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I glance around, trying not to be obvious I’m looking for him. I drink my beer and tell myself to quit staring at the door like I’m just waiting for him to-.
And then he’s there, in the bar, walking towards me. I know I’m staring at him and I force myself to look away.
Holy shit what is he wearing? Is that a suit? He doesn’t wear suits. Why is he in a suit? Why does he look so fucking good? And I saw he was looking right at me as he walked in. My mind starts asking questions I wish it wouldn’t. “Did she put him in that suit?” “Did she help him get dressed?” “Did she-“, fuck he’s rounded the corner of the bar and is almost by me.
I down the rest of my beer muttering “ok” and try to brace myself. I can’t react, no matter how bad it is. Whatever he tells me I have to act like I don’t care. I take a deep breath as he pulls out the chair next to me and sits down.
Fuck Hollander. He even smells good. Fuck.
A waiter appears behind us asking, “Can I offer you something to drink?”
“I’ll have the same as my teammate please,” Shane’s voice is calm. I need to make sure I sound the same but I can’t speak yet. I motion to the waiter I’d like another beer as well.
I sniff and move my thumbs against my empty bottle. I have to get ahold of myself. Ask him something casual, something simple. Like why is he ordering a beer? Shane doesn’t drink. Or he didn’t. Maybe he does now. Maybe he drinks and wears suits and has completely moved on from…whatever it was we were doing. I clear my throat to steady myself and pray my voice doesn’t sound as anxious as I feel.
“So, what, are they out of ginger ale, Captain.”
I made sure to throw “Captain” in at the end, make it about hockey. That was safe.
God I hate this. I hate that I have to measure what I’m saying to him.
How did we get here?
Because I got reckless and stopped weighing my words.
I force my mind back on Shane as he answers me.
“I’m feeling a bit wild.” He says and I can hear the smile in his voice without looking. It makes me smile. I can’t help it.
Something is different in Shane, I can feel it.
*Rose Landry is what’s different!* the ugly and mean parts of my brain yell at me. You know why he looks and seems different. Best prepare for what’s coming.
“So this should be fun huh? I’ve always wondered what it would be like to play on the same team.”
His words surprise me. He’s wondered that? Because so have I. More that I’d ever admit. Us, on the same line. We’d be unstoppable. But I have to survive this conversation first, then I might be able to focus on the game.
I raise my eyebrows, knowing he’s looking at me (I can see his beautiful freckles and his cute grin just out of the corner of my eye and am oddly grateful I’m not looking at him directly. I can’t. Not just yet)
“Have you?” Is all I say.
“Yeah I have.”
My nerves are getting the best of me, I can’t stop fidgeting. A fear is building he’s trying to let me down gently with whatever news he’s about to drop. I wish like hell I could stop, just be still. I stare out towards the pool and Shane keeps talking.
“Nice that’s it’s in Florida this year right?”
My mind snaps back to us on my couch, listing favorite places to play and how I told him Florida was full of Boston people, how they love me here. It seems too familiar and I bristle.
“Yes,” I say as plainly as I can, hoping I’ve masked the hurt his simple question brought up. I keep my face fully turned away as well, just in case I’m not covering it as well as I want to. I sense a shift in him beside me. Did he see my face somehow?
The waiter sets our beers down and I pass him my empty bottle.
I need to know if he’s here alone. I need to just get this over with. If he’s dragging this out, thinking he can create a softer landing for telling me he’s done with me and truly moved on with Rose then…Gospodi even thinking that makes my entire body ache.
“Did, uh, did you bring anyone with you?” I ask, taking a drink and daring to look at him now.
“My parents thought about coming but they’re going to Mexico, in, like two weeks, and they’ve been to these before so…,” he says.
I should have known he’d not understand what I was really asking. I can’t fight the small grin that tugs at my lips as I simply say, “Ah.”
God I can’t stop looking at him.
I’m even more grateful that he doesn’t seem to want to be looking anywhere but at me.
Fuck, what are we doing?
“Also, I didn’t feel like being managed this weekend.”
