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“What does that mean?” I find the nerve to look at him, a strange combination of patience and wariness on his face.
“Are you gay, bi, pan, something else? Do you like all men or just me? If you like men, are you a top or bottom?”
I lick my lips nervously. “No one is going to ask if I top or bottom.”
“Not a reporter, but anyone you hook up with will. And you don’t know the answer.”
“Then help me figure it out! Fuck me.” I point my finger at my chest. “Maybe then I'll know.”
Based on Tripp’s frozen expression, the desperation in my voice surprises him as much as me. I only hope it’s a good sort of surprise, because now that I’ve said it out loud, it doesn’t sound like a bad idea. It sounds…right.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Tripp sighs, “but I think we should just chill tonight. Dicks in our pants.”
“You don’t want to have sex?” I nearly choke on the words, my shock making it hard to breathe. In my wildest dreams Tripp never said no to a request to fuck, yet he’s still sitting on the other side of the couch, not even attempting to undress the way I expected he would.
Tripp shakes his head slowly back and forth. “I always want to have sex, but just sex. No relationship stuff. No feelings. I don’t want to blur the lines.”
Blur the… Where is this coming from?
“The only thing that’s blurry is you told me how much you want to fuck me, said you wanted to help me figure out if I like guys, and now that we know I do you’re backing off. What's changed? Just last night, you were insanely proud to get me off. Now, you're not bragging about doing it again? Why?” I hate the anguish in my voice, yet I can’t seem to hold it back. These past few days are the only ones in recent memory when my body didn’t betray me during intimate moments, something Tripp’s guidance and patience were instrumental in, and the thought of losing that so soon after I found it is terrifying.
“I am proud I got you off when no one else could, and I do want to do it again.” His voice is disturbingly level, like he thinks a calm tone will calm me. “But you were upset thinking about me with someone else earlier, and that should be a red flag for both of us.”
Okay, I admit the thought of Tripp with anyone else set me off. Though, I think that was on principle, not because I want to have a claim on him. Isn’t it?
“You have a problem with monogamy?” I ask.
“I have a problem with relationships. I don’t do them. And you shouldn’t do them with the first guy you experiment with. If you want to fuck around no strings attached, I’m your man. I’ll even go as far as agreeing to hook up with only you while you explore this if it makes you feel better. But only if you agree this is strictly a fuck buddy thing. I’m too selfish for a relationship and you’re too vulnerable for one.”
“Confused isn’t the same as vulnerable.”
“No, but they do tend to go hand in hand.” Tripp runs his fingers through his artfully mussed hair, which only makes it look better. “Look, I think you should figure out what you want from me. If it’s just to explore being with a man, I’m all in. If you think it might be something else, something where you don’t like the idea of me being with other people when this is over, we shouldn’t take it any further.”
Though I know his words are meant to protect me, they hurt more than help. Tripp is the first person—the only person—I’ve confided in about my sexuality, and the thought of losing that terrifies me. So does the idea of experimenting with another man. But if I’m being honest with myself, I know he makes a valid point about the repercussions. I’ve already questioned whether it’s all men or just Tripp I respond to, and if taking things further could ruin the friendship we have, that may be worse than never figuring myself out. After all, at least now I have someone I can talk with openly.
Sighing heavily, I nod my head. “Yeah, okay. I’ll think about it.”
***
The first day of training never fails to kick my ass, no matter how good of shape I think I’m in. Lungs burning, muscles shaking from the strain they’re under, I pump my arms and legs until I cross the line with the rest of my teammates, locking my hands behind my head to catch my breath before we have to line up for the next sprint.
Though it all worked out in the end, as a kid I thought goalies would escape the dreaded wind sprints, so I eagerly signed up. That little misconception led to a great career considering I’m far better at blocking shots than I am at taking them, but it’s hard to be grateful for that when my legs feel like jelly. I’ve been doing this long enough to know my body won’t hate me as much in a week. Still, I’m still a little bitter that my off-season discipline isn’t paying off right now.
“Fuck this heat, man.” Luca wipes the sweat from his brow. “You need to fill that pool with water, Niko.”
“You’re the one with the movie room, and the game room, and about a dozen other rooms you don’t need but still have. Don’t tell me you can’t afford a pool,” he retorts.
“Of course, I can, but why would I go through the trouble of building it when I could just use yours?”
“Except you can’t use his,” Justus says as Coach shouts at us to line up again.
He blows the whistle, and we take off, running as fast as we can. Thanks to my long stride I don’t come in last, but I’m not as close to first as I used to be. Luckily, my job doesn't require me to skate up and down the rink, which means being a little slower isn’t the end of the world as long as my reflexes are solid.
Once we’re done with sprints people trickle off, but I hang back to do my stretches. Since I squat so much during a game, I’m more likely to get hip or groin injuries than my teammates, and either one could end my season, especially for a player over thirty. Luca won’t admit it, but he’s in the same boat, so he lingers with me.
“How do you think we’re looking?” he asks, same as he does every year.
Though we’re nearly the same age, and co-captains, he’s always looked at me as the leader, probably because I have the more level head. “When have I ever been able to answer that on the first day?”
