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The bar is packed and, as promised, it’s mostly filled with women. A surprising number of them seem to be hockey fans, too, as our group has been constantly bombarded with selfie requests. Nobody is going to have trouble finding someone to bring back to the hotel tonight. I’ve already had to convince four women that I’m not interested, while Lawson and the others look on in bemusement.
“You good?” Lawson asks, leaning across the table.
“Yeah.” I say, taking a sip of the soda water I’m nursing instead of a drink. He regards me for a moment, spinning the beer bottle in his hand.
“You seeing someone?” He asks.
I lift my shoulder in a half shrug. “Uh, yeah, sort of…it’s complicated.”
Please don’t ask for more information than that, I silently beg, not wanting to spin a lie about my imaginary girlfriend. He doesn’t pry, though, just tilts his bottle in my direction with a wry smile.
“Better you than me.”
I consider sending Corwin a text, letting him know that I’m just here to befriend the team, not pick up women. I don’t want to have a serious conversation through virtual means, though, and most of our chats seem to head in that direction. Across from me, Lawson is yawning, rolling his head between his shoulders. He’s probably exhausted, after the game we just played.
“You look dead on your feet.” I tell him.
He grunts. “Getting old.”
“Aren’t you four years younger than me?” I ask, laughing.
“I always forget you’re old as shit. You don’t play like you’re geriatric.”
“Only you would insult and compliment me in the same breath.” He tips his head back, laughing, reaching his bottle toward me. I clink my glass against it and shake my head as I take a sip.
I look around the room, surveying the crowd. I pick out several of my teammates, arms around local girls by the bar, and a few of the more adventurous ones out on the dance floor. I long to be back at the hotel; actually, scratch that, I long to be at Corwin’s house, coaxing smiles out of him and feeling the press of his lips against my face.
“You ready to head back?” Lawson asks me, jolting me back to the present. He’s watching me, and I wonder what he had seen on my face while I’d been thinking of Corwin.
“Yeah.” I sigh. “You hanging out for a bit?”
“I’ll stay for a while, go back soon.” His eyes do a quick once over of the room, and I realize he had probably remained alone at the table because of me.
“Have fun.” I stand up, bumping my knuckles with his. I turn back when I reach the door, chuckling when I see a blonde head already sliding into my vacated seat.
It takes a while for a cab to come, and by the time I’m back at my hotel room I really am feeling old. Also, horny. Flopping down on my bed, I rest my hands on my abdomen, and try to remember the last time I went this long without having sex. I want to walk down the hall, knock on Corwin’s door and crawl into bed with him. And nothing, I know, would send him running for the hills faster.
He’s inexperienced, but that’s neither a turn-off, nor a deal breaker for me. What does worry me, though, is the obvious anxiety he has about any sort of physical contact. There is a tremor of fear present even when we’re doing something as mild as hugging, and it makes me worry. It would be easy, so fucking easy, to hurt him.Again.
Sighing, I sit up and rub a palm over my face. I have to take things slow, which means, for now, the dry spell will continue. Resigned, I head into the bathroom to jack off in the shower.
???
When I flop down into the seat next to Corwin, he startles slightly and then smiles tentatively when he sees its me. I’m one of the last to board the plane, and soon enough we are in the air. I turn around in my seat, eyeing those around us; most everyone has earbuds in, though a few of my teammates are in the back playing a rambunctious game of what appears to be Uno. Righting myself, I lean back and look over at Corwin.
“Hey.” I say, softly.
“Hey.”
I weave my fingers together in my lap, a reminder that I can look at him but not touch. Even looking, within the confines of the team jet, is probably risky, but I missed him so damn much last night I sort of don’t even care.
“How was the bar?” He asks.
“Wasn’t my scene. I left pretty quick, but I think the guys had fun.” Both of us look over at Lawson, seated across the aisle and already snoring softly. “What did you do?”
“I watched British Bake Off and then went to sleep.” He says this completely without guile, as though it’s not the cutest thing I’ve heard all day.
“You watched a cooking show.”
