Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Remy
Grayson and I get off the plane together and head toward his SUV. After our conversation earlier, we’d tried to get a little shut-eye even though neither of us was particularly tired. At one point, Grayson had checked his phone for messages and seemed disappointed when there weren’t any. It made me think of Brody, and how I hadn’t been able to check for messages yet. I wait until I’m seated in Grayson’s passenger seat and he’s pulling onto the highway before I check it, screen angled away from him in case he looks over.
It’s not that I’m ashamed about having the app or being open to experimenting. But I feel weird, unable to share this part of me just yet. I also don’t want to offend him, knowing how much trouble he’s had with the team since he came out of the closet. He might not appreciate somebody flippantly experimenting with something he’s struggled with.
There isn’t a message from Brody waiting, so I send him one. Nothing special, just a hey to let him know that I’m thinking about him and his massive dick. I’m still unsure of how exactly that picture made me feel. On the one hand, there was the general impressiveness of seeing exactly how big a 6’7” guy’s dick is. On the other hand, I tried to look at the picture in the way a sexual partner might look at it. I tried to imagine the feel of his skin and the weight of him in my palm. I tried to imagine how it would feel to put my mouth on him and what his cum would taste like.
It worked. The visual had been enough to get me hard and keep me there as I jacked off. The last thing I thought of before coming was to wonder what Brody’s face looks like. His body is great—obviously—and certainly sheds some light on whether I’m as straight as I thought I was, but faceless photos aren’t going to get me off forever. I want to hear the timbre of his voice and see what color eyes he has. Judging by the dark hair on his chest and pelvis, I’m picturing him brunette with dark lashes framing equally dark eyes.
Yeah, definitely not as straight as I thought I was.
I check the app again, but still no response from Brody. Grayson glances over at me when I sigh.
“You good?” he asks.
“Yeah.” Fiddling with my phone, I twist the words around in my mind to try and find a way to tell him the truth without telling him all of the truth. “I’ve been chatting with someone on a dating app. Nothing crazy, but I like talking to them. Haven’t heard from them today, so, you know, feeling a little needy.”
He laughs. “I know the feeling.”
“Yeah?” I turn toward him, interested. “You’re dating someone? I didn’t realize.”
Grayson is, quite honestly, the easiest person to live with. He’s so quiet that sometimes I wonder if he’s trying to lessen his presence in his own house, as though he needs to work around me and my needs instead of the other way around. He doesn’t ever have company and, as far as I can tell, doesn’t leave to go elsewhere. I’m going to feel like a real ass if I find out he’s dating someone, but hasn’t brought them around because I’m rooming with him.
“Oh,” he says, laughing quietly, “no, not really. Maybe though, someday. It’s early, yet.”
“Same,” I tell him. “I’ve been out of the dating game for a long fucking time.”
“Same,” he agrees, glancing over and sharing a smile with me. “You do the dating app thing before?”
“No. I’m more of a go-to-the-bar-and-find-somebody kind of guy. But it’s working out well for me so far—we seem to connect really well, and they don’t give off any crazy vibes.”
“Important,” he says gravely. “Does that mean you’ve got plans tomorrow?”
“Other than messaging my casual dating app acquaintance?” He nods, grinning as he signals a right turn at the next light. “No, nothing planned.”
“Well, after morning skate, how do you feel about hanging out? I’ll take you around, show you the sights.”
“You want to play tourist with me for a day?” I can’t keep the excitement from coloring my tone. Grayson notices, smiling wider and reaching up to scratch idly at his scruffy jaw.
“Yeah, if you’re up to it.”
“Oh, I’m up to it. Thank you—I’m excited.”
“Sure, no problem,” he answers gruffly. “I figure we can grab something to eat after practice and go from there. Is there anything you want to see? I know you didn’t get much of a heads-up before you had to report here, but if there’s anything you’re dying to do, let me know.”
“Honestly, I hadn’t even thought about it. My knowledge of Canada is hockey and, you know, winter.”
“Say no more,” he says, lifting a hand off of the steering wheel. “I’ve got you covered.”