I take a moment to look straight ahead because that statement wasn’t lost on me.
But he could mean he didn’t want his mother bothering him and his girlfriend.
“Did you, uh, bring anybody?” He asks.
I look right at him, his freckles somehow darker in the last few seconds, his brown eyes prettier too yet part of me wants to answer him with all the sarcasm in the world.
But instead I just focus my eyes on his, shake my head and say “Nope.” And I keep looking at him as I take another drink of my beer.
He looks away. Is he relieved? Did he really think I’d brought someone? He looks back and it’s quiet between us, each staring at the other. The music in the bar, the low chatter of the people around us and yet, it’s somehow just the two of us right now.
Everyone can see us. I know they can.
We don’t care.
Shane is the only one I care to look at.
He grins at me, glances down.
“Nice shirt.”
“Thanks. I like to, you know, get into the spirit.”
I look right into his eyes. His pretty brown eyes and then he says,
“Well you’re pulling it off,” a smirk on his face and then he licks his lips. And I’m grateful I’m sitting. He’s never been like this in public before.
I want to be more worried about who might be seeing us right now but can’t because we’re surprised by Vaughn, already several beers deep.
“Cats and dogs,” he announces and wraps an arm around each of our shoulders. “Haha, look at this! Fucking beauties!”
“Yeah, it should be a fun time.” Shane says and he’s smiling. Does he like this? Because I don’t. I don’t want us interrupted. I need answers. Not stupid teammates (for this weekend anyway) bothering us.
“Careful with this guy.” Vaughn slaps my back and I just want him to go away. I look at Shane and smile, raise my eyebrows in an effort to play along. “You can never trust him.”
“One black coffee please, for this guy.” I call out. God take the hint Vaughn, just go away.
“Oh I’m just fucking with you Rozy. It’ll be a hell of a time. Let’s go East boys!” Slaps my back one more time and cheers but finally, thankfully, leaves.
I side eye his departure as Shane laughs.
“I feel like we’re gonna get a lot of that sort of thing this weekend.”
I know he’s not wrong. Everyone has been talking about us being on the same team for the first time. It’s probably the only reason Shane felt like he could sit next to me and not be worried.
There couldn’t be another reason. Could there?
I keep my focus on him as I say “It should give us a chance to get to know each other.” I don’t hide my smile as I continue. “Who knows what we might have in common.”
He smiles back at me and I feel my whole body vibrate. My nerves have shifted into something else. A tentative excitement. Maybe? Or could it be…hope?
Shane’s gaze lingers then he takes a drink of his beer so I try a different angle to get the answer I was seeking earlier.
“You’re looking very pretty today.”
He looks absolutely gorgeous and my mind had already imagined peeling that suit off him twice but I couldn’t say that. Not here. Not now.
Not yet…
“Hmm?” His response as he swallows.
“Different maybe? Someone take you shopping?”
Did Rose Landry put you in that suit? Is she somewhere here, just waiting to take it off you? Put you in another outfit I’ll have to see later and be totally overwhelmed by.
“If I tell you something, will you promise not to tell anyone or make fun of me?” He says, a seriousness in his voice.
My tentative hope is suddenly seized and a hard knot of fear take its place. It’s the same knot that kept getting bigger and twisting tighter each week I didn’t talk to him, each month I didn’t see him, and I worried what he was about to tell me was going to make it settle in my gut permanently.
“Well, it depends.”
And it did. Much as I wanted, no, needed to know exactly what was the status of him and Rose, having it actually confirmed they were together and we were really and truly done…I was never going to be ready to hear that.
“Seriously,” he says.
I shrug and try to look as uninterested as possible as I say “Yeah, sure.” when I actually feel I’m on the edge of flying apart. The next words out of his mouth could change everything for the wors-
“I hired a stylist.”
I stare at him, my brain taking several seconds to process what he just said. As it catches up the sweet absurdity of it fully registers and I can’t help the ridiculously large grin that spreads across my face.
Nor the laugh that went with it.
I cover my mouth knowing that it’s too late to hide either.
