Chapter 8
CHAPTER
EIGHT
Axel
It’s raining just as much in New York as in Boston, and when the elevator to the lobby opens and I spot the hotel bar, I head straight there.
A year ago, I would have been hanging out with Finn and Evan and Luke, but now they’re in couples.
The draw of a bed is apparently too appealing to them, even though they have one at home with their live-in-partners.
It’s fine. The hotel bar is cool. All fancy emeralds and golds and sapphires, like someone watched too many old movies.
I scan the bar, and then I find them. One blonde, one brunette. They’re both wearing skirt suits and sitting in some armchairs around a glowing fire.
The embers and flames do that dancing thing that chicks think is romantic, and the bar is helpfully playing Frank Sinatra.
I order a whiskey on the rocks and wrap my hands around the glass. The ice clinks when I swirl it. The first sip burns, then settles warm in my chest, then I go to meet the women. I plop onto an armchair near them. “Is there a dress code here?”
“Maybe there should be,” one of the women says coolly.
I clutch my heart and gasp dramatically.
Neither of them laugh.
Okay, soulmates we aren’t. That’s fine. Long distance is a pain anyway. Maybe I shouldn’t be in a sweatshirt.
The women have that polished businesswomen look: pearl earrings and matte lipstick and perfect manicures.
“Where are you two from?”
“DC.”
“Ah.” I try to appear knowledgeable. DC is one of the few places I don’t know well, since it doesn’t have an NHL team. “You’ve probably seen the White House.”
The two women give me flat looks.
“And the, uh, white pointy thing.”
“The Washington Monument?”
“Possibly.”
“The Washington Monument,” the woman says sternly.
“Cool. Now I know.”
“He would remember that,” the brunette tells the blonde.
They both giggle.
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“Men like phallic things,” the woman says.
I blink. “I like breasts.”
Both women blink.
“Well, no man has turned buildings that look into breasts.”
“The Capitol has a nice breast-shaped top,” I counter.
The women’s mouths drop open.
“I know some buildings in DC,” I mumble.
The women look at me with distaste, and I’m not sure that I blame them.
“You brought up architectural genitalia first. Hi, I’m Axel.”
“Juliette.” She gestures toward her blonde companion. “And this is Nora.”
“What brings you to New York?” I ask.
“Work.”
“Same.”
They don’t ask me what I do for work, and I don’t volunteer it.
I remind myself that I don’t want to knock on Enzo’s door and put my laptop on his bed so we can both curl up to watch the Lord of the Rings spin-off together.
In college he used to climb onto my long single bed, our broad shoulders touching, as we watched and rewatched movies together. Other students in our dorm would tease us, and Enzo would go pink, but it made sense to have the laptop near us just to appreciate the special effects.
I spent so much time back then focusing on the future and when we would both join the NHL, but those were happier times.
Lately, I feel like I’m pretending to be happy and upbeat. Enzo could probably tell.
Maybe that’s why he didn’t want to hang out with me anymore, maybe that’s why he got so annoyed when I kept on pressing him and texting and calling to ask him what I did wrong, and that I didn’t get the point that he wanted nothing more to do with me until he practically attacked me on the ice.
I shift my position in the armchair, even though it’s super comfortable, as if that can usher away the melancholy wrapping around me.
“Men are terrible,” Nora announces. I blink. She’s been talking this whole time.
“Are we?” I ask.
“Absolutely,” Juliette says. “If only I were a lesbian.”
“You want to be a lesbian?”
“What woman doesn’t?” Nora says, and Juliette smirks in agreement.
Okay, this conversation got way more interesting.
“Why do you want to be lesbians?”
“We could be together.” Nora shoots me a look like I’m dumb, which face it, maybe I am.
“It would be so convenient,” Juliette says. “One bed when we travel. We could live together. We already love spending our time together.”
“But why don’t you do that?” I ask.
“What?”
“I mean, you both like each other, and you’re both attractive—”
“Seriously?” Nora asks.
“Yeah? I mean, it would be convenient, like you said. It’s hard to find someone you really like hanging out with.”
Juliette rolls her eyes. “You mean, you want to imagine us together?”
“Um…” I shake my head. “That’s not what I said.”
“But that’s what you meant.” Juliette’s tone is condescending. “I know men.”
“I swear I wasn’t imagining you both together,” I promise, thankful neither of them are hockey fans.