True to his word, the next day we finish practice and immediately head into town to grab an early lunch. We’re both dressed casually—Grayson sporting a pair of grey sweatpants and Calgary ball cap—so whatever he has planned probably doesn’t require us to be dressed up. The waitress who serves us at the café raises her eyebrows at the sheer amount of food we request, but doesn’t say anything as she goes to put in the order. Across the table from me, Grayson has taken his hat off and set it to the side, running his fingers through his dark hair.
I’ve begun…noticing my roommate a little more, lately. The way his back muscles move under his shirts, and the strip of skin that shows above his waistband when said shirts ride up a little bit. I like the contrast of his black hair and blue eyes, and my eyes always seem to be catching on the layer of stubble on his jaw. How would it feel to have that scratch against me?
When our food is delivered, I stop objectifying my roommate and duck my head to eat, my thoughts a confusing tangle of Amanda, Grayson, and dating apps. If Brody is half as attractive as Grayson is, I’ll be happy.
“Remy?” Grayson asks, and I glance up to see him watching me over the rim of his mug.
“Yeah, sorry, did you say something?”
“You okay? ”
Sure, don’t mind me, just wondering what your facial hair might feel like if your face was between my legs. I clear my throat. “Great. Thanks again, for suggesting today. I needed this.”
He grimaces, looking down at his plate guiltily. “Yeah, sorry. Should have got you out of the house sooner. I’ve become a little bit of a hermit, I guess. Didn’t mean to suck you into the vortex with me.”
“Honestly, I don’t mind,” I admit around a mouthful of eggs. “I never had to leave home much between games back in Cali, either. Why would I, when I had the prime surf spot right there?”
“I can’t believe they let you surf.” Grayson chuckles, shaking his head. “I went to a ski resort one year—to snowshoe, mind you, not ski—and you’d have thought the fucking sky was falling.”
“Management crawled right up your ass, did they?” I grin.
“So, either L.A. wasn’t concerned or they didn’t know about your surfing,” he notes, and I smirk a little wider.
“Surfing isn’t dangerous,” I hedge, and he snorts so forcefully I’m surprised a piece of egg didn’t come out of his nose.
“Right. Try telling that to the people who get attacked by sharks.”
“That’s rare. You’re more likely to get hurt being rag-dolled.” I pause, seeing Grayson squint as he tries to figure out what the term might mean. “It’s when you wipe out and then get swung around underwater. You can get disoriented, lose track of which way is up or down, crack your head on the ocean floor, dislocate a shoulder—shit like that. ”
“Mm,” he hums, “and here I am getting in trouble for snowshoeing of all things.”
I laugh. “Well, they might not have known I was surfing. I’ve got a private beach and I never went looking for waves where somebody might take a picture of me.”
“Madness,” he mumbles, shaking his head.
“So, I take it our adventure today isn’t going to feature any insurance nightmares?”
“I’m already persona non grata on the team,” Grayson answers dryly, reaching a hand out for the check before I can. “I’m not about to endanger their newest superstar.”
“What do I owe you?” I ask, nodding toward the pile of cash he’s counting out to leave on the table. Either he’s leaving a massive tip, or this is the most expensive diner in the history of diners.
“It’s on me. Welcome to Calgary, Remy.”
He stands, waiting for me to follow him out of the booth, and holding the door open for me, as we exit the diner. Rubbing my hands together rapidly, I nudge his shoulder with mine.
“Thanks for that.” He nods, shrugging in an embarrassed sort of way and rubbing a hand over his stubble again. I try not to watch the path of his hand. “So, what’s our first stop?”
“First stop is, of course, the Calgary Tower.”
“Fuck yes,” I say sportingly, as I climb into the passenger seat of his car. “What’s that?”
Laughing, he waits until my seat belt is buckled before putting the car in drive and pulling out of the parking lot. “It’s the giant tower thing that you’ve surely seen on the skyline. It’s super touristy, but you’re new and it’s something you’ve got to do at least once…”
He trails off, glancing at me uncertainly .
