22. Ben
BEN
The lube is in my hand when Grayson knocks.
I got home from practice twenty-seven minutes ago. Since then, I’ve checked between the couch cushions, searched the bathroom, taken out the trash, and gone through my bedroom twice. Nothing is under the bed, the sheets are clean, and Nolan took his clothes with him the last time he was here.
It’s the only thing I missed, and it shouldn’t matter because lube is normal. Straight people own it, and Grayson isn’t going to open my bedside table during a weekend visit.
Except he’s my little brother, which means he has never believed anything I own is private.
He knocks again while I stand beside the bed with the bottle clenched in my fist. I yank open my dresser, shove it all the way to the back of the underwear drawer, and stack three folded pairs in front of it. He’ll have to look through my underwear to find it. I think that might stop him.
The third knock is louder.
“Coming.”
Grayson told me this trip was happening. I know which flight he took, and he texted me from baggage claim, but I still have to wipe my palm on my pants before I open the door.
He stands in the hall with a duffel over one shoulder and one hand wrapped around the handle of a small suitcase. Rain has darkened his hair and the shoulders of his jacket.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey.”
He drops the duffel and steps into me. I catch him around the shoulders, and his arms close hard around my ribs. He stays there until the suitcase tips over and bumps my ankle.
“You took forever,” he says against my shirt.
“I was putting something away.”
He leans back far enough to look at me. “What?”
“Nothing. Come inside.”
His eyes narrow, but the suitcase is in the way and I take advantage of it, picking up both bags and carrying them toward the guest room. Behind me, he shuts the front door and drops his wet jacket over the back of a kitchen stool.
This weekend he had time off and got on a plane because he wanted to see me. I’m glad he’s here. Since I don’t know how to say that without embarrassing both of us, I put his suitcase beside the guest bed and tell him where the towels are.
When I return to the living room, he’s standing in the middle of it, making a slow turn as he takes in the empty shelves, the bare walls, and the couch.
Grayson can’t gayly sense all the gay sex I’ve been having. That’s not a thing.
His attention settles on the couch. Nolan slept there, and we’ve done other things there, but all Grayson can see are the gray cushions I straightened before he arrived.
“Are you moving again?” Grayson asks.
The question pulls my attention off the couch. “No.”
“Then why does it still look temporary?” He points at the empty shelves. “You’ve been here for months.”
“The condo came furnished.”
“I know. None of this is yours.”
I know what he’s looking at. The furniture belongs to the team, the shelves are empty, and I haven’t picked a single thing in the room. “It works.”
Grayson looks at me for another second, then goes into the kitchen and opens my refrigerator without asking. That confirms I was right about the underwear drawer.
“Did Korolev make it to the camp?” I ask.
“He left at six this morning.” Grayson moves the eggs aside and peers behind them. “Vasya’s coaching through Monday. I had the time off. I wanted to see you.”
I go around the counter and check the refrigerator myself even though I already know what’s in it. “Did you eat?”
“Only pretzels. I’m starving.”
My phone buzzes on the counter before I can tell him we’ll go out.
Nolan’s name fills the top of the screen.
Hanging out tonight?
A second message arrives while I’m looking at the first. It’s a GIF of a man running after a bus, both arms over his head. I WANT TO COME! flashes in white letters across the bottom.
I nearly throw the phone across the kitchen.
“What?” Grayson asks.
“Nothing.”
The man misses the bus and starts running again. There is just enough plausible deniability for Nolan to make me explain why I thought he meant anything sexual by it, probably while looking pleased with himself.
I type Busy tonight and send it, then turn the phone facedown without adding that my brother is here.
I pick up my keys. “Let’s go.”
There’s a restaurant ten minutes away that stays open late. I tell him to get his jacket before he finds something in my kitchen and decides it counts as dinner.
The address means nothing when I put it into my phone.
As soon as we pull into the lot, the red sign over the door reminds me that Nolan sent me this map pin a few weeks ago, along with the name of what I was supposed to order.
I could drive us somewhere else, but Grayson is already climbing out of the car and looking for the entrance.
