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He’s in a bar in Toronto with at least a dozen other NHL players. On a scale of “face of the franchise” to “back and forth from the minors,” Jeff would place himself firmly in the category of “I own property in my team’s city.” He’s not struggling, some people know his name, but he’s not, say, Patrick Kane. And Patrick Kane is in this bar, somewhere, probably with all the other NHL guys, which is precisely where Jeff is not located. He invited some of his friends out, and is standing with them around a table near the bar, away from the booths, talking about fall semester and spending time abroad.
He hears a few manly “whoos!” from the other side of the bar in the middle of Joe’s sentence about the pros and cons of Spain. When he looks over, he sees 3 hockey players standing on the, somewhat tiny, Karaoke stage.
“We’re going to get this karaoke started the right way!” T.J. Oshie yells into the microphone. “Kaner, you start it off.”
Patrick nods and starts bobbing his head, microphone at the ready, to “Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy.” Once he starts singing, it’s loud and proud and entirely off key.
“You know those guys,” his friend Angie asks him because they all stopped talking and averted their attention to those whom are seeking it.
“Uh, yea,” Jeff says, “That guys singing right there is Patrick Kane, 2 time Stanley Cup winner. The first guy is T.J. Oshie, American shootout savior and the last one is another guy that plays for Chicago, Bollig, their enforcer type.”
“Great singers,” Angie says, eye roll apparent in her voice. “Although they should probably keep their day jobs.”
The trio only do one song, before they are pushed off the stage by a duo who can actually sing. Jeff thinks the entire bar sighs in relief. Because now they don’t have to pretend to be charmed by these horrible singers, and dancers, because they are professional hockey players. Toronto is fickle in that sort of way. Hockey is part of their culture, part of their identity, which makes hockey players both heroes and everyday people at the same time. Because, they’re everywhere, especially in the summertime, and so it gets a little exhausting to have to always be in awe of the stupid shit they do. Because back in their cities, in Chicago and St. Louis, even in Raleigh, the public would hang on every word any player had to say, or sing. And, Jeff knows how hard it can be to switch up your attitude, as a hockey player, and your perspective on how the people around you will react when you are no longer someone who is completely anonymous to the greater public.
Joe picks up his thought about southern Spain being your best bet and Jeff continues to nod along to what they have to say. He doesn’t have anything to add, but he doesn’t mind listening. It’s nice.
Jeff feels a hand on his shoulder a few minutes later. He sees Angie’s smirk and Joe’s eyes widen before he turns around and sees it’s Patrick Kane.
“You like my song, Skinner?” Patrick asks. Jeff can tell he’s been drinking, but he’s not drunk. He’s still steady on his feet.
“Beautiful,” Jeff says backs, turning his back to his friends and fully facing Kane.
“Thanks, man,” Pat says pushing his elbow out to tap Jeff’s forearm. “These your friends?” Jeff nods his head yes. “You hanging with them all night?”
“Nah, gonna head home, get some sleep before camp tomorrow,” Jeff tells him.
Pat takes a sip of the drink in his hand looking up at Jeff and nodding his head. “You should come back and hang with me for a bit before you go home,” Patrick says, sounding both casual and seductive at the same time. Maybe it’s the way he’s looking up at Jeff, even if he’s not that much shorter than him, through his eyelashes. His cheeks are flushed, and Jeff can feel his starting to match.
“Yea?” Jeff says back, because what is he supposed to say to Patrick fucking Kane when he says something like that to you? Is he propositioning Jeff, right here, at this bar in Toronto while he’s hanging out with his friends? Jeff’s heard the things about Patrick, because he’s part of the small club of dudes who are living inside a glass box when it comes to their sexuality inside the NHL. But, he doesn’t do casual, especially not with other hockey players.
“Yea, I’m staying at the hotel right by the rink, you know the one?”
“Yea, I know,” Jeff tells him because he can’t say no, even though he should.
“Room 1807, I’m leaving in 10,” Patrick says and slaps Jeff on the shoulder, “See you soon?”
“Uh,” Jeff says, thinks for a second, blinks his eyes a few times, to make sure Pat is actually standing in front of him, looking at him, waiting for an answer. “Yea, see you soon.”
_____
Jeff finishes his drink and tells a white lies to his friends. He doesn’t tell them he’s going home, he tells them he’s leaving, and says his goodbyes to everyone trying to pretend he’s not nervous as fuck.
Because Jeff doesn’t do casual sex. All the friends he is standing at a table with know and he’s doesn’t want to explain to them that he’s going to Patrick Kane’s hotel room to not have sex with him. That he’s fucking curious about why he’s been invited up to Kane’s hotel room, about why him and he’s too bushy tailed not to follow up on his curiosity.