“But we could scratch it off the list, if you don’t want to do?—"
“Are you kidding? I’m game for anything. Give me all the tourist shit you got.”
“Someday when we’ve got more time, we can go over to Banff for the day. It’s not too far away—maybe seventy miles? Eighty? Not a bad drive, anyway. We could hike.” Again, this is said with trepidation—a slight rise at the end of his sentences, as though he’s unsure whether it’s a question or not.
“I’ve always wanted to go to Banff. I love watching the travel channel and it’s been on my list for ages.”
“Sweet.” He relaxes. “Then we’ll have to go.”
As he drives us to this tower thing, I take a second to check my phone. There’s a message from Brody, which causes an eruption of butterflies in my stomach. I reply, biting my lip so I don’t start smiling like an idiot and draw Grayson’s attention. He fiddles with the radio, turning the volume low enough that we can still chat, but also giving me an out if I prefer the silence. I watch my and Brody’s chat, waiting to see if he’ll message back right away, but he doesn’t. I wish I had his phone number instead, so I could just text him.
When we get to the Calgary Tower, it’s just as busy as Grayson hinted it would be. It ends up being worth it though, to see the insane 360° of the city. Grayson, smiling indulgently, follows me around as I take photos, hands tucked into his pockets and ball cap facing backward. I try not to stare at him too much, but he just looks so fucking good . Do I have a type? Apparently so.
Suddenly inspired, I ask an older couple if she can take my and Grayson’s picture against one of the windows. He looks embarrassed, but not displeased as he takes his hat off and finger combs his hair. He puts his hand gently on my shoulder, barely touching me. I wrap my own around his waist and feel him tense up beside me. I know we look like a couple, and I also know that I don’t really care. Especially when I see the photo—we look fucking good together. I show it to Grayson as he puts his hat back on.
“It’s a good picture,” I tell him. He nods and murmurs an agreement. “You cool if I put this on social?”
His eyes fly to mine and he fiddles with his hat again. A stray piece of dark hair has slipped out above his right ear, and I nearly reach a hand out to tuck it back in. Looking back down at the photo, I’m struck again by how couple-y we look. Shaking off thoughts like that—I’m confused enough without throwing inappropriate feelings for coworkers and friends in the mix—I look back up at Grayson.
“You’re going to post that?” he asks, as if this is the most shocking thing he’s ever heard.
“Yeah, if you don’t mind?”
“I mean…no, that’s fine. It’s just…” He trails off, looking away from me and out at the Calgary skyline.
“Does it bother you that we look like a couple?” I ask, and his eyes snap back to mine. Ah, so that’s it. God forbid he take a picture with his male friend—we must be fucking, right? I scowl. “I’m posting it. And I don’t give a fuck if your homophobic-ass teammates think we’re together.”
He watches in silence as I post the picture to my social media with the caption: Anybody recognize my new friend? The fans are going to love it, I love it, and that’s all that matters. Alex, who has alerts set on all of my social media profiles, is the first to like and comment. My fingers itch to pull up the dating app and check for a message from Brody, but Grayson is still hovering over my shoulder, watching as people lose their shit over our picture.
“See?” I say, pointing to the comments. “People love that we’re friends!”
“People love that we’re giving them a new bromance to fantasize about,” he answers dryly. I smirk. “Come on. Let’s get out of here or we won’t have time to do activity number two, before we lose the day.”
Activity number two ends up being rafting down Bow River, nearly sending me into fits of excitement when I see the sign. Grayson grimaces and holds up a hand.
“It’s a level one, so don’t get too excited.”
“That’s all right. This’ll be great—I fucking love water sports.”
He smiles and ducks his head a bit as he climbs out of the car, pleased with my enthusiasm. I wait for him to join me before heading toward the rental place.
“I haven’t actually done this,” Grayson admits, reaching around me and grabbing the door. “Always wanted to, though, just never had somebody willing to come with me.”