The dinner rush is over, leaving only a few occupied tables and music low enough that we don’t have to fight it.
A server seats us near the window. I find the noodle dish Nolan told me to get while Grayson reads the entire menu, turns it over, then goes back to the first page.
He asks what I’m ordering, considers the noodles, and decides on something else.
When the server comes, Grayson changes his mind after the server has taken one step away and apologizes while asking for his first choice again.
My phone vibrates against my thigh. I leave it in my pocket.
Once the server leaves, Grayson asks, “How are you settling in?”
“Fine.”
He waits, and I know that answer isn’t going to get me anywhere.
“What?”
“Do you like the team?”
Nolan is the first person I think of, which irritates me enough to keep avoiding the answer.
“They’re my teammates. I’m not a preschooler who needs to get along with his classmates.”
“I’ve met enough hockey players to know they’re less mature than preschoolers.”
“And yet you’re dating one.”
Grayson says, “Ugh, I know, it’s the worst!”
We both laugh, Grayson loud enough that the couple at the next table glances over. He doesn’t notice them.
“They’re good guys,” I tell him when he quiets down. “We had a rough start, but we’re playing better.”
“I know. Vasya keeps putting your games on.”
I wasn’t expecting that. “You watch them?”
“I work while he yells at the television. Sometimes I look up to make sure he’s not dying. He likes your line.”
Korolev knows hockey, so I like hearing that. “We’re getting there.”
I ask how work is, and he starts talking about a client who has rejected three versions of the same design while sending examples that contradict one another.
I lose part of the story. When he mentions Yoli, I ask whether she agrees with him. Grayson looks surprised for a second, then says she does and keeps going.
My phone vibrates again.
Grayson pauses with his glass halfway to his mouth. “You can answer it.”
“It can wait.”
He resumes his story. I listen until he looks down to silence his own phone, then take mine from my pocket.
Nolan has sent two more messages.
Rude. I was going to let you pick the game.
Then, two minutes later: Does busy mean no or later?
Normally I would have answered before the second message.
We text after practice, from the grocery store, while one of us is watching a game the other one can’t see.
Nolan sends me anything that makes him laugh and expects an opinion, even if my opinion is that it isn’t funny. Four messages aren’t unusual.
Being annoyed with him is still unfair. He asked if we were hanging out, and I gave him the least useful answer possible. I lock the phone and shove it back into my pocket instead of fixing that.
When our food arrives, the noodles are as good as Nolan said they would be. Grayson takes one bite of his dinner, points his fork at my bowl, and asks to try mine. I slide it across the table.
“Okay,” he says after taking enough to count as a side dish. “This is better.”
I let him take another forkful before I pull my bowl back. He smiles and goes back to his plate. I’m glad he came, and I wish Nolan would stop texting until I’m alone.
We’re playing well, and Gunderson has decided that means we should work harder. “Practice is going to run long tomorrow. Sorry I can’t show you much of the city.”
“I didn’t come for a tour. I can find something to do until you’re finished.”
“You could stop by the facility and meet the team.”
As soon as I say it, I picture Nolan crossing the locker room to join us, calling me Pope and standing close enough to crowd my shoulder while he asks Grayson what he does and how long he’s staying. Grayson pays attention to people. He’d look at my face when Nolan walked over.
I’m about to take the invitation back when Grayson shudders.
“I’d rather poke myself in the eye with the Space Needle. Hockey life is not for me.”
I laugh, and Grayson does too. Then the phone in my pocket vibrates again. I don’t have to look to know it’s Nolan.
Grayson glances toward my pocket. “Are you seeing anyone?”
For a second, I see Nolan sprawled across the hotel bed with my marks darkening on his skin and his legs locked around me while he said nobody else. I remember asking whether he was fucking anyone else and telling him I wanted it to stay that way.
“No,” I say. “I’m way too busy.”
Grayson nods and takes another bite. A moment later, he starts telling me about a coffee place he found near the condo and asks if I want to go before practice.
“Sure.”
He tells me it opens at six. I listen while he talks through the rest of his plans for tomorrow, and my phone stays in my pocket until the check comes.