"Hey, man, I'm just telling you what I think." PK glanced sideways towards the iPad he had propped up on the other kitchen counter. He kept chopping, sliding his hands around the pile of scallions and scooping them up. He looked over again in time to see Carey roll his eyes.
Carey was sitting close enough to his screen PK could only see his head and tiny peeks of the apartment behind him. "We're not leaving Montreal just because you're bored."
PK scoffed at him. "I'm not bored. I'm the opposite of bored! Carey, listen, do you know how many times I go to the grocery store or a restaurant and nobody knows who the fuck I am? I'm just one more black face in the crowd and I get to do my business without anyone saying more than 'hello' and 'excuse me, dear.'"
He saw Carey's eyes narrow. "Who's calling you dear?"
"Man, that's just how it is. Focus, would you? You and me could go out clubbing and no one would tell you how you should have stopped that puck in the second."
PK added the last of the vegetables to the pan, gave a quick stir, and looked back at the screen. Carey was not quite frowning at him, but serious in a way that PK already knew the answer. Same answer as every time before. He held up a hand to forestall the same conversation they'd had twenty times already.
"I'm not saying they're gonna suddenly agree to trade you. Not even they're that stupid. I'm just saying -- you could come down a visit a guy." He shrugged, like he really didn't care, even though there were two things he missed most about being down in Nashville. The first was his family -- a hell of a lot closer before than they were now. But the other was this ugly mug staring at him, stonewall expression like he didn't want to be having this conversation again, either.
Carey nodded. "Oh, sure. I already told Angela."
PK blinked at him, but the fucker's expression didn't change. "You what?"
"We've got a four day break coming up and she wants to go someplace warm. She booked us a hotel, but she says if she doesn't see me for a few nights, she doesn't care --- something about a spa. She mentioned a theater she wants to visit that does that horrible music thing. She can see the show without either of us trying to stay awake through it." Carey's mouth gave that sort of half-smile that looked like a shrug, which PK totally got. Angela loved her husband, pretty much loved PK like a co-spouse, but she also loved having time to herself to do the things neither of them could stand.
"Wait, what?" PK glared at Carey. "You already have plans to visit."
Carey nodded, calm and unruffled like he hadn't just been fucking with PK for the last ten minutes. "That's why I called."
PK set the spatula down, then thought better of it and picked it up, wielding it like he was gonna bend Carey over and smack him with it. "Just for that, I am hanging with Angela the entire first night you're here."
Finally, Carey smiled at him. "No, you won't."
"No, I won't. But I am gonna get you for this. You're mean and I can't believe I love you."
"I love you too," Carey said, then he finally leaned back, away from the screen, and PK dropped his spatula. Fucker wasn't wearing a shirt.
"Are you even wearing pants?" PK demanded. "I ask because I'm cooking and I need to turn the fire off if we're having Skype sex."
"You can keep cooking," Carey told him, but his hand was moving down and doing something and the fuck was PK going to keep cooking. He turned the fire off on the stove and set the pan onto a cool burner and fuck that noise if he cared if he was gonna have to eat frozen food out of the freezer.
"Lemme get into the living room, don't start -- fuck you, do that again," he said as Carey made a very soft noise. Carey looked at him and PK pointed a finger. "I don't like you at all, you realise. You're evil and devious and no one should ever trust a goalie."
Carey just smiled, content and relaxed, and PK could see his shoulder moving, and what the hell was his hand even doing and why wasn't he letting PK see. He got settled on the couch and glared. "They told me not to hook up with the goalie. Malcolm warned me not to hook up with a goalie. Why I don't listen." He shook his head at himself.
Well, it was probably too late for that. But at least modern technology was making this long-distance relationship a little bit easier.
Now if something would just make Carey less of a evil, horrible fucker, that would be all right.