“You can’t wish yourself attracted to someone.”
“But have you tried kissing? How do you know you’re not attracted to each other?”
“Because she’s a woman,” Juliette says in disbelief. “This would be like if we suggested that you hook up with one of your sports bro friends because you liked spending time together and are both the same age and reasonably attractive.”
“You think I’m reasonably attractive?” I wink.
Both women glare.
Okay, I’m clearly not going to succeed in changing the conversation.
I still don’t understand their point.
“So you would be like, physically repulsed by each other if you were in bed together?” I ask.
“Of course!”
“But you’re both beautiful.” And they are. Not people I ever want to meet again, but they’ve got the symmetrical faces and pretty figures down.
“You watch way too much lesbian porn,” Juliette says disapprovingly.
“I don’t!”
I’m not a porn guy. I normally don’t have any problems finding hook-ups. What’s a better way to end an evening than to hang out with my best bros at a sports bar, then hook up with someone appreciative?
Except now I’m older and my best bros aren’t here.
“You are objectifying us. You probably don’t want to do any work and like picturing us together.”
“I work hard.”
It’s not like it’s exactly easy to become an eight-figure NHL player. My body hurts every day.
But I don’t want to share too much of myself with them because I don’t trust them.
Still, they shouldn’t assume I don’t work.
“He has muscles,” Juliette says. “He probably thinks working out counts as working.”
The women laugh.
That was closer to reality than I wanted it to be. I could do an office job. It’s just, why make sixty grand a year when I can make twelve million a year and bring pleasure to people?
“I’m not lazy,” I pout.
“I believe him,” Juliette says.
“Thank you.”
She smirks. “You probably want to volunteer for a threesome so we could explore our sexuality together or something.”
Wait. Is she angling for that? I hesitate. “If that’s what it takes…”
I’m honestly not in the mood, but maybe they need a man in the bedroom to feel comfortable going after each other or something.
Maybe she wants me to sit in the cuck chair and applaud them or whatever.
It’s weird, but it’s not like I have anything better to do.
Why not start two people, even ones I don’t like, off to a great future relationship?
“You have awesome potential as a couple,” I say. “Just be open to it.”
“We don’t like women,” Juliette says.
“But you love each other,” I say. “Don’t you?”
“Yes,” Juliette says. “We love each other. We’re best friends.”
“It’s just different genitals. And you have the same parts. I know you’re not used to them, but trust me, sucking on nipples feels great. You might really enjoy eating each other out!”
“Excuse me?”
“You can write messages to each other with your tongue. And get vibrating strap-ons or whatever. I bet there’s a place here that delivers.”
“Oh my God,” Nora says.
For some reason, I seem to be explaining this poorly.
“And don’t forget you have the same equipment. It will probably come naturally to you. I mean, you know where the clitoris is.” I wink. “And you can scissor—”
“Stop,” Juliette says.
Nora sips the rest of her cocktail before placing it on the coffee table with a loud plonk. The ice rattles. “You are the most disgusting man I’ve ever met.”
I sit there, stunned.
“Would you like us to talk about stuffing your face with your guy friend’s cock and having your friend eat your ass, then fuck you with a vibrating strap-on?” Juliette asks.
I’m speechless. For a moment I imagine it. I tighten my fists. “Well, my guy friend wouldn’t need to buy a strap-on!”
Juliette glares at me.
“He’s not worth it.” Nora extends a manicured hand to her friend, who takes it.
“You’re holding hands!” I say. “You’re comfortable with each other.”
Their eyes widen.
“Creep,” Juliette says.
They swish away, tottering on their red-backed heels.
I try to work the conversation through in my head. It didn’t get off to a great start, but I really hadn’t been imagining them doing things with each other.
I can’t imagine being repelled by someone I got along with because of what they had in their pants. Both men and women are attractive in their own way. Doesn’t everyone think that?
Enzo’s face flashes in my mind. I imagine his dark brown hair, longer now than in college, when he kept it short to get the cheapest haircut possible.
I remember his large dark brown eyes, and the way I would sink into them whenever I was in his presence.
I remember the way he used to fit against my body when we snuggled together to watch TV shows, the way I sometimes would get hard, sometimes imagined ourselves in X-rated scenes before reminding myself that we were just best friends.
People really don’t all feel that way?