Chapter 3 #2
JP dropped the rest of the crust on the tray and wiped his hands on a napkin.
“Thing is, I don’t think he is. I think he’s putting as much effort as he can into them, but he’s just…
not a writer. He doesn’t understand the structure of a story.
I think he’s a science major. His writing reads more like a lab report than a story.
” JP sighed. “Fuck, I need another beer.”
Alex got up and headed for the order counter where he got them each a beer, giving his friend a moment to stew. Grabbing the bottles by the neck with his good hand, he made his way back to JP, set the beers down, and said, “Is there a tutor who could help him?”
“The English department has a few on the roster,” JP said. “But they tutor in English lit, not creative writing.”
“You’ll think of something.”
“I think the reason he didn’t come see me—” JP winced. “—is because I called his last assignment amateurish.”
“John Patrick!”
“I know.” JP buried his face in his hands. “I know, okay? So unprofessional. But he walked into my office after class, waving his assignment at me, demanding to know who the hell I thought I was to give him a D-minus, and it caught me off-guard. I said his writing had no substance.”
“That’s not the worst feedback,” Alex said in an attempt to make his friend feel better.
JP sighed and slumped in his seat. “Can we go back to talking about your cock and balls? That was much less stressful.”
“For you, maybe. I have to go to a charity event at the end of the month with this thing.”
“Wear long sleeves.”
“It’s a street hockey game with underprivileged kids. In Tampa.” It was fucking hot during the day in Tampa, even in October. He’d sweat his balls off in a long-sleeved T-shirt.
“Oh, shit.” JP grinned wide. “Can I come?”
“Hell no.”
“Aww, have some love for your black brother.”
“I have a lot of love for my black brother. Just not enough to put him in front of impressionable kids.”
“Hey, I’m not the one who drew a cock and balls on your cast.”
That was true. “Did I tell you that I think I figured out an angle for the book?”
“No shit? Tell me.”
“Coach Bedley gave me the idea.” Alex took a sip of water.
“There’s a kid on his team who’s basically killing himself for the game.
He’s got a key to the rink so he can practice every morning that there isn’t already a scheduled practice.
He’s in a science program, so he’s busy as fuck and yet he still works two jobs to make ends meet since he doesn’t see much support from his parents.
According to Bedley, anyway. But it gave me the idea to dig deeper into the psyche of a hockey player.
What will they do in the name of the game?
What will they sacrifice? What’s the cost of a hockey career? ”
“Hmm.” JP drummed his fingers on the table. “So, it’s like the darker side of sports.”
“Exactly.”
“I like it. Did Kate go for it?”
“She did.” Thank God. He didn’t want to think about going back to the drawing board. Luckily, his editor had loved the idea.
“Cool.” JP leaned forward, his gaze earnest. “Don’t suppose you’ll give me her number?”
“So you can be shot down yet again?”
Buffing his nails on his T-shirt, JP said, “Hey, I have slicker moves now.”
That was highly doubtful.
Alex’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He checked the caller ID, then waved the phone at JP. “Mind if I take this? It’s my mom.”
“Still a mama’s boy,” JP teased, a glint in his dark eyes.
“Still a jackass,” Alex replied.
Alex headed for the hallway that led to the washrooms, where it was quieter, ignoring JP’s laughter trailing after him.
* * *
When Mitch spotted Yano, Marco, and a few other friends entering Mama Jean’s, he ducked down in the booth he was sharing with Cody. He wanted a quiet night with his best friend, not an evening of forced cheer and crude jokes.
That was the problem with a small school and a small town—everywhere he went he inevitably ran into someone he knew.
He slid all the way to the end of the bench seat and turned his face into the wall.
“Subtle,” Cody said.
“Fuck you,” Mitch said, chuckling.
A few seconds later, Cody said, “They’re out of sight.”
Sure enough, when Mitch looked up, his friends were gone, likely occupying a booth on the other side of the restaurant.
“This isn’t the best place to be if you don’t want to run into them,” Cody said, pointing out the obvious.
Mitch eyeballed him, unimpressed.
Cody shrugged. “What? I’m just saying.” He took some change out of his pocket and left it on the table for the tip. “Ready to go?”
“I need to use the restroom first.”
Mitch took the long way around to avoid being seen by his friends. He wasn’t in the mood to be social. He wanted to go home with Cody, do some course reading, and sulk about his creative writing class.
His plans took a backseat when he found Alex Dean getting off his phone in the hallway that led to the restrooms. Alex noticed him and his head jerked back, his hand clenched on his phone, and his entire body language said Brace for impact!
Not exactly flattering, but Mitch didn’t let that stop him. He tilted his head and smiled at Alex in a way that often had guys falling at his feet.
Unfortunately, Alex appeared to be immune.
Mitch pressed on anyway, despite the small part of him that told him to quit while he was ahead. Alex obviously wasn’t interested, but this was Mitch’s hockey crush and Alex was right there. Yet still, Mitch couldn’t get him to give him the time of day.
What did a guy have to do for five minutes of Alex Dean’s time?
He’d even take non-sexy time. Five minutes to talk about Alex’s journey from small-town Canadian hockey player, to the Ontario major juniors, to being recruited by GH, to the freakin’ NLH draft.
Five minutes to find out what, if anything, Alex would’ve done differently, knowing what he knew now.
Five minutes of conversation to learn something from him, maybe have him autograph a napkin.
Instead of going the getting-to-know-you route, Mitch fell back on an old standard: sex. Sex was easy. In and out, no games, and better—no expectations.
He normally wouldn’t hit on a guy without first knowing A) whether the object of his lust was gay, and B) whether they recognized him as the GH Mountaineers left winger with aspirations of playing in the NHL.