But, that doesn’t mean he’s going to break his own rule and jump into bed with Patrick. Because there are reasons why he doesn’t do casual and the biggest one is that it doesn’t feel good to him. Every time he’s been picked up out somewhere and gone back to their place, he is always felt bad about it in the morning. Empty and feeling like he shouldn’t have done it. He’s not sure why, he’s never traced the fucking feelings back to his childhood with some therapy session, but he knows he doesn’t like the feeling it gives him, personally, on the morning after. So, he stopped doing it. And, as he has explained to his friends, it doesn’t mean he thinks it’s wrong for everyone. It’s perfectly fine for two consenting adults to do whatever two consenting adults want to do, he’s not one to judge but, bottom line, it doesn’t work for him.
So, when he knocks on Patrick Kane’s hotel room door and the man himself opens it wearing a pair of basketball shorts and a white tank top, one of the first things Jeff says to him after Pat invites him in is, “I don’t do casual sex.”
He blurts it out and he knows his face turns super red afterwards because he can feel it happening. Patrick laughs a little and says, “Want to watch The Hunger Games? I just ordered it on Pay-Per-View,” in response.
“Uh,” Jeff responds, “Is that why you invited me here? To watch The Hunger Games?”
“I invited you here,” Patrick says, sitting down on the bed, “Because you seem like a cool guy, from what I gather from camp the past few days, and you looked fucking cute as hell standing around that table with all your friends tonight, so, yeah, I invited you back here to watch The Hunger Games.”
“Uh,” Jeff says, a little stunned, ‘Yea, let’s, uh, watch it.”
Jeff joins Patrick on the bed after contemplating going to sit in the chair, but quickly realizing how uncomfortable and awkward that would be. He’s not fucking scared of Patrick Kane. Jeff is pretty sure he can throw a better punch, although neither of them are known for their fighting prowess. “So have you read the books?”
Patrick looks over, there is a good six inches between them, “Yup, loved ‘em,” he says with a small grin on his face.
“Really?” Jeff says, voice getting higher at the end, skeptical.
“What you don’t think I read? I got one of those Kindle things, read on the plane all the time,” Pat tells him. “Have you?”
“Yea, but I like to read actual books, none of that digital shit,” Jeff tells him. He’s a purist, although it doesn’t surprise him that Patrick isn’t.
“Aren’t you fucking cool, eh?” Pat says back and scoots a few inches closer to him on the bed.
“Try not to cry when Rue dies,” Jeff says matching Patrick’s movements so their shoulders are touching.
“Oh, I will,” Patrick says smiling full.
_____
Jeff wakes up in Patrick’s hotel room, fully clothed, and on the opposite of the bed . He rolls over and sees a peacefully sleeping Patrick Kane, his chest moving slowly up and down in a perfect rhythm, his face lightly resting upon the pillow, expression serene and cute as hell (as Patrick would say). He just lays there and watches him for a bit, thinking about how, if things were different, if he didn’t play in Carolina and Patrick didn’t play in Chicago, that maybe something could happen between them. Because Jeff had a great time last night, and he didn’t even flinch when Jeff told him about the no sex thing. Also, he did tear up a little bit when Rue died. Which Jeff thinks is endearing as hell.
Patrick’s eyes flutter open then, blinking a few times before focusing on Jeff. “Morning,” he grunts out, voice sweet with morning hoarseness.
“Morning,” Jeff says back, voice equally rough, looking away before Patrick catches on to him, to what he is thinking. “I should go home and shower before camp.”
“You should,” Patrick starts before clearing his throat just a little, “You have to stay for breakfast-free food.”
Jeff smiles because this is a Patrick Kane he never thought he would see and, if he let himself think it, it’s a version of Patrick Kane he’d loved to continue to see. “We eat free food all the fucking time, Kane.”
“Free food is free food, Skinner,” Pat says, sitting up on his elbows and yawning like a fucking baby kitten.
“Nah, I should probably get back,” Jeff says moving to get out of bed. There is going to be a lot of other NHL players down at the hotel breakfast area and he doesn’t want them to get the wrong idea. They know he lives here, that he’s not staying at the hotel and none of them are going to believe the two of them spent the night together watching The Hunger Games.
“Come on, Jeff. Have breakfast with me.” Jeff is out of bed now, putting his flip flops back on. Patrick is sitting up, blankets still draped across his lower half, looking up at Jeff with sleepy eyes and a red mark from the pillow across his left cheek.
“Is this,” Jeff says going to stand at the end of the bed, “Are you trying...”
