Page 56 of The Tryout

I’m dangerously close to doing a full-on spit take, forcing myself to swallow the mouthful of water. I reach immediately for the remote, knowing this is not a conversation to be had with mild-to-moderate explosions in the background.

“What…what do you mean by that?”

“Jesus, you sound like my old court-appointed therapist.”

I’d be offended if it weren’t one hundred percent true.

“I mean, in the ‘sex, drugs, and rock and roll’ method of working through shit, the sex really seems like the safest path, you know?”

Oh sweet baby angel.

“It can be, if you’re doing it right.”

He waggles his eyebrows at my unintended double entendre. I roll my eyes in response.

“Seriously, though, there’s plenty of scary shit out there if you’re just using apps. And yeah, there’s ways to prevent some of it, but not always things like violence or publicity or people who are just…not nice.”

He bites his lip, looking down at the couch.

“Yeah, I know. That’s why I…don’t. Haven’t. But I’m sitting here thinking about Robertson in Minneapolis and feeling like I’m gonna crawl out of my fucking skin. And plenty of people do, right? I mean, you do. And doesn’t it help?”

Truth be told, it doesn’t, not nearly as much as it used to.

“I think it’s just like alcohol – it feels like it helps, but it doesn’t always, not really. And it’s usually not worth the risk.”

He looks disappointed at the answer, and I feel torn. I mean, I definitely don’t want him going out and meeting random people from apps or whatever for twenty minutes of oblivion. But at the same time, doesn’t he deserve to blow off a little steam like every other hockey player on a Wednesday night?

I’m still struggling with my thoughts when he starts again.

“Dude, wouldn’t it be great if you could just have a friend that you hooked up with? No strings, no feelings, just someone you could trust to be safe and available?”

He’s leaning back against the couch now, looking at me through a curtain of overgrown curls, a small smile on his face.

I know there’s a lot I take for granted in life – growing up in a supportive home, having access to enough money to add a cushion of ease to every aspect of my life. But I never thought about how much having a “normal” childhood was an advantage – an adolescence where I got a chance to try shit out and learn about such groundbreaking concepts as fuck buddies.

“I mean, people do that. Friends with benefits or fuck buddies or whatever.”

He sits up a little straighter.

“Really? And it’s…it works?”

I smile gently.

“Sure. I mean, when I was a baby queer in LA, I had a couple pretty frightening hookup experiences, so my college roommate and I made an agreement that if things seemed unsafe or off or just not worth the bother, we’d have each other as fallbacks.”

His eyebrows raise, but it takes a few seconds for him to do the math. When it clicks, he sits up, leaning almost entirely into my space.

“Wait a minute. Your college roommate…Jamie Carter?”

I nod, enjoying seeing him processing this information.

“Does Cap know?”

I roll my eyes.

“Yes, Tremblay knows.” I think. I should probably check on that.

“And you’re not, like…hung up on that?”