Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Remy
Wiping off the bathroom mirror, I squint at my reflection. The lighting in here is actually pretty good, and my six-pack looks more defined than it really is. Adjusting the towel so that it’s obscenely low on my hips, I angle my torso and try to flex as I take a picture. It takes me so long to get a shot I’m happy with, most of the steam has evaporated. Looking down at the picture, I crop it so that my head is cut off and take a moment to acknowledge how embarrassing this whole thing is.
Drying off and pulling on my favorite ratty sweatpants, I pad across the hall to my bedroom. Flopping down on my stomach, I tuck the pillow under my chin and text Alex a screenshot of my profile.
Alex
Who the fuck is Ree and how did he get your abs?
Remy
Har har. That’s me. I didn’t want to use my real name in case some creep is on here.
Alex
It’s a fucking dating app, everyone is a creep. I will remind you: you’re looking to have fun, experiment, get out of your comfort zone a little bit. You’re not looking for your soulmate.
Remy
You’re right. Look good, though? Like, would you hit that if you saw it?
Alex
Why do you think I befriended you all those years ago? I’ve been trying to hit that for years.
Remy
I love it when you’re in a good mood. So rare. So lovely.
Alex
Seriously, though. The name. Ree?????
Remy
It was my nickname growing up, and Amanda called me that.
Alex
Are you actually telling me that your dating app name is a name your mom and ex-wife call you?
Remy
I can’t use Remy or Stone because people might connect the dots. I don’t have a middle name.
Alex
…………
Laughing, I get distracted from our conversation by a notification. Feeling disproportionately excited, I open the app. The man who messaged me has a profile picture similar to mine: all muscles and no face. I’m glad to see I’ll be fitting in. He went a different route with his profile name, though, and chose DirtyBanger400. A little on the nose, but I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt.
DirtyBanger400
hey babe
Scrunching up my nose, I ignore the pet name. Little too soon for that, buddy.
Ree
Hi, how are you?
DirtyBanger400
I’ll send you my location. Come on over and we can get to know one another.
“Ugh.” I groan, exiting the chat and shaking my head. “Creep.”
Not wanting to be discouraged, I scroll aimlessly through the endless photos of men and try to feel something. Ever since Alex suggested I give guys a try, I haven’t been able to think of much else. Amanda and I got married so young, I never had much of an experimental phase. Maybe now is the perfect time to do so—right on the heels of my divorce. Unfortunately, the mindless scroll doesn’t seem to be dredging up any latent gay stirrings. They all look like every naked dude I’ve ever seen in a locker room .
I switch back to Alex.
Remy
First hit was DirtyBanger400 who gave me his address and called me babe.
Alex
All right, well, we’ll save dirty banging for when we’re not so fresh to the gay dating pool. What else you got?
Remy
We?
Alex
I’m your wingman. I get final dick approval.
Remy
I don’t know, none of these are doing it for me. They all just look like dudes.
Alex
Yes. That is, in fact, the gender we are looking for.
Remy
How about this one? He seems nice.
I screenshot the profile of Brody and send it to him. Brody has the biggest thighs I’ve ever seen and is fucking ripped. He’s also 6’7” according to his profile, which seems like a bit of a stretch to me, but I’ll let him have it. His bio says he likes snowshoeing and drinking tea. Why that is the cutest thing I’ve ever heard, I don’t even know.
Alex
That guy could crack your spine like a glow stick.
Remy
He drinks tea.
Alex
Message him. Don’t call him babe.
Snorting, I shoot a generic greeting to Brody. I stare at his picture while I wait, trying to decide if it’s something I could jack off to. Maybe I’ll try, later. He messages back and I immediately smile.
Brody
Hello, how’s it going?
Ree
Not bad. This is my first time on a dating app. Lots of interesting characters.
Brody
Same. I was just propositioned by Thumper2.0, which I suppose is why I’m here, but damn, romance me a bit.
Ree
Avoid DirtyBanger400, too. He lives on Welch and is apparently very free with that information.
Brody
Noted. We might be doing this “dating app” thing wrong. Also, what’s with the weird usernames? I just chose, like, a real name. I didn’t realize I was supposed to be setting up my AOL account.
Ree
I NEED to know what your actual AOL username was. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.
Brody
hockee_brodee
I let out a noise that could correctly be classified as a cackle. Okay, so based on conversational skills alone, I feel like I could definitely see myself getting off to Brody tonight. Alex sends me another text, but I ignore it.
Ree
Shut. The Fuck. Up.
