Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
DIEGO
“Damn, this place is nice. You’re not looking for a roommate, are you?” Fender asks, stepping into my living room with a case of beer under his arm.
“Why are you always acting like you can’t afford to live alone?
You aren’t exactly giving away your boxing classes for free, and they’re always packed,” AJ says, coming in a few steps behind Fender with his arm slung around Slater’s shoulders and my squirming, overexcited pug held carefully in his other arm.
“He’s lonely and he doesn’t want to admit it.” Butch answers for him, and his boyfriend, Percy, nods with a look of knowing agreement on his face.
“Fender isn’t lonely, he has a system,” Silas says with a smirk as they all file in one by one, filling my living room and managing to make the massive, open space look modest, maybe even a little cramped. “Hope you don’t mind; we picked up a couple of extra stragglers on our way over.”
Three men I haven’t met before enter behind them. Two of them fit in with the group perfectly. They’re big, beefy gym bros in tank tops and gym shorts. But the third man sticks out like a sore thumb in this crowd. He’s small and skinny and has a little bit of a shy, nerdy vibe about him.
“This is Andre, Xeno, and Ezra. Andre owns Sweat and these are his partners,” Callan explains, bringing up the rear of the gym bro clown car now filling up my apartment.
Callan has a couple of grocery bags in his hands, filled to the brim with meat that we’ll be grilling up for his friends to judge soon enough.
“Partners? Like the three of you own the gym together?” I guess there’s no rule that just because you own a gym means you have to work out, right? Maybe Ezra, the scrawny guy, bought in because it was a good investment?
Ezra is the first one to laugh and everyone else joins in.
“Not partners in the business sense. Partners in the ‘they take my panties off with their teeth’ sense,” he explains, and my face heats.
“Oh.” I sputter an awkward laugh. “All three of you?”
“The vanilla straights are so cute,” Fender teases, and I bristle a little.
“I’m not straight,” I blurt before my brain can connect to my mouth. The room goes silent for a beat and I hold my breath. I know they’re all gay… or at least not straight, but I wait for the pin to drop anyway, for some teasing comment or a big, awkward congratulations.
“Called it,” Slater jokes. Everyone chuckles, and that’s it. They immediately move on to checking out the view from the balcony without any fanfare. I let out a sigh of relief and Callan holds up the grocery bags, tilting his head towards the kitchen to get me to follow him.
“I’m proud of you,” he says, bumping his shoulder against mine once we’re alone.
“It’s no big deal. And for the record, I knew non-monogamy was a thing, I just haven’t met anyone like that, so I wasn’t thinking.”
“Nobody cares. Fender was just being a smartass like he always is.” Callan starts pulling out packages of steaks and putting them on the counter. I reach for the bag to help him unpack but he snatches it away. “No peeking. My rub is proprietary and it’s the key to my victory.”
I snort a laugh. “You don’t want anyone to know how you rub your meat?”
“That’s right, it’s very private. But if you’re a gracious loser, maybe I’ll show you later.” He winks.
“Maybe if you’re a gracious loser, I’ll let you.” I smirk before pressing a hard kiss to his lips and then claiming my half of the steaks so I can start marinating them.
If Callan’s going to be sneaky about it, I can play that game too.
I carefully shield each ingredient I pull out of the refrigerator to mix into my sauce, checking over my shoulder to make sure he’s not watching.
Once we’re both ready, we head outside together to fire up the grills.
I should have known how seriously he would take a grill-off when I agreed to it, but I didn’t expect him to have a second grill delivered to my place yesterday.
“So, what are the stakes of this competition?” Silas asks, leaning against the railing with the wind ruffling his hair.
It’s almost mid-August and it’s still too damn hot for my taste, but at least there’s a nice breeze coming off the lake today, making it half bearable as the sun glares down on us.
“Loser has to do a full circuit at the gym in nothing but a jock and gym shoes,” Callan says.
Andre makes a sound that’s half laugh, half groan. “I don’t know if that’s going to bring in new business or get me sued.”
“Isn’t not knowing half the fun?” Fender jokes before eyeing us both up. “Sounds like a win-win to me because neither of you are hard on the eyes. I guess I’ll have to base my decision solely on the quality of your meat.”
