Chapter Three
The smell of coffee lured Kyle out of bed late the next morning. He’d been awake for about twenty minutes, contemplating the benefits of staying in bed forever. But then he’d smelled the coffee.
His roommate, Maria Villanueva, made great coffee. She’d been a barista at Starbucks for the past two years—part-time for the past year since she’d gone back to school—and Kyle was happy to benefit from her expert training.
“Sit,” Maria instructed, looking less than intimidating in her fluffy purple housecoat and panda bear slippers. Kyle obeyed her anyway. She plunked a steaming mug of coffee on their kitchen table and waited for him to take exactly one sip before she said, “How’s your heart holding up?”
He pushed fingers under his glasses to rub at his eyes. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Bullshit. You know exactly what I’m talking about. Do you want a bagel?”
“Only if they aren’t—”
“They aren’t the jalapeno kind, you baby. Are sesame seeds too spicy for you?”
“I like spicy food. Just not first thing in the morning. Do we have cinnamon raisin?”
“No, because those are disgusting. Do you want yours toasted?” She held up a sesame seed bagel.
“Are they fresh?”
She glared at him, then gestured at her outfit. “Do I look like I’ve left the apartment this morning?”
“Toast it, please.” He watched Maria as she prepared their breakfasts the same way she did everything: in quick, efficient movements, treating their tiny kitchen like a Starbucks at rush hour.
“So you’re fine?” she asked. “Because between the two of us, I’m the one who was drunk last night, but you’re the one who looks like shit.”
“Thanks.”
Maria placed a neatly plated bagel with cream cheese in front of him, then sat down with her own bagel. “What do you have planned for today?”
“I think I’ll lay low.”
Maria eyed him suspiciously, waiting for Kyle to admit he needed a friend right now.
“God,” Kyle sighed. “All right. Last night took a lot out of me. Is that what you want to hear?”
“If you need to talk about it, then yes, I want to hear.”
Kyle picked at the sesame seeds on his bagel. “It’s stupid. I don’t know. It was fine.”
“Watching the man you are basically in love with celebrating his engagement to another man was fine?”
“I’m not in love with him,” Kyle grumbled. “It’s just a crush. And he’s never been a possibility, so it’s not a useful crush anyway.”
“I wish I could tell you otherwise, but no. It isn’t. You need someone new to obsess over.”
“I’m not obsessed with Kip. I just...like the idea of Kip. And me. Together.” He pushed his bagel aside and folded his arms on the table, then buried his face in them.
Maria reached across the table and patted his arm. “I know. But you know what I have to say next, right?”
Kyle shook his head, face still buried. “You don’t have to say it.”
“I’m saying it. You and Kip are not going to be together. Not ever. Okay?”
“I know.”
“If he and Scott were into threesomes, or opening their relationship up in any way—”
“Oh my god.”
“Then I would say you’d have a shot. But those two are committed. Like, my parents have renewed their vows twice and I don’t think they’re as committed to each other as Scott and Kip are.”
Kyle laughed into his arms. “Okay, I get it.”
Maria always made him laugh. They’d become friends through Kip, who used to work with her at the smoothie shop where he’d first met Scott.
Kip invited Kyle out for drinks with some of his friends one night more than two years ago, and Kyle had instantly adored Maria.
A few months after that, Kyle had learned that she needed to find a new place to live, and he’d offered his second bedroom to her.
The arrangement was supposed to be temporary, but they got along so well that Kyle insisted she stay.
“Can you imagine?” Maria mused. “Getting in the middle of that sandwich?”
“I could probably write a thesis about it, I’ve imagined it so much.”
“I’ll bet Scott is such a generous lover.”
“Stop.” Kyle groaned. “How is this helping?”
“I guess it isn’t. Hey, speaking of impossible crushes, I totally talked to Matti Jalo last night for like six whole minutes.”
“Alone?” Kyle gasped. “You’re compromised! He’ll have to offer to marry you now!”
“I wish. Oh my god. Like, I understand that he is several leagues above me, but damn. A girl can dream, can’t she?”
“He’s not out of your league! You are completely awesome and beautiful. He’s just a big ol’ hockey player.”
“With perfect genes and millions of dollars.”
“Yeah, well. He’d be lucky to have you.”
“Speaking of hockey players...” Maria sucked a gob of cream cheese off her finger, releasing it with a pop. “I saw you talking to Eric ‘Dream Daddy’ Bennett last night.”
“Oh, you mean the straight man with a wedding ring on his finger? Yes, it was very promising. I expect him to call on me any moment now.”
“Straight, old, and married. Isn’t that exactly your type?”
Kyle flicked a sesame seed at her. “I also like them gay, young, and engaged. I’m very open-minded.”
“Why don’t you go for Aram? He’s a sweetheart and he’s smoking hot.”
“Because he’s one of my best friends and he works with me.”
“You just exactly described Kip.”
“Yeah, but—” Kyle wasn’t sure how to elegantly finish that sentence, so instead he sputtered out some nonsense.
“Kip was a crush first. Like, I saw him one night at the Kingfisher with his friends and I was smitten. We flirted a bit, and I really thought I’d be taking him home that night.
But then he left. The next time he came back, you were there. I think it was his birthday.”
“Oh yeah. I was super drunk that night.”
“You all were. And once again, I thought I’d be leaving with him at the end of the night. Turns out, of course, he was secretly dating Scott at the time.”
“And then there was that time you kissed him.”
Kyle dropped his head back on his folded arms. “And then there was that time I kissed him.” He raised his head. “But in my defense, he really led me to believe that he wanted it. He showed up alone, sat at the bar and flirted with me all night.”
“Getting drunk alone. Always a sign of emotional stability.”
