Chapter 12 The Gym Game
The Gym Game
Coach canceled practice for the day because she said she needed a day off, so Fletcher decided to take advantage of the empty gym in the practice facility. He opted to save cardio for later and do some skating sprints.
He did a little five-minute jog on the treadmill just to get his blood pumping. He listened to his classical music in his noise-canceling headphones and got a little carried away when he realized he had been on there for fifteen minutes. He hit the stop button and wiped it down.
Fletcher had been into Pilates recently. Douglas had joked that he was only doing it to make his ass look bigger. Fletcher took pride in having a pretty good-looking ass, so he took it as a compliment if Douglas was saying his butt was getting bigger.
He grabbed a mat and laid it down in the yoga room. It was a decent size and had mirrors that lined three of the four walls. He got about halfway through the workout when he heard the door open and close. He looked up and saw Taylor standing there through the reflection of the mirrors.
“Are you doing yoga?” Taylor asked seriously. He walked over and laid his own mat a respectable distance away from Fletcher’s.
Fletcher had been on all fours, which was kind of a compromising position to be spotted in.
He dropped to his knees and turned over so he could sit down on the mat.
“Pilates,” he answered Taylor, sounding out of breath.
Pilates were surprisingly intense. He stretched his legs out on the mat and held himself up by planting his hands on either side of him.
Fletcher watched as Taylor walked over to the kettle bell rack and picked up a ninety and a one hundred, taking two trips to bring them back to his mat because he needed to hold them with two hands.
“I’m doing a core workout thing. I saw it on Instagram,” he told Fletcher. He picked up his phone and opened the app to show him the saved video.
He and Fletcher attempted it together, but by the end of it they were both dying and out of breath. They sat on opposite ends of their mats facing one another. Fletcher wiped the sweat off his forehead with a rag that was meant to clean equipment.
“What’s with the headband?” Taylor teased, gesturing towards it.
It was just a black Nike athletic headband that he used to keep his hair out of his face.
His hair was at an awkward length where it was too short to tie back, like Taylor did with his, but long enough to get in his eyes when he was working out.
“Fuck off. I kind of like it.”
For a minute, he and Taylor sat on the mats, chests rising and falling as they both tried to catch their breath.
He looked into Taylor’s eyes and Taylor looked into his.
They sat like that, smiling at each other and feeling giddy for probably a whole minute before the door opened again.
Bolving walked in, wearing headphones around his neck, with a mat and a gallon jug of water.
His hair was buzzed, which made Fletcher think he looked more like a swimmer than he did a hockey player.
Especially because he was tall and lanky and bore an uncanny resemblance to Michael Phelps.
“Looks like I’m not the only one smart enough to take advantage of an empty gym,” he said with a strong Québécois accent. He set his mat perpendicular to Fletcher and Taylor’s. “Have you guys been here for long?”
Taylor shook his head. “Just came in to do a core workout. Armstrong was in the middle of his Pilates, so I made him do some crunches with me like a man,” he joked. “What’s on your agenda?” he asked Bolving.
“Yoga. But in a manly way. Care to join?”
The three of them were bent down in downward dog.
Fletcher made the mistake of looking over to Taylor, who tried to hide his smile.
Fletcher looked up to Bolving, and just about lost it when he saw how serious the guy looked.
Stoic as hell, but the guy was head down, ass out.
Taylor must’ve noticed too because he turned to look at Fletcher again with a growing smile.
Fletcher gave himself a coughing fit as he tried to conceal his laughter.
He dropped to his knees again and coughed into his elbow.
Taylor dropped to his knees too and patted Fletcher on the back.
“You alright there, Armstrong?” He rubbed circles on his back before pulling his hand back and clearing his throat.
“Yeah. I think I’m all yoga’d out for the day.”
“Suit yourself,” Bolving called out as he dropped down into a cobra.
Fletcher rose to his feet and picked up the mat to be wiped down and put away. Taylor followed him out to the main part of the gym. “You headed out?” he asked Fletcher.
He shook his head. “No, I still need to do some cardio. I was going to do some skating drills at the practice rink.”
“Okay, I’ll join you.”
* * *
They sat side to side on the bench as they leaned down to lace up their skates.
Fletcher tried to ignore the shiver that ran down his spine as Taylor’s shoulder brushed his.
They stepped out onto the ice and headed out to the center.