The high school kid manning the rental booth looks up and visibly wilts at the sight of Grayson. “I don’t think I have a life vest big enough for you,” he says, in lieu of a hello. Grayson, who has likely grown used to being told he’s too big to do things, nods.
“That’s okay, I can swim.”
“Or just put your feet on the bottom of the river and stand,” I mumble, and he shoots me a look. The kid still looks dubious, but lets us rent a pair of rafts.
The river, as promised, is a level one and ridiculously easy to traverse. It is also ridiculously relaxing, and I don’t even bother trying to hide my grin as we float along. I’m an outdoorsman at heart. While I love a good museum tour as much as the next guy, I’d much rather be doing something like this. I look over at Grayson who has his head tipped back and eyes closed like he’s enjoying the sun on his face.
“Thanks, Gray.”
He lifts his head, looking over at me and smiling lazily. “Sure. Thanks for coming along.”
“Banff during our next long weekend, right?” I ask, wanting to nail him down on a promise for more excursions like this. I’m a social guy and I get the sense he’s a little bit lonely here—we’ll be the perfect pair.
“Right,” he agrees, dipping his paddle into the river and scooping up some water to splash me with. I splash him back, because hockey players are really just overgrown children.
By the time we get back home, it’s dusk and I’m that special kind of exhausted that comes from being outside in the sun for hours. I check my phone as Grayson parks the car, and decide not to let Brody’s lack of messages get me down. Looking over at my roommate, I wiggle my phone in the air.
“How about pizza for dinner?”
“Risky,” he says, because we’ve got early practice tomorrow. I take this as the yes that it is.
“What’s your preference?”
“You choose. I’ll eat anything including pizza with pineapple on top.”
“Goddamn, Gray, I knew I liked you.” I pull up the website to a local pizza place I noticed he’s got a menu printed out and stuck to the refrigerator for, and tap out an order. We probably don’t need two large pizzas, but this way we’ll have enough for some cold leftovers tomorrow.
“I’m going to go shower the river off,” Grayson says .
“Pizza in forty,” I reply, and he waves a hand in acknowledgment as he ambles down the hallway. I do not watch him go, because he’s my friend and checking out his ass would be uncool. My phone buzzes: new message. I practically dislocate my thumb, closing down the web browser and opening the app.
The last message I’d sent him had been a joking-but-mostly-serious request for a naked picture to get me through the day. He hadn’t responded, which meant I’d spent the day wondering if he’d moved on; maybe hooked up with somebody else. When I open our chat, I grin and tip my phone toward my chest as though to shield it from view even though Grayson is long gone into his room by now.
Walking back to my room, I close my door and increase the screen brightness on my phone because damn . I have never, in my entire career surrounded by professional athletes, seen a man with muscles like this. He’s all hills and valleys, dips and hard curves; big thighs covered in black hair. He is the farthest thing from a woman as it’s possible to get, and he turns me the fuck on.
He’s in a bathroom this time, standing in front of a mirror the way I did for my profile photo. He’s still cutting his face off, which I get even though it’s starting to really drive me nuts. My imagination isn’t strong enough to fill in those blanks, and I’m so damn curious . A message pops up, two simple words: your turn . Grinning, I strip down, not bothering to lock my bedroom door. Grayson is ridiculously respectful of boundaries—he would never just walk into my room, no matter that this is his house and me just a guest.
Propping my camera up on the desk, I turn the overhead light off but leave on the bedside table lamp. Setting a timer on my phone, I go through a series of poses and then flip through the photos, eyeing them critically. Picking the one that makes me look the most cut, I send it to him. Naked, I flop back on the bed and grab the lube, intending to jack off to that photo he sent me.
My phone rings, startling me, and I have a sudden insane excitement that it’s Brody calling me. Idiot, you don’t have each other’s numbers , I chide, and then sigh when I see Alex’s name.
“Hey,” I greet him, tossing the lube on the bed next to me in resignation.
“Try not to sound too excited.”
“Sorry, I was just getting ready to bang one out to a picture of dating app guy,” I say baldly, and can practically hear Alex’s ears perk up on the other end of the phone. I tuck my hand behind my head, settling in.
