Chapter 17 Rafe
RAFE
“What’s he doing here?” Celine whispered from her Pilates reformer.
I followed her gaze to Gus, who was stretching his arms above his head whilst in mid conversation with the instructor. “Taking a class.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” I lied. “Maybe he just wanted to try a new workout.”
Celine’s perfect brows slid to her hairline. “Make sure he’s next to you. All that muscle is distracting.”
I agreed. Gus had been extra distracting lately, full of wacky ideas that were all part of his anti-yip campaign.
“The trick is to break the cycle,” Gus had informed me.
“It’s not a lack of ability. You didn’t suddenly forget how to jump.
What you’re doing is thinking too hard. Sure, it’s a tough skill that only a trained athlete can pull off, but that’s who you are.
You know your shit, Rafey. For you, jumping, spinning, and turning are like breathing, walking and chewing gum, or riding a bike.
It’s instinct. For some reason, your brain is stuck in fundamental mode and we gotta crank that gearshift and unstick you. ”
“Gee, that’s poetic,” I’d deadpanned.
Gus hadn’t been insulted in the slightest. “You fuckin’ know it. Let’s do this.”
This referred to a trip to the batting cages, bird-watching with a group of octogenarian aficionados from the nature center, and a Zumba class. Oh, and we’d also skipped a few hundred stones.
Summary: I couldn’t hit a baseball to save my life, bird-watching was a thousand times more fascinating than I’d thought, Zumba was a blast, and yes, I’d beat Gus’s record by skipping sixteen stones on the lake.
Conclusion: Nothing had changed for me on the ice. I was still overly cautious, and my jumps were technically good but lacking pizzazz and height. And to top it off, my crush was out of control.
It was bound to happen. You try having a six foot-three hockey hunk in your dish every morning, making your coffee and pumping you up with positive quotes from athletic greats.
“ ‘You miss one hundred percent of the shots you don’t take,’ The Great One, Wayne Gretzky. Eat your Wheaties and get your ass in gear. We’re going to the gym.”
Or…
“ ‘Do not let what you cannot do interfere with what you can do,’ John Wooden, UCLA basketball coach and the dude who came up with the pyramid of success. Fuckin’ genius, right? Drink your java. We’re gonna see some yellow-rumped warblers.”
Or…
“ ‘Champions keep playing until they get it right,’ Billie Jean King, tennis legend. Get dressed pronto, Rafey. We’re going to Zumba, and it’s going to be mayhem. I don’t know how to dance…like, at all. Get ready to laugh your ass off.”
Yes, I’d laughed my ass off.
At the gym as Gus had pretended to struggle hefting two ten-pound hand weights.
At the nature center as he’d wielded binoculars and declared every common sparrow to be a rare breed much to the annoyance of the more serious bird folks.
At the batting cage where he’d sung an off-pitch rendition of “High Hopes” by Panic! At the Disco whenever he’d hit the ball…which was literally each time he’d stepped up to bat.
And Zumba… Oh, wow. Gus shaking his hips to a rhythm only he could discern, continually moving in the wrong direction and randomly clapping was the kind of funny that rendered me incoherent, laughing till my sides ached and tears spilled down my cheeks.
I honestly didn’t know how I was going to survive Pilates.
For one thing, this was a more subdued form of exercise, lots of stretching and balance.
Gus was an incredible athlete, but he’d admitted that he’d never done Pilates and was afraid he’d accidentally break the reformer or fall on his face.
Penny, the same instructor who’d taught yoga at the house a couple of months ago, had assured him that he’d be fine.
I was more worried about me. My skin tingled at the sight of Gus in his black workout shorts and snug tee that showed off the contours of his muscular pecs and biceps.
All this togetherness had gone to my brain.
I didn’t just like my roommate. I wanted him, respected him, and got dizzy just being near him.
Honestly, I was shocked Celine hadn’t called me out for mooning over Gus, but she’d been focused on training and classes.
She’d notice now because the former Bears captain showing up for a surprise appearance at a Pilates class on a random Wednesday afternoon was a new one.
