Free Breakaway by Avon Gale Page A

day off, so he was hanging out, avoiding his apartment. “Was I not supposed to say that, about the burgers? Sorry. It’s just that I’m used to people being critical all the time. Is that not how restaurants work?”
    “Where are you from?” Mike asked bluntly, but he looked kind of amused.
    “Canada,” Lane answered, and the guy said “ah,” downed the rest of his drink, and stood up.
    “It’s good to meet you. Hey, if you get me a signed pennant or whatever hockey teams have, I’ll put it up on the wall. I didn’t know a whole sports team came in here. Are you guys any good?”
    “We’re first in our division right now,” Lane told him proudly.
    “Great,” Mike said, clearly having no idea what division he meant or what it was a division of . “You need any sponsors?”
    “Uh, probably? You should call the office, though. I just play hockey.” Lane took a pen and wrote a number on one of the coasters. “Here. This is the main office. I know that because if you look up Jacksonville Sea Storm in the phone book, this is the number you get, and if you call in the summer, you’ll just keep getting an answering machine and have to show up with your stuff and some cash and live at the Econo Lodge.”
    Mike pocketed the coaster and then backed slowly away from Lane. “Does he get hit in the head often? I hear that happens.”
    “Nope. He’s a flashy puck guy. People try and hit him in the head, but then other guys stop them.” Zoe beamed. “I’m fixin’ to be an expert about hockey, Mike. Watch out.”
    “I’m fixin’ to find me a bartender who knows what a ‘Robert Palmer’ is,” Mike answered, but he was smiling. “Later, Zoe. Nice to meet you, Lane.”
    “You too. And I really do like your milkshakes.” Lane watched him go, then turned back to Zoe. “He seems nice.”
    “Really? He’s okay. Smarmy guy. Sort of a sleaze.”
    “You called him by his first name, though.” Lane couldn’t imagine doing that to his bosses, who were all coaches.
    “He makes you. It’s a suggestion of false intimacy, and I hate it,” she told him bluntly. Lane just nodded like he understood that and wondered if it were too early for a milkshake, because suddenly he wanted one.
    “My parents thought we were dating,” he said, apropos of nothing, twirling his straw in his glass. He couldn’t look at Zoe. “Did you pick up on that, because I didn’t.”
    He looked up finally, when Zoe was quiet for so long that he thought maybe he should repeat himself. “I said—”
    “Yeah. I heard you,” she muttered, snatching his glass and filling it back up with the nifty soda dispenser, the one with all the buttons on it. Lane wanted to use that thing but he was concerned he’d get her fired if she let him.
    “I guess maybe I did… a little? I mean, I can see why they’d think that. We hang out. We shared a milkshake straw. You told them about the ocean view from my house,” she said, giggling. Her expression turned serious when he didn’t crack a smile. “They don’t know, though. Right? About… you know.” She raised her eyebrows.
    “Oh, they know,” Lane said, stabbing the glass with the straw. It was very unsatisfying.
    “What? Really?” Zoe leaned forward, her voice quiet. “You said you didn’t tell anyone.”
    “I didn’t,” Lane said flatly. He looked around, saw they were mostly alone, and said quietly, “I’ve had exactly one other best friend, before you. His name was Derek, and I had a crush on him. I was sixteen, and his family moved in next to mine. I was home from my major junior team, and we hung out and played street hockey and video games and shit. And one day we were in my room. The door was closed, and we were on my bed, and I just… got on top of him and kissed him.”
    “Hot.” She smiled, but it was clear she understood this story wouldn’t end well.
    “More like awkward and weird. But okay. I guess it was hot for two minutes, until my mom opened the door and