But there were times he felt different. As much as he hated to acknowledge them.
He recalled a recent night out with the boys, a low-key affair at a steakhouse that always gave them privacy. He and Eli and Karl chitchatting at the bar, ordering up a few jugs for their table. There was a girl—a really nice girl with cool-toned blonde hair and a hint of red to her cheeks and a dress with sunflowers on it that Blair rather liked.
Karl caught him looking, nudged him in the side, pestered him over and over to just grow a pair and talk to her. But Blair never did. And not for lack of nerves. He just wasn't sure how to navigate the world of the make- believe heterosexual.
Hockey had been his life for so long that he'd never had to fake being straight. Plenty of real life straight hockey dudes had no time for girlfriends.
"Yeah," he said, the word coming out in a sudden jolt. "Yeah, actually.
I have."
Nikita downed some more of his wine. "Eh," he said. "It sucks."
