Page 24 of Josh’s Play

Josh let out a sigh, and for a brief second, I thought I saw a look of concern cross his face, like maybe he was upset with what he had said, or what I had. It was gone in an instant, and he was smiling at me.

I squeezed his good hand one more time, careful to let go of the other before getting up from the ottoman. The hard-on I had been sporting was almost under control. That didn’t stop Josh from eyeing it as I rose. He let out another long, shuddering sigh. His intention was clear, but when he spoke, the weight of the sigh was replaced with a lilt.

“Have you thought about it yet?”

I laughed as I joined him at the table, where we plotted out our project, a podcast that would track Josh’s introduction to the sport as well as my season as a player.

“I still can’t believe a scout is coming specifically to see me. It’s nerve-racking, like I’ll have a fucking spotlight following me around the ice.”

“Season in the Spotlight,” Josh mumbled.

“Yeah.” I nodded. “Season in the Spotlight.”

Chapter Nine

Josh

I was a fucking regular at hockey games. Like, every home game, there I was sitting in the stands, a little notebook in hand, jotting down observations like I was some kind of 1950’s reporter. I went by myself, for some reason never asking any of my friends or family to come along. To Devon, I groused about my stupid project for sports journalism and how ridiculous it was that I had to spend so much time on one assignment. For some reason, I never mentioned to Devon that I was working on said project with the cute guy I’d met at physical therapy.

Once the season started, Campbell and I would meet after each game in 3C to talk about hockey, write about hockey, record discussions about hockey. When we met the week after his first game, he told me in no uncertain terms that he didn’t think it was a good idea for us to fool around. He talked a lot about distractions and the NHL, and I respected his choice, of course, responding with a sympathetic “okay” and lots of “I understands” even as my disappointment was a visceral stress settling in the pit of my stomach.

His adorably flushed face had looked stern and serious and conflicted as he’d told me there would be no more kissing. It was odd how much he could telegraph just with his eyes and that fucking adorable blush. All I could think about was kissing him when he looked like that. Maybe I just needed to get laid. It had been quite some time since I’d hooked up.

With his eyes downcast and that floppy, reddish-brown hair covering his face, he apologized, of all things.

“I just can’t have any distractions, Josh,” he repeated. “I’m sorry.”

I thought I was making light of it and playing it off as a joke when I told him it was no problem, then proceeded to describe what a player I was, making it sound like he’d just been another hookup, and it wasn’t a big deal.

He dropped onto the ottoman as I continued to ramble on about hookup apps and nights at The Valley and texts between my roommate and me letting each other know when we needed the room.

Campbell sat, leaning back on one arm, rubbing his thigh with the other as I unpacked my laptop and rambled on about dick.

When I had my computer set up, I finally looked at him. That blush that brought out his red highlights was deep as he stared at me in wonder.

“Oh, um. I just meant, you don’t have to be sorry, or worry about me, or whatever. I’ll be fine. As a matter of fact, Devon is with his study group tonight.” I picked up my phone and waved it at Campbell. “Maybe I’ll take advantage.”

“Oh. Okay. We can find another time to work on this.”

“What? No! That’s not what I meant. I know how valuable your time is. God, every time we text, you’re either at practice, going to practice, or coming from practice. Unless you’re on your way to the gym. I’m exhausted just thinking about it. I don’t know how you do it, Cam. Or how you keep up with your schoolwork on top of it. So no, I didn’t mean I was bailing on our study sesh to hookup.”

In my nervous, oversharing way, my goal had been to put Campbell’s mind at ease; instead, I was looking at a blushing mess whose shoulders were around his ears and whose fingers were worrying his hair so much I was afraid he would come away with a clump of it clinging to his fingers.

I changed tactics, pulling out the little notebook I’d taken notes in during his game.

“So let’s get to work. I have about a million questions. Including, genuinely, how you keep up with everything, so I listed a bunch of things that I thought might make good topics for the podcast.”

I turned my chair backward and straddled it as I had done the first night and handed Campbell the book.

“This is great, Josh. You’ve got the whole thing mapped out. Where do we start?”

“Tell me about Thursday’s game.”

“You want me to just talk about it?”

“Yeah, I figure, you start spewing hockey, and I’ll interrupt when I need something clarified. You just have to promise we’ll get to the fighting because holy fuck, I grew up with six siblings, and even I’ve never seen anything so aggro IRL. I think that will have to be its own whole podcast. Like maybe a whole series.”

Campbell shrugged, and I hit record on my laptop. “It can get pretty intense on the ice. Sometimes you just have to let out your aggression.”