“Oh yeah? So, I was right, then.” He sounds smug. “I told you.”
I roll my eyes. “You weren’t right about anything. We haven’t done anything except talk and send dick pics. Fucking chill, dude.”
“Mm. I don’t think I could whack off to a picture of a guy, but maybe I just haven’t found the right one. Send me the picture, I want to see.”
“Alex.” I laugh. “No. That’s messed up, I’m not going to send you a naked picture of him. He meant it for me, not me and my friends.”
“Not like I’d know who it is—you don’t even know who he is!” He sighs, gustily. “Okay, fine, you’re right. So, are you guys going to meet up? This is so exciting. You’re getting the college experience you never had.”
“You trying to tell me that you experimented with guys in college?” I ask, amused at the excitement in his voice .
“No, but I thought about it. Chickened out. It’s too late for me now—I’m stuck with the love of my life, and alas, she’s a woman.”
I laugh again, adjusting myself so that I can pull part of the comforter over myself. I’m getting cold, just lying here naked. “You’re in a strange fucking mood, Alex. Did you go out to a fancy lawyer lunch and drink too much fancy lawyer alcohol?”
“I’m not drunk. What the hell is fancy lawyer—you know what, never mind. You’re trying to distract me. When are you and your new man going to meet up?”
“I don’t know, he hasn’t brought it up.”
“Have you?”
“Well, no. I don’t want to rush things.” I scowl at the ceiling as Alex cracks up. I really need a new best friend. “I’m serious, shut up.”
“ You don’t want to rush things ,” he repeats incredulously. “Says the man who was banging any woman who dared walk within a five-yard radius of him. Seriously, Remy, you were rushing things so much I doubt you even got their names.”
“Okay, calm down over there—I was going through a divorce, that was different. I was just…letting off steam.” He makes a noise in the back of his throat that sounds like an interruption is coming. I hasten to continue, talking over him. “This Brody guy and I talk, you know? It’s not like I picked him up at a bar for a one-night stand. I know things about him. It would feel weird to just use him for sex.”
Alex’s laughing takes on a manic quality. I contemplate hanging up the phone. “Yes,” he gasps, “god forbid we use the guy we met on a dating app for sex. Jesus Christ, I’m so glad I called you. I needed that laugh. ”
“You’re welcome,” I deadpan.
“You do realize that you could suggest meeting up for a date. You don’t have to use him for sex. If you like talking to him, you could grab a drink and do that in person.”
“Yeah, that’s true.” I sigh, rubbing a hand idly over my chest. “It makes me nervous, I guess. Talking online is one thing, but meeting in person makes it more…”
“Real?” Alex fills in.
“Yeah.”
“Which is the point,” he says, making me sigh again. “But if you’re not into this, then don’t do it. Download something else instead and find some nice Canadian girls.”
“Or I could just be alone.”
“Right”—he snorts—“because you could ever be alone.”
“I could,” I say indignantly, even though I probably couldn’t. I like having Grayson in the house with me, even though he largely stays to himself and is pretty silent. I know he’s there—it’s the presence that matters.
“Right,” Alex repeats, heavy on the sarcasm. “But we’re getting off track. If you’re not feeling this anymore, cut this guy loose and move on. The beauty of the dating app is that there’s no expectations and no strings attached. You don’t even know this guy’s real name.”
“I am feeling it, though.” I think about the photo he sent me, and just how into it I was. Am. “But maybe I won’t be when we actually meet in person. What if?—"
“Then you’ve made yourself a friend and you guys can laugh about the time you sent each other dick pics and got off. Remy, you are taking this far too seriously. For a laid-back California boy, you sure do know how to overthink things.”
“Yeah.” I heave a bigger sigh. “I know. But there might be a full-on sexual awakening happening over here. Overthinking seems like it might be part of the package. Also, things are a little…different on this team.”
“Different?”
