“Are you?” Taylor asks unexpectedly. “Am I what?” Looking up from the stove, Sid finds her watching him with an odd look on her face. “Happy.” It should be an easy question to answer.

Nolan flips to his messages, but as expected, it’s mostly just unoriginal openers—who’s going to respond to sup, honestly—and unflattering dick pics. He rolls his eyes and goes back to the profiles. He comes across one guy, just a scant two miles away, who actually has his face in his profile picture, which is a refreshing change. He’s cute, longish dark hair with a sneaky smile, and his name is Travis. Nolan has never started a conversation with anyone before, but again: antsy and horny. He debates for an embarrassingly long time over what to say and finally settles on something simple. And dumb, probably, but the magic of anonymity is that he doesn’t really give a shit. And at least it’s miles better than a dick pic of a soft dick, which Nolan didn’t know was actually a thing until he got more than one. The bar is low, is what he’s saying here.

Auston would never have thought of going to the ballet on his own.

Tyler Seguin is a very good wedding planner. Which is why he’s not freaking out that Jamie Benn of the Dallas fucking Stars is sitting in his office.