It wasn’t really a question, and I didn’t know how to answer it without either lying or admitting something I hadn’t fully admitted to myself. So I just looked at him, and apparently that was answer enough.
“I get it,” Odin said, his voice gentle. “And I’m not trying to pressure you into anything. I should probably tell you—I’m gay. Have been my whole life. And when I met you at the game, I thought—well, I thought maybe there was potential there. But if my gaydar is for shit or you’re hung up on someone else, or if you just want a friend while you figure things out, that’s okay too.”
The honesty in his voice made something in my chest ease. “I’m gay,” I heard myself say. “And I’m—yeah, I’m kind of a mess right now. Someone I thought I had a shot with made it clear I didn’t, and I’m still processing that.”
“The coach,” Odin said, and it wasn’t a question.
I stared at him. “How did you—”
“The way you talked about him. The way you looked when you saw him in the doorway.” He smiled, but there was something sad in it. “I’ve been where you are. Wanting someone who can’t or won’t want you back. It’s a special kind of hell.”
“It really is,” I admitted.
“So here’s what I’m offering,” Odin said. “Friendship. No expectations beyond that. I’m new in Denver, you’re still settling in, we’re neighbors—it makes sense. And if somewhere down the line you figure out you want something different, we can talk about it then. But for now, just... someone to grab dinner with occasionally. Someone who gets what it’s like to be the new person in a city where everyone else has established lives.”
The relief that went through me was almost physical. “That sounds really good, actually. Thank you for understanding.”
“Of course.” He signaled for the check. “And for what it’s worth? Your coach is an idiot if he can’t see what’s right in front of him.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just helped him split the bill after I insisted on it, and followed him out to the parking lot.
The drive back to our building was quiet, comfortable in a way the dinner hadn’t quite been. When we got to our floor and walked down the hallway together, I felt like maybe I’d made the right choice after all. Maybe this was exactly what I needed—a friend who understood, who didn’t expect anything I couldn’t give, who was just... there.
We stopped between our doors, and Odin turned to face me.
“Thanks for tonight,” he said. “I really enjoyed it.”
“Me too. And thanks for being cool about—everything.”
“Always.” He hesitated for just a moment, then leaned in and pressed a brief kiss to my lips. It was soft, chaste, over almost before it began. “Just so you know what’s on the table,” he said quietly. “When you’re ready. If you’re ever ready. No pressure either way.”
Then he unlocked his door and disappeared inside before I could formulate a response.
I stood in the hallway for a long moment, my fingers touching my lips, trying to figure out how I felt about what had just happened. The kiss hadn’t been unpleasant. It just hadn’t been...anything, really. No spark, no electricity, none of the things I’d felt when I’d leaned toward Kincaid a week ago.
But maybe that was okay. Maybe what I needed wasn’t sparks and electricity. Maybe I needed steady and uncomplicated and available.
I let myself into my apartment and closed the door, leaning against it in the dark. My phone buzzed—a text from Marco asking how my day went. I sent back a thumbs-up because I didn’t have the energy to explain that I’d had a perfectly nice dinner with a perfectly nice man who’d kissed me and I’d felt absolutely nothing.
My ribs ached from the morning’s training session. My head was starting to hurt in that way that suggested I’d spent too much time overthinking things. And somewhere across the city, Kincaid was probably in his house in the foothills, eating Thai food alone, not thinking about me at all.
I pushed off the door and headed for the shower, trying not to calculate how many more early-morning training sessions I had to get through before I could go back to seeing him only at team practices. Trying not to wonder what the expression on his face had meant when he’d seen me with Odin. Trying not to want things I’d already been told I couldn’t have.
Trying, and failing spectacularly at all of it.
I arrived at the arena at six-forty-five the next morning, fifteen minutes early because I’d given up on sleep around five and decided sitting in my apartment thinking about Odin’s kiss was worse than just getting to work.
The locker room was empty when I got there, which gave me time to get dressed and mentally prepare for another session with Kincaid. Professional. I could be professional. I could take his coaching and not think about the way he’d looked at me in that restaurant, or the fact that I’d gone home and been kissed by someone else and felt nothing.
I was lacing up my skates when I heard his footsteps in the corridor. My pulse kicked up, and I told myself firmly that this was just anxiety about getting back on the ice, nothing to do with the man who was about to walk through that door.
Kincaid appeared right on schedule, already dressed for coaching, his expression neutral in that particular way that told me nothing about what he was thinking. His eyes found me, held for just a moment, then moved away.
“Morning, Russo,” he said.
“Morning, Coach.”
“How are you feeling? Ribs giving you any trouble after yesterday?”
