Chapter Nine
Dr. Devon Bailey was a thirty-six-year-old anesthesiologist with perfect hair, perfect cheekbones, and perfect teeth. He had two hairless cats because he liked pets but was allergic to dander, he was training for a triathlon, and he’d just become an uncle for the first time.
Nate learned all of this within the first five minutes of their date at Ciao, an exclusive steakhouse in a trendy neighborhood.
Devon was handsome, all right. And Nate could be reasonably sure he wasn’t after his money. He was nice. Nate had never cared for cats and thought the hairless ones looked like Roswell gray aliens only scarier, but pet owners in general were kind people.
Devon was handsome and nice and family-oriented, and he wore a suit really well.
He bored Nate to tears.
At first he thought he was having trouble because it had been so long since he went on a date. Maybe it wasn’t Devon. Maybe the niceties of small talk just didn’t interest Nate anymore because he’d become a misanthropic cave dweller who only cared about himself.
But no. The server came by to take their orders, and Nate cheerfully detoured into a stimulating discussion of the wine list, as it turned out she had once lived next door to one of the vineyards, which happened to be near where Nate grew up.
They reminisced about their mutual favorite drive-in ice cream diner until Devon set his water glass down and clinked it against the plate and Nate realized he was being rude and ordered a bottle of pinot.
Thank God he’d taken a Lyft.
“It’s just so hard to meet people at our age,” Devon said as Nate nodded along, hoping his phone would magically come off silent mode and ring with an urgent telemarketing call. “I can’t get into the club scene at all. I just don’t see the appeal of meaningless sex.”
You’ve obviously never met Aubrey Chase, Nate thought, but he inclined his head like he was supposed to.
Was this what he used to sound like, judging people for their choices?
Feeling alive, wanted, desirable wasn’t meaningless.
God, he was such a douchebag. “It’s a meat market,” he responded automatically. That was the party line, wasn’t it?
“Exactly!” Devon said brightly, nearly sloshing his water out of the glass. He’d informed Nate at the beginning of their date that he didn’t drink more than one glass of wine, ever. This was the most animated he’d been all night. “Exactly.”
Maybe they could still salvage this, Nate thought.
Maybe he could just stop answering Devon with what he wanted to hear and have a discussion, a conversation, instead of a call-and-response session.
It felt like a weird sermon. Maybe they’d find common ground on a subject that actually mattered and Nate would suddenly find Devon sexually appealing and, if nothing else, go back to his place for sex.
Or maybe their food would come quickly and end Nate’s suffering before he started contemplating stabbing his own thigh with his steak knife to escape.
Devon would probably insist on driving him to the hospital, but Nate would at least have a good excuse for feigning unconsciousness.
He didn’t have luck on any count. Devon mostly kept the conversational topics safe—weather, traffic, the proposed site of a hospital expansion. Nate sat on his left hand and pinched his thigh at intervals in an effort to stay engaged. Devon probably didn’t even need drugs to put patients to sleep.
The restaurant was the type of establishment to pride itself on a dining experience.
In Nate’s estimation that mostly meant they took long enough delivering the food that people ordered twice as much alcohol.
He didn’t think it would reflect well on him if he finished more than one bottle by himself, so numbing his brain was not an option.
The last time he’d gone out to a nice dinner, he’d been with Aubrey. He’d never felt the least bit pressured to say something Aubrey would agree with. Even in bed—
No. He wasn’t going to go there now, because apparently that was all it took for his dick to go from “medically induced coma” to “sentry duty.”
“Nate?” Devon frowned. “Are you okay?”
Nate snapped himself out of it. “Fine,” he made himself say and turned to the server. “Ah, no dessert for me tonight, thanks.”
Devon looked like he approved. Maybe he wanted to run screaming away from this date as bad as Nate did.
But Nate’s luck persisted. Devon paid the check and then gallantly offered Nate a ride home without even making it sound like an innuendo.
Nate couldn’t find a good reason to decline and had to subject himself to an even more boring version of the car-buying spiel Bones had gone through the other night, only this time starring the safety features of a high-end Volvo SUV.
