Chapter 12 #2
“Okay.” I pierce a saucy noodle. “Well, I’m free.”
“It’s really okay,” he says. “You’ll be bored.”
And there it is again, him brushing me off. I don’t understand. Then again, he never likes to be vulnerable, and I fear if I keep pushing him, he won’t want to open up at all, so instead, I decide to change tactics. I’ll take care of the Friday event myself.
“Do you know what was boring? My class today on data journalism. I nearly passed out in my own lap.”
He scoops up a pile of lasagna. “What is data journalism?”
“Just what it sounds like, learning how to properly use data to write accurate articles.”
“You need a class for that?”
“You would be surprised,” I say. “What did you major in?”
“Kinesiology.”
“Did you plan on doing anything with that?”
“Not really,” he answers while picking up his glass of water. “The goal was to play hockey professionally. I didn’t have a backup plan, didn’t want one. I studied kinesiology to educate myself on my body and understand how to take care of it so I could reach my goals.”
“That’s actually really smart,” I say while taking a bite of my garlic bread. “Do you think it’s helped?”
He nods. “Very much. I understand what parts of the body I need to focus on to stay healthy. I understand the recovery process, and I honestly believe it’s one of the main reasons I haven’t suffered any major injuries.”
“That’s impressive, actually. How much longer do you think you’ll play?”
“Not sure,” he says. “I still feel really strong. I can keep up with the younger guys, and my legs don’t die out toward the end because I continue to train through the season. It’s something I take great pride in.”
“I can tell. Do you ever give your body a break?”
“During the summer. That’s why I was so sore the night of the family skate event. I go at it hard during the preseason, and my muscles have to get used to the demand again. And with every new year, it seems to get a touch harder.”
“How are you feeling now?” I ask.
“Better. I’ve been able to do some great recovery and focus on what I need to focus on. Lots of ice baths and walks on the treadmill to flush all that lactic acid buildup.”
“Are the other guys as smart as you?”
“Not the young ones. They’ll learn quickly, though.” He points his fork at me. “What about you? Are you feeling sore with your new workout space?”
“I was a little sore in my inner thighs the other day, but for the most part, I feel pretty good. I used your sauna again. I hope that’s okay.”
“What’s mine is yours.”
“Which seems incredibly unfair.”
“It’s not,” he says. “We’re friends, right, Ollie?”
I tilt my head, studying him. He might not like to show his vulnerable side, but here, at this moment, I can see it.
His question, sort of wondering where we stand.
Maybe that’s why he’s been so distant lately.
Maybe he doesn’t know, especially after we shared the almost kiss.
So to reassure him, I say, “Yes. We’re friends. ”
“Good,” he answers. “That means we don’t owe each other anything. You ask, it’s yours.”
“Okay, then the same would go for me. I don’t have much to offer, but if you ask, it’s yours.”
“You have more to offer than you think,” he says when he glances up at me, causing the back of my neck to break out in a cool sweat.
“Oh yeah, like what?” I ask playfully.
“You’re cool,” he says, surprising me. “I love hanging out with my guys, but sometimes it’s nice to see a different face, and you’re fun to hang out with.”
I press my hand to my chest. “Silas Taters, I can’t believe you’re offering me such a compliment. Coming from the man who nearly had a coronary when I talked about him perverting over donkeys.”
“For fuck’s sake, I thought we dropped that.”
I press my finger to the table. “Donkey pervert is the foundation of this friendship. It will never go away.”
“I thought the foundation is you randomly kissing me in a bar.”
I roll my eyes at that. “That truth is for you, me, and Ross only because he witnessed the whole thing and questioned me quickly afterward. But everyone else knows us as the people who bonded over a donkey while your fly was down. That’s something we need to hang on to.”
“Lucky me.”
“You’re right . . . lucky you.”
* * *
Silas drapes his arm over the back of the couch as he casually faces me. The rest of the dinner was easygoing. We joked around. He smirked. I laughed. And it felt like things were getting back to normal, which I appreciated greatly.
Now that we retreated to the couch, I feel more relaxed and not so stiff. He seems the same as well.
“What do you do for fun, Silas?”
“Not much,” he answers. “Don’t have much fun during the season. I’m either working out, playing hockey, eating, or sleeping.”
“Riveting,” I respond. “What about when it’s the off-season? You said you go up to your cabin, right?”
“Yeah, just hang out with the boys. Play games, drink beer, nothing out of the ordinary.”
“So you don’t have any hobbies?”
“Too busy to have hobbies,” he answers.
