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“Sure, I’ll just head on back to the room I fled like a chickenshit from and ask him to kiss me again.”
“Why not? Sounds like you enjoyed it, and the only way you’re going to know if you’ll enjoy it again is by doing it again.”
“And how do I explain fleeing from the room?”
“You could try this thing adults have been using for centuries.”
“Sure, what’s that?”
“Tell the truth.”
“That’s not helpful.”
“Actually, it is. If Lucas and I weren’t honest with ourselves and then each other, we wouldn’t be together today. Maybe you can start by being honest with yourself. This is new for you. It’s okay to be scared, but don’t let that fear stop you from figuring out what this all means to you. There’s no written way this has to go, it’s just your way. You letting you be you.”
“When did you get all smart and shit?”
He laughs down the line. “Sometime after I stopped getting in my own way and let myself see what was right in front of me.”
I know that he’s right, but it doesn’t make going to see Ian any easier.
“Thanks, Carter. Tell Lucas, thanks, too.”
“No problem, little Duckie.”
I end the call just as my stomach growls again. I really should go get breakfast. Maybe I can see what they have in the way of room service? I need to repeat the same intro dance at tonight’s game, so I can’t avoid Ian forever, but even if I take Carter’s advice and tell him the truth, what exactly is the truth? Up until a few days ago, I was one hundred percent sure that I was straight, and now, after kissing him, I have no idea what the hell I am. I guess that’s as good an explanation as any. I grab my stuff and head for the door before I can change my mind. I’ll stop by his room and apologize, give my explanation and then just see what happens.
“I can do this,” I say aloud as I open my door, but as soon as I do, my chest goes tight. Ian is right there waiting.
Chapter twelve
Ian
The moment he ranfrom the room, I wanted to run after him. Okay, not the moment after he ran. More like the moment after I got myself off and could think straight again, I wanted to go after him. But the longer I left it, the harder it was to convince myself to do it. So instead, I headed to the bar in hopes that he would come, too, and we could at least see each other in a completely neutral setting with no pressure to talk about that incredible kiss he planted on me.
But he never showed.
I get back to the hotel, later than I should be coming home, but I know I won’t be getting sleep anytime soon. The second I step through the doors I find the first duck. It’s bright pink and wasn’t really hidden well, sitting at the bottom of the pot plant by the doors. Brendan’s been busy. I find several more tucked into random hiding places throughout reception and shove them into my pockets to go up to my room. I know it probably wasn’t fair to take them all, or at least every single one that I could find, but I just had to have them.
Before heading into bed, I line them all up on my coffee table, three rows of tiny ducks and one wearing a top hat that I place at the front of them like he’s commanding them all. The next morning, I walk into the living space and see them all lined up on my coffee table like they’ve just been waiting to greet me. If only he was here too. I should have gone after him. Talked to him.
If last night’s kiss was a one-time thing, I’m cool with that. As much as I would want it to not be the case, I’ve had experience with runners before. Not just runners, either. I’ve had the whole montage of men, deniers, drunkers, and even the occasional fighter. Those guys sucked, and not in a good way. Being some guy’s test case in figuring out their own shit isn’t exactly my ideal experience, but I get how hard it is to understand yourself and, in some ways, to accept yourself for exactly who you are. That part I do understand, and so if Brendan needs me to pretend like last night never happened, then I can do that. Especially when so much of his writing career is on the line right now. My article about him put him on this tour and stole him away from writing about what he loves. I won’t jeopardize his return to hockey. I just won’t.
I stand outside his door trying to build up the courage to knock. I finally raise my hand, but then the door opens and he’s right there. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit, my eyes went straight to those big, pouty lips.
“I was just coming to see if…” My mind goes blank. Shit. I had this all planned out. But now I’m standing here in his doorway, looking at him, I have no fucking clue what to say.
“Sorry I ran,” he says, breaking the silence between us.
“I’m sorry you felt like you had to.”
“It’s just, I never…”
A door up the hallway opens, and he grabs my shirt and pulls me into his room.
“Sorry, I just thought this isn’t a conversation we should be having in a hallway, right? I mean, if you want to have this conversation. We don’t have to have a conversation. I do feel like I have to explain, though.”
“You don’t owe me an explanation, but if you want to talk about it, we can talk about it.” I try to keep my tone neutral.