Brody
The Es were clever, right?
Ree
They were something. Mine was swelldayz4lyfe.
Brody
I really want to make fun of you, but I don’t even know what I’m looking at.
Ree
Swell, like, ocean waves. For surfing. I’m a surfer, or, I was, but probably not now that I’m living in Canada haha. Do you play hockey?
There is a ridiculously long pause, and it makes me wonder if he closed the app or if I offended him. It seems like a pretty reasonable question to me, but Canadians could be weird about their hockey. I go to type something else when a response comes through.
Brody
No. Just a fan, like everyone else in this country. Surfing is cool, I’d love to give that a try sometime. What brought you to Canada? Where are you originally from?
Ree
Cali. Here for work.
I bite my lip, waiting for the inevitable next question of what I do for work, but it doesn’t come. Instead, we message back and forth like teenagers until I glance at the time and realize that it’s well past two in the morning. Muttering obscenities, I say goodnight to Brody and tuck myself into bed. Fucking rookie mistake, staying up so late the night before a game. Messaging someone on a dating app, no less. I wonder if I should feel embarrassed that neither of us even broached the idea of doing phone sex—we’ve just been chatting about Canadian vs. American food. Alex is going to laugh himself silly when I tell him.
Coach Lamonte reads off the lineups in the same tone of voice he does everything else: pissed off and a little condescending. There is none of the clapping or chirping of my previous team, either. No, the locker room is silent as a crypt, as though not a single person is excited to be here. I glance over at Grayson, trying to catch his eye and commiserate, but he’s staring resolutely at the floor. They’ve got us paired up on the third line, me playing center and Grayson back on D.
I lean over to talk to Petterson as soon as Coach is done. Pitching my voice low, I nod toward Grayson. “Has Gray ever been played on a forward line? In the preseason, maybe? ”
The look Petterson gives me is answer enough. He accentuates it with a snort of incredulity, and barely stops himself from sneering as he looks over toward Grayson. Surprised by the vehemence of the reaction, I wait for him to speak. “No,” is all I get. Sighing, I shake my head and let it go. I haven’t been here long, but the vibes are definitely not vibing in the Calgary locker room.
When it’s time to take the ice, I maneuver myself so I’m right behind Grayson. He glances back at me when I stand close enough that my chest brushes his back. Immediately, he steps forward to give me more room. I follow him, wanting to talk without the whole team listening in.
“You should talk to Coach about trying a forward line sometime.”
“What?”
Since I can tell he’s not asking because he didn’t hear me, I don’t bother repeating the question. “You’d be fucking killer as an offensive D-man. I stalked you before I came here, remember? 102-mph slap shot.”
Grayson is saved from answering by our entrance into the rink. We skate a few laps in silence before he slows to a stop. I join him, not wanting him to wheedle out of the conversation by focusing on warm-ups.
“So?” I prompt.
“ So , that was during Calgary’s team skills competition, not an actual game. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“You were the fifth fastest skater,” I tell him, and he sends me an incredulous look.
“And that sounds good to you?”
“You were out-skated by people half your size! Listen, I really think I’m onto something here. You don’t score in games because you don’t take shots. Your forte is scrapping against the boards and taking away the opposing team’s angles—I get that. But they’re not covering your shooting lanes because they expect you to move the puck instead of keep it. I say, take a few shots instead of passing it to us.”
“All right,” he answers skeptically.
Satisfied, I skate off to warm up. I wait—patiently—for Grayson to listen to my advice all of the first period and end up having to remind him during intermission. He fixes a threatening glare on me, but I grin until he softens and promises to try in the second. We get our chance midway through the period when Grayson picks the pocket of an opposing rookie in the neutral zone. He dishes it to me, but shadows me as I break away for the goal. Instead of taking the shot the goalie expects, I widen my stance and blind pass behind me. Please be there, Gray, please be there.
He is. The buzzer sounds without the goalie even making a move to save the puck—he didn’t see a goddamn thing. Spinning around, I coast into the boards butt-first and open my arms for Grayson.
“Fuck yes ,” I shout, right before he slams into me and knocks the breath from my chest. “I love it when I’m right!”
The team joins us and saves Grayson from answering, but his grin is answer enough. He takes a seat back on the bench, smiling wider than I’ve yet seen him do. I sit beside him, smushed into his side in the cramped space. Coach Lamonte doesn’t even acknowledge the play beyond a firm nod in our direction that I would have missed had I not been staring at him. Annoyed with him, I jostle Grayson’s shoulder with mine, waiting until his blue eyes meet mine.