“Yeah. You know how I’m living with Grayson, right? Well, they apparently weren’t very supportive of him when he came out to them and since then he’s struggled. It’s fucking weird, Alex. Nobody has said anything straight to his face, but there is a distinct vibe when he’s in the locker room. And the coach has steadily been decreasing his ice time. We just started the season and they’re already playing him less and less each game. They’re freezing him out.”
“Great. So, if it turns out this thing with your internet guy ends up being serious, you run the risk of tanking your career?”
“Internet guy isn’t going to get serious, that’s not the problem. I don’t want a serious relationship right now. I just got a divorce, remember? But I think some of these guys might be homophobes, and this is a contract year for me. I might not want to stay, but I still need to put up high enough numbers that somebody else will want me.”
“And it’ll be hard to produce if they cut your ice time when they find out you’re playing hide the salami with a guy.” Alex hums, thinking things over. I can practically hear his brain tick over from annoying friend to lawyer. My phone buzzes and I just know it’s Brody messaging me. My skin tingles with the desire to check it—maybe he sent me another picture. “But it’s not like they’ll find out unless you tell them, and I don’t see you doing that. There’s no need for you to tell them you’re exploring your sexuality post-divorce. ”
“No, I wasn’t saying that, I was just…shit, man, I don’t know. I just want to play hockey and get laid.”
“Sucks about your roommate, though.”
“Yeah.” I lower my voice. “He doesn’t say much but I think it’s been tough for him after coming out. He’s still got two years left on an eight-year contract, too, which is usually a good thing but?—"
“But only if you like your team?”
“Exactly. He could request a trade and somebody could buy him out, but that won’t fly if he has another season like last year. I don’t know, the whole thing is majorly fucked from what I can tell. I wish I’d never been traded.”
“You said the exact opposite when you found out you got traded.”
“Right, because I wanted to get out of California and start fresh. I didn’t realize I’d be starting fresh with a group of douchebags.”
“Are they?”
“Not to me, yet. But I’m Team Grayson if someone asks me, and apparently that’s not going to do me any favors.”
There is a heavy silence on the other end of the line, offset by a strange uptick in ambient noise like Alex put me on speakerphone. I wait—often he’ll have to answer work emails or texts mid-conversation.
“Grayson Brody?” he asks suddenly. I nod before remembering we’re not on FaceTime.
“Yeah.”
“Uhm.” He laughs, before clearing his throat and trying again. “Your dating app guy is Brody, right?”
“It’s not an uncommon name,” I answer, even though I have never met another Brody in my life. Whatever, Alex doesn’t need to know that .
“And is it also common for someone to be six-seven? Because both of these Brodys are the same height.”
I frown, because of course that’s not common. It’s not even common in professional hockey. I’ve been living on the assumption that internet Brody was fudging the numbers a little bit to make himself more impressive. Worry coils in my gut like a serpent— I didn’t accidentally pick up my teammate, did I?
“And we already know Grayson Brody is gay, so…” Alex trails off, but picks up again when it becomes clear that silence is my current preferred method of avoidance. “You’ve seen him naked in the locker room, haven’t you? Does he look like those pictures you’ve got in your spank bank?”
“I don’t know, he always dresses facing his stall and is super fucking quick. I don’t check people out in the locker room, Alex. It’s not him, though, it can’t be.”
“Those would be a pair of pretty distinct coincidences.”
Sitting up—the comforter falling away from my chest—I put Alex on speaker and lower the volume down as much as it will go. Toggling over to the app, I ignore the more recent messages from Brody and click the last photograph he sent me. Zooming in as much as I can, I squint at the background and try to discern if I can recognize where the photo was taken. It’s no use. I’ve never been into his bedroom or bath, which I assume is where this photo was taken. I zoom in on his body instead, trying to find distinguishing characteristics like a tattoo or an oddly shaped mole.
“You still there?” Alex asks.
“Yeah, I’m trying to decide if it’s Gray in those pictures,” I whisper, flicking a glance over at the door. The house is still silent. He’s probably resting, unbothered by the looming freak-out in my room. “He doesn’t have any tattoos though, so I don’t know how I’d figure out it’s him. Lots of people have chest hair, it’s not exactly a deal breaker.”