“Fuck you,” he says, but he’s laughing a little too.
“Sorry,” I say but I’m not.
I’m relieved. So fucking relieved.
“Wow, of course you did.” I rest my chin in my hand, his confession still tumbling around in my head and the knot in my stomach slowly uncoiling.
“I shouldn’t have told you.”
“No, no, I love it,” I say instead of what I’d really like to tell him.
*I’m so grateful you told me, grateful it was that and not something that would have crushed me entirely.*
“You got what, tired of looking like shit?” I’m looking at him fully now, the perfect grin on his face and I can’t even put into words how much I’ve missed him. How making him smile in this moment is everything to me.
“I didn’t look like shit. I just wore, like, athletic stuff.” He looks at me as I take a drink.
“I know what you wore,” I’m quick to remind him.
I was always aware of how he dressed and not just because I was very good at getting him out of his clothes but because I’d watched him fold said clothes many times before we had sex. Watched him stand before me, still shy in those first few times before I’d make my move (but in truth I was simply looking at every part of him, admiring him) and because I’d watch him with equal fascination as he put each piece back on when we were finished.
“And some of the guys in the league are so fashionable.” He continues.
He’s so full of shit, I’m the only one in this league who has any fashion sense.
“Hmm, yes, so very,” I don’t hide my mocking tone from him.
“Not you,” he says quickly. “Some of the guys.”
“In the league?” I repeat.
“Other players not you.” He insists.
“Ok,” I say nodding. I’ll be sure to ask him which players he means later. I take a deep breath and remind myself who I’m talking to. I need to be direct, get a firm answer once and for all.
“So, this has nothing to do with Rose Landry?” I look right into his eyes and brace myself in case a bomb is still about to be dropped.
“No,” he says, smiling and shaking his head.
Ok, that’s good. Now for-
“Well, I mean, yeah, she always dressed, um, very well and so did her friends but,”
I nod again, raise my eyebrows at him and realize that probably looked rude. I don’t really care what Rose and her friends wear. But wait, he said dressed. Past tense. Not present. As in he doesn’t know what she wears anymore because…
“I just wanted to stop looking like I was always going to the gym. I never really cared about clothes.”
I roll my eyes, I can’t help it. Only Shane could make missing a question this annoying while also being so damn cute. One more time, just fucking ask if she’s here, if they’re together.
“So, uh, you and her are not…”
I hold my breath, letting myself hope…
“We’re not,” he says plainly.
The two best words I’ve heard in a long time.
“She’s great but we’re just not,” he pauses then continues, “compatible, I guess.”
He looks right into my eyes and all I can do is stare right back. I look at his mouth, at his freckles, my eyes move over every part of his face. I’ve missed him so fucking much and in this moment, if I have nothing else, I know I haven’t lost him forever.
I watch his eyes look over my face, look at my mouth. I want to kiss him so badly, more than I’ve ever wanted to at any other moment in our lives. I’m dangerously close to telling this entire bar full of people to go fuck themselves as I not only kiss him senseless for the months I haven’t been able to but then lay him out on the nearest pool chair, strip this fucking hot suit off him and blow him until he forgets his own name.
But I simply say “Hmm” to acknowledge I heard him.
I heard him. And I’m so relieved.
“I should circulate, I guess.” He says, as though reading my mind on what I’d like to be doing to him. A little distance would be smart right now.
But only a little.
“You have new clothes to show off,” I say, taking a drink so I have something occupying my mouth at the moment.
He nods and then slides out beside me, his hand gripping the back of my chair as he stands, his body as close as it can be without touching me. I keep my eyes down, knowing if I look up with his face that close to mine I won’t care who’s here and who sees.
I will kiss him and I won’t stop.
I straighten up as he walks past, hoping his arm will brush my back. I just wanted to feel some part of him touch me.
But I just feel the air of him move past me.
I watch him join a small group of our fellow players for the All Star Game. I put my hand over my mouth and try to steady my body, my heart and my head.
And I make a mental note to double check what the word “compatible” means. I think I know but I want to be sure.