“Feel good?”
“Yeah,” he admits. “Slick pass.”
I accept his fist bump with a modest, “I know.”
“You know I’ve scored before, right? Multiple times, in fact,” he says, amused.
“I know. But the majority of the points you put up come from assists. Which is great, I’m not knocking it. But you could be a hell of an offensive D-man, I know it. Just stick with me.”
He laughs, but the conversation is cut short when we’re sent out for another shift. Later, I feel good about the game and how I played. I hadn’t been sure what to expect after being traded and had anticipated there to be some growing pains. Sure, we’re all professional hockey players, but throwing a new guy into a group of players who’ve been together for years is bound to cause a few hiccups. Fortunately, if this game is anything to go by, I might not have to be quite so worried about it as I’d been. This is a contract year for me, and although I’m not certain this is the team I want to stay with, I’d like to at least be given the choice.
Beside me, Grayson is staring into his locker while he dresses, silent in the otherwise rowdy room. He’s the only person not talking or laughing, and his broad shoulders are tight with anxiety as he appears to compete in a race for fastest person to be clothed. Deciding that the busy locker room probably isn’t the best place to ask him what’s wrong, I try to follow his lead and get dressed quickly, not wanting to keep him waiting around for me when he’s ready to go home. I do, however, take a second to check my phone and smile when I see a notification.
I don’t open the app until I’m seated in the passenger seat of Grayson’s car and we’re listening to soft instrumental music. It’s a weird choice, and sort of reminds me of doctor’s office music, but it’s not my car and so not my choice. I open the app and angle the screen away from him, not quite ready to share this part of my life yet.
Brody
Hey, how was your day?
Ree
Hi, it was fucking great, how was yours??
That extra punctuation might be a little much, but I really did have a good day. I love winning, regardless of whether I’m one of the people who put a point up. Brody doesn’t respond, but I wait for a solid five minutes before I close the app with a sigh. You only talked to the guy for a couple hours last night, calm the fuck down and act your age. I look over at Grayson in the driver’s seat, and decide a distraction might be in order.
“Hey, can I ask you something?”
He glances at me. “Sure.”
“Is there something…you’re not super close with any of the guys, are you?” Flinching, I try to tone it down a bit. “I mean, other than Zolkov, you just don’t seem particularly friendly with anyone. Is there a reason for that?”
“I used to be,” he says, shrugging.
“But not anymore?” I ask, not wanting to needle him but not understanding. Grayson is chill as fuck—he’s the most inoffensive person I’ve ever met.
“No,” he says, and then sighs. “Look, I think some of the guys just aren’t comfortable with me and I’ve tried to…acknowledge that and stay to myself.”
I scrunch up my nose in consternation. What the hell does that mean?
“Uhm…why? ”
He laughs, but stops after looking over and seeing my facial expression. Sobering, he waits until we’re parked in his garage before telling me in a careful, explanatory tone: “Because I’m gay.”
He’s out of the car before I can comment on that. Honestly, I’d completely forgotten. Now, though, the team dynamic is starting to make sense. The way the guys laugh and talk around him like he’s not there, make exaggerated efforts to keep themselves covered with a towel, and exchange loaded glances behind his back. Suddenly furious, I follow him inside and barely manage to not slam the door behind me. He’s looking down at his phone, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It seems incredible that he can be smiling when he just told me that his teammates are uncomfortable with him because he’s gay.
“Okay, what the actual fuck,” I say, dropping my bag on the ground and waiting for him to look up from his phone. In my pocket, my own phone buzzes with a notification.
“It’s fine,” he says. “I’m just here to play hockey. I can’t be concerned with every bigot in the league.”
“These bigots are on your team ,” I argue. “If you are going to be concerned with any, these might be a good place to start!” I try to modulate my tone and make it look less like I’m attacking him. It’s not him I’m mad at, after all, even though his calmness is infuriating right now.
“What do you expect me to do?” he challenges. “I’ve played here for six years, and the majority of those years I was in the closet. They know me, and they liked me up until the point they decided my gayness might be a little too much for them to handle. I’m not going to beg anybody to be my friend.”
“Well…I don’t fucking know!” I throw my hands up in ex asperation, frustrated that I can’t come up with a solution or punch something. “That’s so messed up, though. I can’t believe they even care. I forgot—swear to god—until you mentioned it tonight. What business is it of anyone else who you like to sleep with?”
