingers against it. He could still taste Zach in his mouth, and it should have been gross, but it wasn’t. Nate stared at the ceiling and thought,god damn.