“That seems boring. You’ve got to like doing something besides things that coincide with hockey.”
“Haven’t had a chance to explore. I came right out of high school with a girlfriend and a dream. I was going to play professionally, so when I wasn’t training or playing, I focused on Sarah. All my time was taken up with no room to spare.”
“I guess that makes sense. Well, is there something you wish you could do? A hobby you wish you could spend more time doing?”
He gives it some thought. “I’d like to cook more. Right now, I have a personal chef who makes my meals and leaves them in my fridge. He comes with me when we go to Banff, and I enjoy watching him work. If I had the energy, I’d ask him to teach me.”
“Maybe you should next summer. You won’t have hockey, so maybe have him teach you a bit.”
Silas nods. “Yeah, maybe I will.”
“See.” I nudge him with my foot. “I’m already changing your life.”
He rolls his eyes and then asks, “What about you? What are your hobbies?”
“Well, I love dancing. I do that when I want to blow off steam or just have fun. I also enjoy scrapbooking, but I haven’t done it for a bit. I have some catching up to do.”
“Scrapbooking with all those tools and shit?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No, I wish I had the room and the money for that, but right now, it’s just simple things I find that I like in magazines or pictures that I print out and write a story next to about the picture.
My internship ate up a lot of my time this summer, so I’ve dropped the ball in adding clippings and pictures to my book, but I’ll catch up.
I’ve stashed away everything so when I do have a moment, I can sit down and glue it all in. ”
“That’s kind of cool. Do you have one for each year?”
“Yeah, pretty much. I started back in middle school. It was more of a diary at the time. My mom would purchase my magazines, and I would clip things from them that I loved or print them on the computer. Then I started using pictures with friends, and it formed more into a scrapbook than anything. They’re fun to look through because it’s like a time capsule in book form. ”
“Maybe next time I’m at your place, you’ll show me.”
“Ha!” I shake my head. “No way. You’ll make fun of me for the things in those books.”
“Like what?”
“Like . . . the Timothée Chalamet phase I went through, or how whenever I see a donut in a magazine, I have this need to cut them out and paste them because I think they’re cute. And those are just two things. There’s a whole dark side to my scrapbooking of my innermost thoughts and feelings.”
“Now I really need to see these.”
I nudge him with my foot. “Never.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“Did you ever write in a diary?”
“Does it look like I’m a diary kind of guy?” he asks, looking so hot with the way he raises his brow like that.
“No, but we should never discredit someone for their appearance. For all I know, you could have a secret Bratz dolls collection.”
“What the hell are Bratz dolls?”
“Never mind.” I sigh.
“Did you have these dolls?”
I wave my hand at him. “That’s neither here nor there. I think what we really need to focus on is your diary.”
“I told you, I don’t have one.”
“But if you did . . . what would you write in it?”
“As if I would tell you.”
“Come on, Silas. Share a little.”
“No.”
“Please.” I press my hands together, begging him. “I’ll be super supportive.”
He glances away. “You really want to know?”
Growing excited, I say, “Yes, of course, and I promise, I won’t laugh.”
“Fine.” He exhales sharply. “Dear Diary, Ollie is really fucking annoying. Yours truly, Silas.”
When he looks my way, he smirks. I shove my foot at him, causing him to laugh. “You’re an ass. I really thought you were going to tell me what you would write in your diary.”
“Right now, that’s exactly what I would write.”
* * *
“Naked,” I say. “Always naked.”
“No fucking way.” He shakes his head at me.
“Yes fucking way. I love rolling in the snow, then jumping in the hot tub. The best part is when the snow gets all up in there and then melts away by the hot water. An absolute dream.”
“I don’t fucking believe you,” Silas says.
“That’s on you and your trust issues.”
“So you’re telling me, if I invited you over here for the first fallen snow, you’d go up to my rooftop, roll in the snow naked, and then hop in the hot tub?”
“Hold on.” I hold up my hand. “You have a hot tub?”
“Yes, on the roof.”
“Well, why the hell did you not tell me about this?” I ask.
“Because that’s my sanctuary. I don’t need some girl up there, naked in my hot tub.”
“Are you telling me that would be a travesty? Because you would be so lucky to see me naked in your hot tub.”
“I wouldn’t.”
I clutch at my chest. “You wound me, Silas . . . or should I say, Potato.”
“What did I say about that? Winnie is the only one who can call me that ridiculous name.”
“That’s not fair, though. I feel like I should have a nickname for you.”
“Why?” he asks.