Because there was undoubtedly some asshole out there who would delight in outing Mitch publicly, thus fucking up his career prospects.
That being said, there was something about Alex that screamed “I’m trustworthy!
” So where Mitch would hesitate with almost anybody else, he found Alex’s confidence and calm made him feel…
surprisingly safe. Not safe enough to show the man who he really was, but certainly safe enough that flaunting his gayness in Alex’s face didn’t make him feel threatened.
Slinking up to Alex, Mitch laid a hand on Alex’s unbroken arm, opened his mouth and—
“Good game against Colgate,” Alex said, pocketing his phone.
The mask slipped off Mitch’s face. “You were there?”
Alex shook his head. “Watched it on TV.”
Holy crap! An NHL player—Mitch’s hockey crush, no less—had watched his game. At a loss for words, Mitch stood there blinking at Alex like a putz.
“You’ve got impressive foot work,” Alex said.
Mitch continued to blink at him.
“You skated circles around Colgate and that goal in the third?” Alex smiled wide. “You broke Colgate’s end as if the defensemen were pylons. It was beautiful.”
“I—” Mitch cleared his throat. “Well, McCall passed me the puck at just the right time, so… I mean, I did figure skating for years and…” He had no idea what he was trying to say.
“Huh. I know a couple of guys who did some figure skating after their game slipped and it helped them rebound. It’s something I’ve been considering to improve my foot speed.
” Alex leaned a shoulder against the wall and crossed his arms, but his cast got in the way so he ended up shoving one hand in his pocket and letting the casted one dangle.
“Your training shows in your footwork. How else has it helped your game?”
In total disbelief that an NHL player was asking him for advice, Mitch said, “Figure skating is about using edges and your body to change direction on the ice. It’s about learning to cut a corner or to pivot the right way while maintaining your speed. It made me a better skater.”
“It shows.”
God, the compliments were going to go to Mitch’s head.
“What made you decide to stick with hockey instead of figure skating?”
Mitch shrugged and told the truth. “I liked hockey better.”
“Could you do a triple axel in full hockey gear?” Alex asked, a teasing grin on his face.
Mitch had to laugh. “I’ve never tried.” But now he was itching to.
“No? What about a—” Alex held his index finger up and moved it in small circles, “—with the leg out in front?”
“A sit spin?” Mitch scratched his head. “I actually think that one might be harder than the triple axel in full hockey gear.”
They stood there smiling at each other for a moment, Alex’s eyes the color of the Green Mountains in summer. The man was too gorgeous for words and he was nice to boot. Mitch couldn’t help staring at Alex’s mouth, red and surprisingly soft in an otherwise rugged face.
Alex cleared his throat and edged around Mitch. “I’ve got to get back to my friend.”
“Wait, I—” The hallway was empty so Mitch plastered his sex smile back on his face, walked right into Alex’s personal space, and put a hand on Alex’s hip. “Why don’t you come over tonight and we’ll—”
Alex palmed Mitch’s shoulders and pushed him away. “Look, kid—”
“I’m not a kid.”
“Mitch.” Alex held him at arm’s length. “Whatever it is you’re trying to do here, it’s not going to happen. I don’t even know you.”
“What difference does that make?”
Alex dropped his arms. “I don’t jump into bed with people I don’t know. Hell, I don’t even jump into bed with people I do know.”
Alex wasn’t saying I’m not gay, but it did sound like he was saying I’m asexual or something similar, which left Mitch exactly nowhere.
“Mitch, this person that you pretend to be?” Alex said quietly, like he was trying to tame a wild cat. “He has no substance.”
Pretend. No substance. The words hit Mitch like a physical punch and he took an instinctive step back.
“In the three times we’ve bumped into each other, the three-minute conversation we just had is the most real you’ve been,” Alex continued.
“I like that guy. I like the guy who talks to me without ulterior motives or any pretense. The guy who showed up to last week’s lecture full of questions for Chris.
The guy who plays wicked hockey and is dedicated to his team and serious about school and who, I’m told, is a math genius. ”
Damn Coach’s big mouth.
Alex shrugged. “I’d like to get to know that guy. He’s the type of guy I could be friends with.”
Friends? The only friend Mitch had who truly knew him was Cody, and they’d known each other since first grade. Yano, Marco, the other guys on the team… They saw what Mitch wanted them to see.
“This flirty and impetuous person you pretend to be?” Alex said. “Honestly, I don’t really care for that guy, but I don’t think that’s who you are inside.”
How had Alex figured him out so correctly, so fast?
“Look.” Alex rubbed Mitch’s upper arm. Mitch flinched and stepped back, bumping into the wall behind him.
Alex sighed. “I don’t want to keep fending off your come-ons.
But if you want to get together for a coffee or a pizza and have a conversation about hockey or whatever, I’d love to sit down with the guy I spent the last few minutes talking to about figure skating.
Good luck against Denver tomorrow.” He walked away, leaving Mitch alone in the hallway outside the restrooms.
Nobody, nobody, had ever figured out the game Mitch played to keep the world at bay, the one that kept his true self hidden behind twenty-foot high walls so that the world couldn’t hurt him anymore. How had Alex figured it out in three short, less-than-stellar encounters?
Alex wasn’t interested in him. Alex didn’t even like him, at least not the facade he presented for everyone except Cody. But Alex was willing to give him the time of day if only Mitch could be himself.
Problem was, he wasn’t sure who that was anymore.
Cody found him a few minutes later, leaning against the wall, staring at nothing. He ran his eyes over Mitch’s face, which Mitch was sure was tomato-red with something akin to bewildered hurt.
“What happened?”
The sympathy in Cody’s voice tugged something loose in Mitch. He shook his head and blinked the burn out of his eyes.
“Mitch?”
I have no substance. I’m worthless.