“You need to ask him out.”
“Grayson?” I hiss, and Alex gives an aggrieved sigh.
“No, dumbass, Brody. Ask internet guy to meet up and then bring it up to Grayson that you have a date. If he also has a date, you’ll know if it’s him or not. Simple. How have you made it this far in life, being this stupid?”
“This shit doesn’t happen in real life—this is fucking unreal.”
“Yes. Very strange for your gay roommate to be on a gay dating app,” he answers, so dryly I can practically feel the eye roll from here. “He used his last name, for Christ’s sake! That’s the lowest level of subterfuge there is.”
“It might not be him,” I say, and then repeat it a couple of times in my mind like a mantra.
“It’s him. Do what I said and figure it out for real. Listen, I have to go. My fucking email is blowing up right now.” He sighs, the background noise becoming louder as he shuffles through something. “This client isn’t happy with taking their spouse for half of their income—no, they want an arm and a leg, too. Greedy fucker,” he mumbles under his breath.
“All right, I’ll let you go,” I say, stomach sinking. I can’t look away from the picture of Brody’s chest and thighs. Have I seen those thighs walking around the training facility and in the kitchen?
“Message Brody and ask him out,” Alex reminds me. “If it really is your teammate, you need to figure it out and tell him. It’s not fair for you to know when he doesn’t.”
“Yeah,” I agree gloomily. What a joyful conversation that will end up being. “Sorry about your client. Talk to you later. ”
We hang up and I force my eyes away from the dark hair covering Brody’s pecs. He’s messaged me three times since I’ve been on the phone with Alex. Does he talk like Grayson? Maybe the reason we get on so well is because we’re already friends in real fucking life. I know Alex is right and that it’s not fair for me to have this information and not him, so, ignoring the sickly feeling in my stomach, I message him back.
Ree
Hey so I was thinking…
Brody
Don’t hurt yourself.
I laugh softly. Unfortunately, this response doesn’t bode well for me. That’s exactly the sort of thing Grayson would say.
Ree
How do you feel about meeting up? Maybe grab dinner sometime this week?
I jump when somebody bangs on the front door. Scrambling off of my bed, I tug on a pair of sweatpants and jog shirtless into the hallway. I’d completely forgotten that I’d ordered pizza. Collecting the pies from the delivery guy, I head into the kitchen with my phone clutched in one sweaty hand. It hasn’t vibrated with a reply yet.
“Gray,” I call, “pizza’s here.”
He steps out of his room fully clothed, which is both a relief and a disappointment. I’d been watching his door and hoping he’d only be wearing pants, so that I could get a full frontal of his bare chest. No luck, because, of course, Grayson only ever walks around this place fully covered—always cognizant of the fact that he has a roommate.
His hair is wet and he runs his fingers through the strands a couple times as he walks toward me, smiling. I notice how dark his hair is, and how his stubble isn’t patchy at all. I notice the way his sweatpants fit and the stretch of his shirt over his shoulders. Grayson, for his part, notices me leering at him. His head tilts and he eyes me quizzically. Words, Remy, use your words.
“Pizza is here,” I repeat.
“Right.” He puts a hand lightly on my shoulder as he passes, and my brain chooses this moment to let me know that he’s got the biggest hands I’ve ever seen. I turn and watch him as he goes to the cupboard to grab plates.
“Do you want anything to drink?” he asks. “I’m going to boil some water for tea. I could make you some?”
Tea—fucking tea! This sends my nervous system into a tizzy and it takes me seconds longer than is appropriate for me to formulate a response. Grayson is standing at the oven fidgeting with the kettle, perfectly at ease. My phone feels like it’s burning a hole in my pocket. All I can think about is Brody’s profile proclaiming that he was a tea drinker and a snowshoer.
“Sure,” I finally respond, proud of the way my voice doesn’t waver. “Tea sounds good. Thank you.”