“Let’s begin, class.” Penny strode to the portable speaker set up in the corner of the studio and cued a Rüfüs Du Sol song. “Adjust your springs for footwork and lie flat, parallel feet on the bar. Inhale to prepare and exhale out.”
“What does that even mean?” Gus asked in his regular tone.
“Shh. Just follow along.” I motioned for him to watch me as I bent my knees and pushed the reformer out.
“This is easy, dude,” he scoffed, pumping his legs double time.
Penny paused to add weight to Gus’s reformer and give him a few tips. “Slow down and breathe through each extended motion.”
“Oh. That’s harder.”
“You’ve got this. Nice and slow. Ten…nine…eight…” Penny counted.
Gus grunted over the ethereal tunes with the kind of energy associated with deadlifting a hundred pounds or…acrobatic sex. We’re talking loud grunts.
I snickered and shushed him again. He glowered in response but did his best to muffle his grunts of discomfort.
The next exercise involved being on our knees and facing the rear of the machine. It was an arm and balance challenge, which shouldn’t have been difficult for a large jock with huge biceps whose sport required insane core and balance skills.
“Piece of cake.” Gus wiped his brow with his forearm and grinned as he kneeled, grabbed for the straps, and face-planted.
This was Gus, so of course, he popped up immediately, brushing off the concern of nearby students while I bit the hell out of the inside of my cheek in an effort not to burst into inappropriate laughter.
“Are you okay?” I choked out.
“Like you care,” he snarked.
“I do. Just…quit falling.”
Ten minutes later, he did it again. This time he was standing on the reformer and doing a side lunge.
Gus hadn’t mastered the art of moving slowly and it messed with his balance as he glided out, sending him flying forward into me.
I jumped off before I collided with Celine, but it was a narrow miss.
Needless to say, it caused another disruption in class.
Everyone stopped to fuss over the hockey stud.
And me? I chortled like a loon, and I couldn’t seem to stop. Penny, Celine, and the rest of the class aimed accusatory looks my way, and I understood. I really did. I apologized, excused myself, and stumbled out of the studio.
I flopped onto the bench facing Elm Street, wiping tears away.
I took the moment of calm to take stock of my situation.
I mean…what the hell was I doing? I was a serious athlete with a case of the yips whose dream was fizzling and fading fast. I should have been at the rink, not hanging out with my goofy, sexy, funny, hunk of a roommate.
His offer to help was sincere, but I had to do this on my own and refocus my energy on—
“You should have told me there were flying apparatuses and multiple ways for a normally coordinated guy to make a fool of himself,” Gus grumbled, wiping his brow with a towel.
I chuckled. “I thought you knew. It was your idea.”
“Yeah, well…let’s stick to bird-watching and skipping stones. Pilates is fuckin’ treacherous.” He uncapped a water bottle and slugged half of it down. “You enjoyed seeing me fall on my ass, didn’t you?”
I scooted to make room for him on the bench, shaking my head as laughter bubbled in my throat. “Don’t be silly. I felt terrible.”
“Liar,” he huffed, eyes twinkling merrily.
He drank the rest of his water and braced his elbows on his knees.
A lock of chestnut hair dipped across his forehead and damn it, I itched to push it aside.
I was so busy admiring his profile that his stare caught me off guard. Gus smiled gently. “How do you feel?”
I returned the gesture tenfold. I didn’t mean to…it just sort of burst out of me. “I feel great. Thank you.”
“For sacrificing my body for your amusement?”
“No. For encouraging me to shake up my routine and have fun.”
Gus inclined his chin and draped his arm across the back of the bench. “I think you’re ready.”
I frowned. “I don’t know. I was at the rink yesterday and I sucked…as usual.”
“Let’s go now and see what happens.”
“Now? No…I can’t. I have an assignment to finish and—”
“Hey, Rafe. Breathe.” He trailed soothing fingertips along my upper arm. “You got this, and you know it. I’ll be right there and if you fall…unlike you, ya heartless fucker, I won’t laugh.”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s not the same thing.”