“I know. I should have realized something was wrong. Honestly, I probably did, but I chose to ignore it because it was my chance. He left with me. And then I kissed him and...” He squeezed his eyes shut as if he could erase the memory. “I’m just glad we’re friends now.”
“I am too. But mostly I’m glad that we’re friends now.”
“Totally. It was worth all this heartache and embarrassment to have you making coffee for me in the mornings.”
“It’s the least I could do.”
It was true that Kyle had offered Maria a pretty sweet deal.
Because the apartment had been paid for by his wealthy parents, Kyle didn’t even charge Maria rent.
She just helped with the groceries and bills.
Kyle had thought he’d prefer to live alone, but mostly he’d felt guilty about having so much space to himself. Plus, he’d been lonely.
“What are you up to today?” Kyle asked.
“I have to meet with my group for a school project this afternoon.” A year and a half ago, Maria had completed the entrance exam for the police academy and passed with flying colors.
Then she’d swiftly decided that she wanted, in her words, to actually help people.
Immigrants, like her own parents, in particular.
So she was now studying Human Services at a local college. “How about you?”
“I might wrap myself in a blanket and binge that Alyssa Edwards Netflix series.”
Maria stood and patted him on the shoulder as she took her dishes to the sink. “You earned it, buddy.”
Eric fought the tremble that crept up his body from where he was balancing on his forearms. He took deep, controlled breaths and commanded his body to settle. His body, as always, obeyed.
Eric loved that feeling, when his body accepted the pain and pushed through it.
He’d started practicing yoga fifteen years ago to increase his strength and flexibility on the ice, but now he considered his daily practice a gift he gave himself.
He loved being perfectly attuned to everything his body was doing.
Everything it gave him when he asked, and everything it asked of him.
Some days he could easily hold a vertical pose like this one for well over a minute. Today his body was fighting him.
Three more breaths, he told his body. His left shoulder—the one he’d had two operations on during his career—had been tight lately but seemed all right now.
His body had taken a lot of abuse over his decades of stopping pucks, and he knew he wouldn’t walk away from this game without some permanent souvenirs, but he could try to keep them to a minimum.
He could treat his body with the respect it deserved, and control what went into it, and what he did with it between games.
One more deep inhale and exhale, and Eric slowly curled his extended legs back toward his torso and came out of the handstand. He finished his practice, going easier on his body with the final poses, and taking care to listen to what his body was telling him.
Eric knew what his body needed. It was grumbling about it now, but at night it practically screamed. It had been far too long since he’d last had sex.
As he headed downstairs to his kitchen, his thoughts involuntarily turned to Kyle. He was sure that Kyle flirted with lots of men—it was practically his job to do so—but Eric couldn’t help the fact that Kyle had captured the seldom-used lurid part of his imagination.
It was absurd. Kyle was young and, flirting aside, probably had no real interest in an old man like him.
In fact, Eric was very sure that Kyle was hopelessly in love with Kip, based on the way he’d gazed longingly at Kip at the party.
Scott and Kip’s happiness seemed to pierce Kyle like a blade.
If Kip was Kyle’s type, then Eric definitely had no chance.
No chance. Jesus. No chance of what? What did Eric even want?
Eric filled a glass with water and drank it down quickly.
He refilled the glass, then returned his water pitcher to the fridge and grabbed a jar of overnight breakfast quinoa.
He stood at the window in his kitchen and watched the morning traffic on 36th Street as he ate.
The large house he’d shared with Holly had been on Long Island with a spectacular view of the water.
But Eric preferred this: a front-row seat to the bustle of Manhattan.
This Murray Hill townhouse suited him better in every way.
It was, in all honesty, ridiculous for Eric to have an entire four-story townhouse to himself.
He had considered an apartment—maybe a penthouse like Scott’s—but this house had been for sale at the right time and Eric hadn’t been able to resist it.
He’d worked with a designer to create a home that exuded serenity and comfort, while also providing a complementary backdrop for his art collection.
The final result was, Eric had to admit, stunning.
But he hadn’t been prepared for how lonely it would feel to only have art and designer furniture for company.
His phone lit up where it rested on his kitchen counter. Eric set his empty quinoa jar next to the sink and picked up the phone. It was a message from Jeanette, his friend and art dealer. She had a collection of paintings by a new artist that she thought he would be interested in.
Well. Maybe this would be the painting that would make his life feel whole.
Eric: When can I see them?
They planned for Eric to come to the gallery on Tuesday—his day off.
As always, Jeanette didn’t send a photo of any of the paintings.
She insisted his first impression of the art be the one he got when he viewed it in person.
She was never wrong about what Eric would like, though, so he was excited to see what she had.
Kyle was studying art history, which was something that Eric couldn’t stop thinking about.
He had made the fatal mistake of learning about the man.
He wished he could go back to the time that he didn’t know Kyle was studying ancient history and art, or that he loved mythology and was just generally brilliant and fascinating.
It was one thing to be flirted with by a cute bartender, but when it was a cute bartender who was smart and shared Eric’s interests...
Well. It had been a nice surprise.
He could, he thought, attempt to flirt with Kyle the next time he happened to see him.
Kyle seemed naturally flirtatious and would probably be able to provide Eric with some much-needed practice.
It would be harmless, and Eric could use whatever he learned from it whenever he attempted in earnest to date again.
Practice was all he needed, he decided as he jogged up the two flights of stairs to his bedroom.
It was something that he understood, as an athlete.
Practicing something over and over would eventually yield results.
He could improve his ability to flirt the same way he had improved his rebound control on the ice.
He would practice flirting, practice dating, practice being intimate with another person.
With a man.
Maybe.
But first, flirting.