“Am I trying what?” Pat says as he rubs one eye. “Trying to have breakfast with you? Or are you still hung up on why I would want to hang out with you without some ulterior motive?”
The embarrassment hits Jeff in the face first, like always, cheeks turning hot. He sticks his hands in his pockets before saying, “This isn’t about that then?”
“About wanting to have sex with you?” Jeff nods. “Look, Jeff, I’m not against the idea of hooking up, but if you don’t want to-that’s cool. I hang out with people for other reasons than sex.”
“People you bring home from bars?” Jeff asks because the embarrassment has subsided and his curiosity has taken over.
“You’re not exactly a stranger,” Pat answers.
“Yea, but, we don’t know each very well, other than the fact that we’re both in the NHL’s glass closet, as my fucking agent says.”
Patrick actually sighs, shoulders visibly moving up and down against the wall behind the bed. “You’re fucking difficult, Skinner, with your fucking questions and fucking declarations, Jesus.”
“I’m sorry,” Jeff says sitting down on the end of the bed, back to Pat. “My sisters always tell me I ask too many questions.”
“Sisters, eh?” Pat says, “How many?”
“Four,” Jeff tells him turning his body around to face Pat again.
“You’ve got me beat, I’ve only got three,” Pat says. He looks so fucking innocent sitting up in this hotel room bed, his summer short hair still managing to stick up in weird ways, his eyes red around the edges, the mark on his face fading, but still there. And this, Jeff thinks, this is the reason he doesn’t do casual sex. Because he can look at Patrick today and feel like there is so much more here. He doesn’t usually sleep in the same bed with people he's not in a relationship with, so seeing Patrick like this is even more enticing. It’s kind of scary, if he thinks about it, because he can see himself pining for so much more. And he can’t, because he plays in Carolina and Patrick plays in Chicago.
“I have a brother, too,” Jeff says after he lets himself focus again.
“Lucky you,” Pat says stretching his arms up above his head, a small yawn escaping his mouth.
“So,” Jeff says putting his hand out to tap Pat’s shin, “Breakfast?”
“Breakfast,” Pat repeats nodding his head, a smile forming across his face. “Help me up?” he asks, holding a hand out for Jeff to grab.
_____
They luck out and are the only ones in the dining room when they go down to breakfast. Apparently they missed the memo that everyone was going to the Irish Pub down the street for their epic brunch. Pat tells him he after they’ve sat down he got the text this morning, but didn’t look at it until they were in the elevator. Something tells Jeff that Patrick might be fibbing to him a little bit about when he saw the text. Maybe it’s the mischievous smile he gives Jeff when he tells him.
Turns out that he and Patrick have a lot in common. There’s the sisters, the Ontario Hockey League, the Calder Trophy, the glass closet. And Patrick is charming, funny in the way in which it’s obvious he’s trying, but it still works for him. He dotes on Jeff, too. Getting up to get him a new fork when his drops on the floor, giving him the rest of his orange juice when Jeff says he’s going to get more.
It turns out, Jeff thinks as he walks back to his car at the parking ramp near the bar, that Patrick Kane this big fucking surprise presence in his life and Jeff isn’t sure how to feel about it.
_____
It’s the last day of camp, so they end early and have a mini banquet thing at the hotel in the mid afternoon. Jeff doesn’t talk much to Patrick because he stays with his crowd, Oshie, Bollig, Shaw, Parise and Jeff sticks with his, Staal (Jared), Subban, Lindholm. But, when he gets up to go to the bathroom, Patrick is a few steps behind him.
Patrick, because he is a decent guy, doesn’t take the urinal next to him, and, because he’s a truly a decent guy, doesn’t say anything to him until they are both at the sinks.
“I’m not leaving tonight,” Pat says to him as they are both washing their hands.
“No?” Most of the guys have flights out tonight.
“Nah,” Pat tells him while handing him a paper towel. “You got plans?”
“Tonight?” Jeff says, drying his hands off.
“Yea, fucking tonight,” Pat says stepping a few inches closer to Jeff.
“Right, uh, I don’t think so.” They are standing close now, only a few inches between them. Jeff can feel the fucking electricity between them, and it’s so fucking scary.
“You want to do something? Hang out? Go to a movie? Play some video games?” Patrick says, eyes traveling across Jeff’s face like they are trying to make a map.
“Uh,” Jeff says because it’s taking his brain a few seconds to catch up. “Why don’t you come over to my place and we can figure it out.”
Patrick steps away from Jeff and smiles, “Text me your address.”
“I’ve got to take Jared to the airport, but I will be home after that,” Jeff says as Patrick makes his way to the door.
“K,” Pat says, leaving the bathroom and leaving Jeff with an elevated heart rate.