“I think they consider it their problem when it’s a gay man in the locker room they get naked in. I could try explaining that I’m not attracted to every guy the same way they’re not attracted to every girl, but why should I? I shouldn’t have to say that. They should trust me because they know me.”
“Right,” I agree. “Fucking right.”
“Listen, I tried. When I first came out, I tried to play the game and talk to them about it.” He shrugs, fiddling with the phone in his hand. “But I’m tired, Remy. I just want to play hockey, and hopefully not get reported to HR in the process.”
“And not have fun doing it.”
“I had fun tonight,” he says. I try to smile, but it feels strained.
“Well, if I hear any homophobic bullshit, I’ve got your back. I’m not?—”
“Don’t,” he cuts in sharply. “Just…don’t. Z already did that and all it’s done is make him an outcast as well. This is a contract year for you. Don’t make things harder for yourself on my account.”
As though the conversation is over as far as he is concerned, he looks down at his phone and turns his back to me. He’s hunched over, shoulders curled inward as he types out a message to somebody and I desperately try to think of a way to continue this argument until I can win it. My phone buzzes again, and I’m distracted by thoughts of that damn app .
“I think I’m going to go to bed,” is all I can come up with.
“Me too,” he agrees, sighing at whatever he sees or doesn’t see on his phone and putting it back in his pocket. He smiles at me, a touch sheepishly. “You pissed, now?”
“Yeah, a little bit,” I admit, and he laughs. He’s got a nice laugh—a deep rumble that I bet sounds fantastic with an ear pressed to his chest, listening to it vibrate through your eardrum. Look at you, Remy, download one gay dating app and suddenly you’re having inappropriate thoughts about your male friends. I decide not to spend too much time thinking about how much I like the combination of Grayson’s dark hair and blue eyes, even though I’ve just noticed that as well. “I’ll see you tomorrow, though.”
“Want to grab breakfast in the morning? I’ve lived here long enough to know all the good places,” he offers, and I nod gratefully.
“Sounds great.”
Sitting on the edge of my bed, I pull off my socks and toss them toward the hamper. There are two notifications now. Flopping back onto the bed, I hold my phone over my head and open the app. I bypass the newest messages, one of which is from a man named Ted who wants me to know that he’s got a butt plug in and is waiting for me to come rail him. Pausing to block Ted, I open Brody’s messages and breathe a sigh of relief that he’s not looking to be railed right now.
Brody
Mine was pretty fucking great, too.
You up to anything exciting tonight?
Ree
Well, Ted did offer to let me bone him, so I guess that’s always an option.
Brody
Ah, and would this be Ted of the butt plug?
Ree
Wow, I guess I’m not as special as I thought I was.
Brody
I think I’m going to pass on the Ted experience.
Ree
Same. I’d rather talk to you, anyway.
I wait, holding my breath and feeling a stirring of nervousness. I’ve never flirted with a guy before, and am pleased to find that it feels exactly the same way flirting with girls used to. He takes long enough to respond that I start to think he won’t. It was such an innocuous comment, and isn’t that what we’re here for? Flirting? At least I’m taking things slow and not starting things off with an unsolicited dick pic.
Brody
Same. First thing I thought of after work was messaging you.
Ree
Can I be honest with you about something?
Brody
Oh, lord.
Ree
Nothing crazy, I just want to make sure I’m not leading anybody on. I just got a divorce and this is my first foray into the world of dating men. So, if I say or do something wrong, you’ll have to let me know—I’m new here.
Brody
I’m sorry to hear about the divorce.
My throat tightens at that. It’s a nice thing to say to somebody you met on a dating app that was created for the express purpose of getting laid. I have the sudden desire to tell him all my secrets. How the first time Amanda and I slept together, my immediate thought had been: is that it? I want to tell him that I dreaded long stretches at home and preferred away games—if only because I could avoid the stress of being home. I want him to know that Amanda was my best friend and I love her, but I don’t think I loved her in the right way to marry her.
Ree
Me too. But it was the right move.
Brody
So, when you say you’re new to this, you mean…
Ree
Experimenting? That’s not the right word, but it also is?? I don’t know. I’ve never even kissed a guy before—literal gay virgin over here. But I’m curious, and I just got a divorce, so fuck it.
I figured I’d better put that out in the open right away so you can walk away if you want.
Brody
Thanks. I don’t mind being part of the experiment, though.
Ree
You can be my gay Jedi Master, teaching me the ways of the Force.
Brody
Ah, so you’re a nerd. Good to know.
Ree
Tell me a dirty secret, since I’ve just told you mine.