“It’s all part of the IntelliSafe system,” Devon said of the electric seat belts, which would retract if the car sensed an imminent collision but would then revert to normal if the collision were avoided.
“There’s even an inflatable curtain in the roof in the event of a rollover accident. I wanted something family-friendly.”
Nate wanted kids too, but this was enough to have him debating opening the door and taking his chances. “Modern technology is amazing,” he offered instead.
“Oh yeah. And if you saw the things I see in the OR—safety is so important.” He shook his head as he signaled well in advance of the left turn his GPS was telling him to take. “I can’t believe you played hockey professionally. Talk about a dangerous sport.”
“Ah, well,” Nate said. Because hockey was dangerous, but it was also fun, and he loved it, and he couldn’t stomach the idea of agreeing with someone who seemed to be saying he shouldn’t have played.
Apparently he had limits. “Sometimes when you love something that much, the risks are worth it. I have a few scars, but I wouldn’t change them. ”
Devon didn’t look at him, but then again, he wouldn’t. He had to keep his eyes on the road. “Really?” He sounded surprised, but not in a horrified way. “Hmm. I suppose everyone’s different.”
Wonders never ceased—a real moment of communication, tame as it was. Maybe Nate wasn’t completely hopeless.
Maybe he could invite Devon up to his apartment. His dick had never completely forgotten the way he’d reminisced about his night with Aubrey, and now it was ready for action. He could make this thing work with Devon well enough for one night, couldn’t he? He had faith in his own hotness.
He could do this.
“Well, here we are,” Devon said, pulling into the circle in front of Nate’s building.
Oh my God, who says that. “Ah, thanks.” Shit, now what? How did Nate ask him up? Was it even fair to do that? What if he thought Nate was interested in him for more than just blowing off steam?
“Thank you for the ride,” Nate said automatically and couldn’t make it come out sounding like a double entendre. “And for dinner.”
Devon smiled sincerely. “It was my pleasure. I had a wonderful time.”
Before Nate could think of anything to say to that that wouldn’t come out sounding sarcastic as fuck, Devon leaned across the car and kissed.
His.
Cheek.
“Me too,” Nate said on autopilot, over the horror track playing on max volume in his brain.
Somehow he managed to say goodbye. He did not have a breakdown in the elevator. He didn’t scream when the apartment door closed behind him.
He did drop his clothes just inside the door and walk naked to the bathroom, where he stepped under the hot spray of the shower and leaned his head against the wall.
Was this just the type of guy he attracted? The kind of guy who’d kiss you goodbye on the cheek after a first date and say they had a nice time? The kind of guy who thought sex was cheap? The kind of guy who thought fucking in the missionary position once a week made for a satisfying sex life?
Nate was not going to date Marty again. Not for anything.
He hoped Kelly didn’t take it too hard.
The second week after Winnipeg, work was hell.
The next road game they covered was in Ottawa.
Aubrey didn’t understand why they couldn’t cover winter road games in warmer climes.
The game and the show itself went off smoothly until midway through the third period, when one of the visiting players had some kind of heart problem on the ice.
The medical team brought out the defibrillator.
Canadian Tire Centre went completely silent, and the rest of the game was called.
Aubrey and Nate ended up at the hotel bar, not speaking, just sitting with their shoulders touching and drinking very expensive scotch very slowly until the news came through that the player was stable.
Nate slumped on his stool. Aubrey paid their tab and poured him into the elevator, then into his hotel room. Then he went back to his own room and hyperventilated for a few minutes. He’d never meant to sign on for nearly watching someone die during competition.
For the rest of the week, sleep was elusive.
Aubrey could tell Nate wasn’t sleeping much either.
They both spent a long time in the makeup chair, having the dark circles under their eyes airbrushed away.
Jess must have been feeling the strain too, because she was short with everyone, even though their numbers were up more than ever.
Nate mentioned that she actually knew the player who’d had the heart attack, but it didn’t make the work environment any more pleasant.
By the time Friday came around, Aubrey needed to unwind. His shoulders were tense, his jaw hurt from grinding his teeth, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a good night’s sleep. He went to practice with Greg, but his head wasn’t in it.
“Tough week?” Greg asked sympathetically.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Aubrey said and performed a viciously ugly triple axel.