Fletcher was actually really glad Taylor decided to join him.
He could use the motivation to try and keep up with him.
They raced each other as they did laps up and down the ice. Taylor was fast, but Fletcher managed to keep up with him for the most part. Honestly, he was having a blast just skating with Taylor without having to worry about chasing around a puck.
At one point, Fletcher had caught up with him enough to side check him into the boards.
Taylor let out a breathless laugh as he quickly recovered.
As they were turning the corner, Taylor side checked Fletcher right back.
Fletcher slammed into the glass, but he pulled the bottom of Taylor’s shirt and yanked it.
Taylor slid into the glass right beside Fletcher.
“Fucker. That was cheap.” Taylor spun and pinned Fletcher up against the glass. Fletcher let out a nervous laugh.
“You gonna hit me?” Fletcher challenged, becoming intrigued at the thought of having a friendly fade with Taylor. He tried to shove Taylor off him, but Taylor pinned him harder with a wild look in his eyes. Fletcher could feel his own heart beating in his chest. Heat gathered in his stomach.
“Is that a yes?” Fletcher asked breathlessly, chest rising and falling.
Taylor shook his head and laughed. He playfully slapped Fletcher’s cheek before skating away.
“When are we stopping?” Taylor asked him after a few more laps.
He followed Fletcher to the goal, where Fletcher grabbed it with one arm and kind of skated in place.
He was out of breath again, though Taylor seemed completely fine.
“I need to eat something soon or else something bad may happen…” he foreshadowed, trying to make himself sound mysterious.
Fletcher rolled his eyes at him and grinned.
“I’m calling it quits. You’re too fast. I give up.”
“Awww. Don’t be a sore loser, Armstrong. You’ll catch up with me someday.” Taylor made a pouty face at him.
“That face is not as cute as you think it is,” Fletcher teased.
They skated off the ice and made their way back to the locker room.
Fletcher cleaned off his skates and tried to decide between showering there or waiting until he got home.
Deciding it would be too gross to drive in his car all sweaty, he reached into his bag and pulled out everything he needed for his shower.
“Gonna hit the showers and head home,” he told Taylor, feeling like he needed to.
“Yeah, same.”
After successfully diverting his eyes away from a certain naked six-four hockey player who occupied the shower two down from him, he quickly slipped into his clean clothes.
It felt all too familiar the way they walked out to the athletic parking lot together like the time they did when they first met. And then as if the universe was trying to freak Fletcher out with a massive wave of nostalgia, Taylor threw his bag down on the same bench and took a seat.
“Where’s your truck?” he asked him.
“She’s getting a realignment.” Fletcher thought it was cute the way Taylor referred to his truck as a “she.”
“Well, call Mommy Gretch and tell her you have a ride back,” Fletcher laughed.
They pulled out of the stadium lot. Fletcher’s stereo automatically started playing whatever classical song he had been listening to last.
“No way you listen to classical music,” Taylor snorted. He reached over and turned the volume down a few notches. It was definitely more baroque era, but at the expense of sounding like a nerd Fletcher bit his tongue.
Fletcher looked at him and grinned unabashedly. “Just wait until you find out I also listen to country.”
“Oh God. Pull over. Let me out. I’d rather walk.”
They didn’t get far before hitting what Fletcher assumed to be lunch-hour traffic. He pulled up the GPS on his phone to see if there was a detour available, but it turned out to be a huge twelve-car pileup.
“Looks like we’ll be stuck in traffic for a while,” he told Taylor, showing him how far the road was backed up.
“I’m so hungry,” he complained.
Fletcher could’ve probably pulled off and found a drive-thru to get food at, but he had a better idea.
“You can come home with me. I’ll feed you.”
“Really?” Taylor asked, raising his eyebrows. “Even after I made fun of your classical music?” Fletcher snorted.
“Really,” Fletcher responded with a smile.
* * *
Fletcher had realized halfway through taking his shoes off that Taylor had never been in his apartment. He’d been across the hall at Douglas’ a bunch of times, but never his.
Taylor took his shoes off and put them down neatly next to Fletcher’s. He took a scan of his surroundings. “When it’s clear out you can see Mt. Rainier,” Fletcher told him.
“You have such a better view than Doug does,” he told him. “Well, any view is better than the parking lot of a Cheesecake Factory.”