He grins at me over his shoulder before carefully pulling out two mugs and dropping a peppermint teabag in each. I can’t get over the fact that he uses a real kettle and not an electric one. It shouldn’t be cute but it fucking is, and now I’m freaking out. Taking a bite of too hot pizza, I watch as he pulls his phone out of the pocket of his sweats and stares at it. It takes him a few seconds before he types something. My phone buzzes in my pocket. Shit .
“You went to a ski resort to snowshoe,” I realize, accidentally speaking the words out loud instead of keeping them in my head where they belong. He slides a mug over the island to me and grabs two slices of pizza. Leaning a hip casually against the counter, he holds his plate under his chin as he takes a bite.
“Sure did,” he answers. “Why?”
Why, indeed. Because I’m pretty sure he and I have been jacking off to each other’s dick pics for the last week. Because Brody’s dark chest and leg hair would fit perfectly with Grayson’s equally dark head of hair. Because sometimes I notice things about Grayson that exceed the bounds of platonic friendship.
“I just thought of that, sorry. Random, I know.”
“You good?”
I nod, but save myself the trouble of answering by taking a monster bite of pizza and chewing as slowly as I can. Checking my phone, I close my eyes for a few seconds when I see the chat.
Ree
How do you feel about meeting up? Maybe grab dinner sometime this week?
Brody
Sounds good. Are you free on Wednesday?
Wednesday. Of course I’m fucking free because we don’t have a game on Wednesday and practice is early. Just like it is for Grayson. Laying my phone carefully down on the island, I set my half-finished pizza onto my plate and take a deep breath. Even if Alex and I end up being wrong, I can’t live with the possibility and not tell Grayson my suspicions. If I say nothing and it ends up being him, I’ll be the dirtbag who took advantage of a situation where he’d been counting on anonymity. No matter how uncomfortable this might be, I need to tell him.
“Are you busy Wednesday?” I ask, and try not to stare at his mouth when he sucks stray sauce off of his thumb.
“Might be,” he answers noncommittally. He glances down at his phone, resting on the counter, and my stomach falls further. “I might have a date.”
“Me too,” I say quietly, and he smiles.
“Yeah? Good for you. You work quickly.” He laughs, reaching out to snag another slice of pizza. I watch his arm, noticing the play of muscle beneath skin. “If my thing falls through, you could borrow my car, if you wanted.”
“Your thing won’t fall through.” He looks at me, one eyebrow raised questioningly. I hold my hands up in front of me, palms facing him. “Okay, this is going to sound absolutely insane, but I think I might be your date.”
“Huh?” he mumbles around a mouthful of pizza.
“Brody.” I point to him. “Meet Ree.” I point to myself.
For a protracted moment I think I’ve got it wrong. He looks confused—maybe a little bit amused—but not shocked. I wait him out, unsure of whether I’m hoping for it to be him or not. The situation has the makings of disaster, certainly, but when I look at his face, it’s hard to care about that. I like him, that’s for certain. Does that freak me out? Yeah. But not enough for me to ignore the attraction. I want to see where this goes.
“Uhm,” Grayson says, straightening so that he’s no longer leaning against the counter. “What?”
He doesn’t look pissed or disgusted, thank god, just puzzled. It’s a cute expression to see on his big scruffy face, but, seriously, now is not the time, Remy. I pick up my phone and open the app. He stiffens.
“Ree is a nickname my mom uses. And that’s from when I had an appendectomy.” I enlarge one of the photos I’d sent him, pointing to the scar visible on my abdomen. I see his eyes track upward from my phone to my bare stomach.
“Remy,” he says carefully, eyes wide when they meet mine. “I don’t…”
He glances back down at my phone where the naked picture of me is still pulled up. I watch as he swallows, closing his eyes and taking a step back from the counter. If the island wasn’t between us, I’d follow him.
“This isn’t some elaborate plan to fuck with me, is it?”
“I just figured out it was you tonight, I swear,” I tell him earnestly. “I wouldn’t mess with you on this, believe me.”
I hold my hands up again like I’m surrendering and wait for Grayson to say something.