“I know. I really do,” Gus assured me kindly.
“I’ve been there, you know. My freshman year of college hockey was a bust. It started out okay, but one day I woke up and everything felt off.
I can’t describe it any other way. I’d pass the puck and it would miss by this much.
” He held his fingers an inch apart. “Every fucking time. The coach got irritated with me. He probably thought I was too busy having fun. Which wasn’t wrong, but… that wasn’t the problem.”
“What was it?”
Gus’s brow creased thoughtfully. “Instead of just hitting the puck, I’d analyze the shot. And if you’re stuck on one shot, you can’t read the ice. You don’t know where to skate next, who’s the biggest threat, and who can get open quickly.”
“How’d you fix it?”
“Coach Beekman saw me hitting pucks after practice one afternoon and gave me a few tips. He wasn’t my coach yet.
He was the big boss, and I thought for sure he was gonna tell me to quit fuckin’ around on his ice, but…
he was cool, patient, and he seemed like he gave a shit.
That made all the difference in the world.
So I guess this is me letting you know that I give a shit.
Don’t give up, Rafe. You’ve got some medals to win before you hang up your skates. ”
I blinked away tears and nodded furiously. “Thanks.”
“I’m being honest. You wouldn’t have bothered with the hassle of switching schools and coaches if you didn’t believe you had more in the tank.”
“True.”
Gus stood and held out a hand. “Good. I have an hour and a half before my interview, so let’s mosey over to the rink and see what you got.”
“Interview?” I rose, my fingers still entwined with Gus’s.
“It’s my second one at the high school.”
“Really? That’s great! Congratulations.” I squeezed his hand.
“I haven’t gotten the job yet, so don’t get too excited.”
“Are you kidding? You’re totally getting that job. They’d be foolish not to hire you.”
Gus snickered. “I should bring you with me. You can tell them that.”
“I’d be happy to. If they’re smart, they’ll—” I glanced at Gus as he stopped on the middle of the sidewalk. “What’s up?”
“You’re holding my hand.”
I plucked my hand away and lightly punched his biceps. “No, you were holding my hand.”
“Yeah, right,” he snarked. “I don’t mind. I just didn’t know you had a hand fetish.”
“Fetish? If I was going to have a fetish—which I do not—it wouldn’t have anything to do with hands.”
Gus gave an evil laugh. “I like where this is going, Rafey. Lay it on me. What would your fetish be if you had one?”
“That query makes no sense. People don’t have hypothetical fetishes.” I hopped into his truck, adding, “They either have them or they don’t.”
“I don’t think I have one either. Boring. I gotta come up with one. Do uniforms count?”
“Yeah…maybe?” I chuckled. “What are we even talking about?”
Gus ignored the question, too busy naming his idea of the sexiest uniforms as he traversed midday traffic toward campus. Fireman, police officer, UPS driver, doctor…
The inane conversation continued into the rink and while strapping on skates, and after a short warmup during which Gus attempted to divert the topic to sex toys, I broke free and glided to center ice. Free skate was set to begin soon, but we were the only ones here now.
I took a deep breath…and began to move.
I’d been working on a new routine with elements that were both familiar and challenging. The flourish of arms like a bird in flight, one leg raised in an arabesque. I could feel the wind take me. And suddenly, I was soaring and I couldn’t be caught.
I sat in a low spin, rapidly gaining speed as I straightened.
And I was off again, long before gravity could slow me down.
A jump…a mere baby step, and then…I leaped into the air, twisting and turning in a storm of my own making.
The return to Earth was flawless. A gentle click of blades on ice and I was where I’d begun, slowing to a stop at mid rink, hands on my hips, chest heaving.
A shrill whistle and loud cheering broke through the whoosh of blood in my ears.
“That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” Gus hooted like a madman.
My grin was wide, so big it hurt my face as I pivoted. “Thank you.”
I was too far for him to hear me, but his thumbs-up and wink were the perfect reply. I tipped my chin, stared at the rafters, and closed my eyes.
Please let this be a beginning. Please.