The locker room is loose, proud, and jocular after the game, as if anything other than David’s line and their goaltending contributed to the final score. David bites down the thought. He pats Knutsen on the shoulder on his way to the showers because he genuinely earned the shutout, even if the opposing offence was pathetic, since the Islanders D was as lazy as the Panthers’ was.

When he exits the locker room he’s expecting Jake to be lounging against the far wall, and when he isn’t, he tries to push down the feeling of disappointment for a moment before he pulls his phone out, refusing to just swallow it.

Being a sore loser? he texts, sends it after a moment of pause, because Jake isn’t the kind of person who would be, and he’ll probably just find it funny.

have to go to bed early, Jake texts back. big date tmrw :).

David rolls his eyes and calls him before he can rethink that either.

“What’s up?” Jake asks, enough noise in the background that it’s clear he’s still in the locker room.

“Are you seriously just going back to the hotel?” David asks.

“I don’t know,” Jake says. “Do you have a better offer?”

“Come get a drink?” David asks. “Or food. Or whatever.”

“Are you asking me out?” Jake says, sounding delighted.

“What do you think?” David asks, instead of answering.

“Meet you the usual place?” Jake asks. “Gimme ten.”

It takes him twelve. A number of Islanders filter out before he arrives, eyeing David askance when they see him standing outside the room, and he’s fidgety, uncomfortable by the time Jake finally gets there. He tugs David into a loose hug that’s the norm in hockey playing circles, but it still gets a raised eyebrow from Eisler on his way out because David doesn’t submit to hugs except on the ice. He used to go stiff the second Eisler would sling an arm around him, obvious enough that Eisler doesn't now, thankfully.

They go out for dinner, or more of a snack, really, splitting a couple appetizers at a place Jake’s sister told him to check out. It’s busy even at eleven, but just quiet enough that they manage to get a table, formal enough that it’s a good thing they’re wearing game day suits. The appetizers are so tiny that David’s still hungry after his fill, but everything tastes good, the kind of carefully crafted food David doesn’t usually have the patience for with thousands of calories to barrel through daily just to maintain his weight. The bill’s total makes him wince, especially considering how little they ate, but he reaches for it anyway.

“Rock-paper-scissors?” Jake says.

“It’s fine, I’ll pay,” David says.

“Rock-paper-scissors,” Jake insists.

David rolls his eyes at him.

“I’ll go up front and pay at the bar if you don’t play me for this,” Jake threatens.

“Fine,” David sighs.

Jake wins — or loses — the battle, refuses to play best two out of three, and slides his credit card into the billfold while David scowls at him.