“And if anyone is an expert on low quality meat, it’s Fender, am I right?” Percy ribs him, getting a high five from Butch for the burn and the middle finger from Fender himself.
“Oh yeah, like I’m the only slut around here.” He scoffs, then takes a second to look around at the group of us gathered on the balcony and curses. “Motherfucker, when did this shit happen? One minute we’re a group of sluts and the next everybody’s in a relationship?”
“I’m still single,” Silas points out, and Fender waves his hand dismissively.
“You don’t count. You’re mature and shit.”
I try not to make it too obvious as I glance over at Callan.
Is he going to say anything? Technically we’re not in a relationship.
Although he’s not slutting it up at the moment either.
My stomach sinks. Is that what he’s going to do as soon as the season starts and we call this thing off?
Is he going to run right down to Crossing Swords and find some hot new dude to take home so he can forget all about this summer?
“Whoa, careful there. Unless you took out a massive insurance policy and you’re planning to burn the whole building down to collect,” AJ says, drawing my attention to how hard I’m squeezing the lighter fluid bottle, dousing the coals in my grill with way too much.
“Shit,” I mutter, laughing it off and trying to ignore the jealous pit in my stomach. “Here.” I scoop up half the coals and dump them into Callan’s grill.
“Oh, hey, speaking of relationships—” AJ turns away from me and back to the group. “—if you really are still looking for a roommate, Fends, my brother and his man are officially off again and he says he’s serious about moving this time. He put in for a transfer at his job and everything.”
“Cool, yeah, just let me know,” Fender says agreeably.
We get our grills going and Silas passes me one of the beers Fender brought along while Slapshot dances around everyone’s legs, looking for attention and treats.
“So, you’re a hockey player?” Ezra asks politely.
I choke on a laugh. Not to get too cocky about it or anything, but usually people know who I am. “Yeah, I am. For at least one more year, anyway.”
“Stop, you’re gonna be fine.” Callan slaps me on the shoulder and lets his hand linger there for a few extra seconds. Not long enough that anyone would look twice, but enough that I can still feel it when he pulls it away.
Ezra frowns and tilts his head curiously.
“Things are just really uncertain right now, but I’m sure it’ll all work out,” I say.
“Practice starts in, what? Two more weeks?” Slater asks, and I nod.
“It’ll be weird not having you at Sweat every morning,” Butch muses, and my stomach gives a small twist again.
“It will. I’m ready to get back, but I’ll miss…
certain things about the time I’ve had off.
” I clear my throat and Callan meets my eye for half a second with the same look of reluctant resignation on his face that I can feel tugging at my chest. The thing Callan and I have going doesn’t have to end just yet, but I won’t see him nearly as much once practice starts.
What other options are there though?
“And how are you feeling exactly about the Huskies chances of winning the cup this year?” Andre asks.
“Dude,” Xeno says in a chastising way with a chuckle to soften it.
“What? How often do you have firsthand information before the season starts? I could lay down some bets and look like a fucking genius.”
Callan scoffs and squeezes my shoulder again. “I’ve been getting him back up to speed—what do you think?”
God, I love that cocky shit. And I love that he’s been betting on me since the day we met, even when I was still trying to claw my way back out of the hole this injury caused. I look over my shoulder at him and my stomach flutters in a more pleasant way this time.
Really, what are the options? And would Callan be interested in any of them or is he happy to leave this as a fling once I’m back on the ice?
CALLAN
“The contest was rigged,” I grumble, closing the door on the last of my friends as they file out of Diego’s apartment.
“You’re a sore loser.” He wraps his arms around me from behind and puts his chin on my shoulder. “Just admit that I’m the grill master, pick out a nice jock to work out in, and we can lay this whole thing to rest.”
“I’ll follow through on the bet, but we need another grill-off with a less biased panel of judges before I’ll admit that you’re the grill master.”
“Any time, any place,” he says with an air of taunting in his voice before he kisses my cheek and straightens up. “I’m going to clean up the kitchen.”
“I’ll help.” I reach for his hand without thinking about it and thread my fingers through his for the short walk through the apartment. He doesn’t complain though, and he doesn’t try to pull his hand away until we reach the kitchen.