_____
Once he gets back to his place, he texts Pat his address and the confirmation that he’s invited to come hang. Jeff tries to tidy things up a little bit, put the dirty clothes in the hamper, the used dishes in the dishwasher before he can psych himself out and tell Patrick he’s changed his mind. Then, there’s a buzz at his phone.
Jeff had turned on the NHL network when he got home, so when Patrick walks into his living room, complimenting him on his place, the Blackhawks 2013 Stanley Cup winning game is on in the background.
“Good game, eh?” Pat says pointing to the TV. Jeff’s cheeks go a little red.
“For you,” Jeff says, “Eh?”
“One of the better ones,” Pat says sitting down on the couch.
Jeff goes to join him, picking up the remote, “I just always have it on this channel, we can watch something else. I dvr’d some movies.”
“Whatever,” Pat tells him, “I’m up for whatever.”
Jeff starts paging through his DVR library, thinking about what he knows about Patrick and his taste in movies. Seconding guessing his entire way down the page.
“So. You own this place?” Pat asks him. He’s looking at Jeff, not the TV.
“Nah, I rent,” Jeff says. “Can’t decide what neighborhood to buy in, so I rent something each year.”
“Nice. I like this area.”
“Yea,” Jeff says looking over at Patrick and smiling, “Me too.”
He ends up putting it back on NHL network because he can’t decide what to watch and Patrick tells him he truly does not care.
With a game which put Patrick’s name on the Cup for the second time playing in the background, Jeff and Patrick chat like two people on a first date. They talk more about their families, they favorite foods, their favorite arenas in which to play.
It’s during the third period when Patrick, who has progressively moved closer to Jeff on the couch so now they’re inches apart, says, “Have you dated any hockey players?”
“Uh,” Jeff stalls because he doesn’t usually tell people this, but, “Yea.”
“Who?” Patrick says. When Jeff hangs his head a little bit and wrings his hands, he urges him on with, “Tell me.”
“Uh, Gabriel Landeskog?” Jeff says like it’s a question.
Patrick punches Jeff on the shoulder, “No way. I didn’t even know he was gay.”
“He’s not,” Jeff says. “He’s, uh, bi.” He’s never told anyone on his team about Gabe, because Gabe had asked him not to when they broke up right at the start of his Rookie season. “We played together, in Kitchener.”
“Wow,” Patrick says like he doesn’t believe him, like maybe he doesn’t think Jeff is on Gabe’s level. “Landeskog, eh?”
“Yea.” Jeff feels a little bad, because of telling Gabe’s secret and Patrick’s reaction.
“For how long?”
“About 8-9 months,” Jeff says. When Patrick doesn’t follow up with any other questions, he focuses back on the game. But, he can feel Patrick’s eyes on him. Eventually, he can’t take it anymore and looks back over at Patrick.
He is looking at Jeff. He’s got this expression on his face, like he’s trying to fucking read Jeff’s mind. Jeff kind of shrugs his shoulders up to ask Patrick what he’s looking at, what he’s thinking.
“Lucky guy,” Patrick eventually says. Jeff begins to open his mouth to agree that he was lucky to be with Gabe when Patrick continues with, “That fucking Landeskog is one lucky fucking guy.”
Jeff bunches his eyebrows in confusion, then allows himself to smile slightly once he comprehends what Patrick said. He can see that Patrick is planning on saying something else, but Jeff stops him with a kiss.
He can tell Pat is initially surprised, but he matches Jeff’s enthusiasm quickly. When they pull away after a little bit, Patrick looks Jeff right in the eyes and says, “You know we don’t have to.”
Jeff kisses him again, quick, before saying, “I want to.” He pushes their lips back together and intensifies the kiss.
They make out on his couch for awhile, testing each other out, enjoying the excitement of kissing someone for the first time. And it is fucking exciting. Jeff is fucking excited. Because, it doesn’t matter right now that Pat’s going to leave tomorrow and that he plays in Chicago and Jeff plays in Carolina. Because, this feels too good and Jeff’s going to let himself feel it.
“You know,” Patrick says after he pulls away from Jeff, “Buffalo is only, like, an hour from here.”
“Is that where you’re spending the rest of your summer?” Jeff asks, looking back and forth between Pat’s red lips and blue eyes.
“It can be,” Pat says. “It is now.”
“Yea,” Jeff says, “Yea, Okay.” He gets up off the couch and holds a hand out for Pat to take. “Come on.”
The smile on Pat’s face here in Jeff’s living room as he takes his hand is almost as big as the one on his face on the screen in Jeff’s living room as he is handed the Stanley Cup.
Almost.