“This was nice,” Diego says, opening the dishwasher and loading up the dirty plates while I fill the sink with warm, soapy water to tackle the bigger stuff.
“Crystal always used to complain that we never had people over. She would go on and on about how we had this nice place and we never showed it off. It pissed me off, honestly. I was tired, busy, and it felt like nothing was ever good enough for her. Now I’m thinking maybe she just wanted to do things together instead of always waiting around for me to come home or have time for her. ”
My stomach sinks.
“You miss her?” I take a wild guess, and he barks out a laugh.
“Hell no,” he says without hesitation. “That relationship was a mess on a lot of levels and it probably lasted a hell of a lot longer than it should have. I guess I’m thinking more about the future… Like, can I even make a partner happy when hockey takes up so much space in my life?”
He closes the dishwasher and I look over my shoulder at him.
We share a lingering look that makes me wonder if he’s soft launching his plan to let me down easy by telling me all the reasons it won’t work between us.
Or maybe he’s hoping I’ll talk him out of the doubts? That might just be wishful thinking.
“Because you travel so much during the season?” I take a stab at a neutral response, turning my attention to washing a large bowl in the sink instead of staring at him. Diego sidles up beside me, ready to rinse and dry. He shrugs, and I feel the movement against my arm, his warm skin tickling mine.
“The travel was definitely a big part. And even when I’m home during the season, I’m always at practice or working out. My mind is always on the next game. That’s six to nine months of every year when I’m basically the world’s worst boyfriend.”
“I could see that being a problem if you decided to date someone who wasn’t into hockey, since they’d probably get tired of hearing about it.
And it would definitely suck to try to make it work with someone who wouldn’t want to spend their free time in the gym with you, because then you’d really never see each other. ”
Diego’s arm bumps against mine again as he takes the bowl to rinse it.
“So you’re saying I need to find a sports-loving gym rat and then I’ll be all set?”
“It would be a start.” I chance a glance at him and catch him looking back at me, a half smile on his lips, that same heavy look still in his eyes.
“Maybe you could find someone with a flexible schedule so they could even join you on the road some of the time, come to your away games a few times a year. If they already had season tickets to the home games, that would be golden.”
His eyebrows inch up and I bite back a smile.
“Where would I find someone like that?” His voice drops a little lower and he sets the bowl aside, angling himself towards me just a fraction.
I shrug. “It’s a big world, Fergie. You’ve gotta get out there and meet people.”
I slide my wet hands under his shirt and lean closer. His smile slips after only a second though, and he leans away.
“I can’t come out, Cal.”
“You just came out. You told an apartment full of people tonight that you aren’t straight. You told your sister too.”
“That’s different. It was easy to tell all of them because I knew it wouldn’t matter.”
I shrug again and rest my forehead against his.
“Coming out isn’t a one-time thing, man.
You’re going to spend the rest of your life picking and choosing who and where and when.
And not to drop the cute banter and shit we just had going, but if the only thing standing in the way of this being something real between us is that you think I need you to come out in a post-game interview or wave a rainbow flag in the locker room, I want you to know that it’s not a problem for me. ”
“Come on.” He scoffs. “You seriously wouldn’t have a problem with me telling everyone you’re my dog sitter and personal trainer, then coming home and fucking you in secret?”
“I mean, I’d rather you tell people we’re friends, but it’s not a deal-breaker,” I joke, hoping to ease some of the tension building between us.
“I’m into you, Fergie. Way more into you than I have any right to be when we both knew this was temporary.
If you’re trying to scare me away with all of this, it’s not working, because all I’m hearing is that there’s a chance for us if I can just convince you that none of these obstacles are all that big. ”
“Are you being serious right now?” he asks gruffly, balling his fist around the front of my shirt.
I nod. “Tell me you want this and we’ll figure the rest out.”
He’s quiet for a long second, leaving me with nothing but the thundering of my pulse in my ears and a hopeful, nervous feeling twisting in my gut.
“I want this.”
A choked laugh rumbles up my throat, full of relief and a dizzying feeling of joy. Our mouths crash together in a kiss that’s full of promises. Sure, there’s still a lot for us to work out, and plenty of shit in our way, but I’ve never been afraid of a challenge.