RECOVERY DAY
VIKTOR
I WAKE UP FRESH FROM A DREAM ABOUT EVIE.
I’M ROCK-HARD, AND ALL I CAN THINK ABOUT IS WHAT I’d do if she was here in my bed right now.
But instead of my usual guilt, I feel anticipation.
We will be together, and soon. Maybe after dinner tonight, we’ll come back here.
Last night, she was unbelievably eager. When she crawled onto my lap, it was all I could do not to rub myself against her like a horny teenager until I came fully dressed.
I close my eyes and picture everything I know about Evie now. The sweet taste of her lips. The way her mouth yields to mine. Those soft breasts with nipples that rise to my touch. The breathless moans she makes.
I jerk my cock as I imagine what fucking her will be like.
Of course, she’ll be unbelievably tight and hot, but it’s not even about how good it will feel.
I want more. I want to make Evie’s first time memorable.
I still don’t fully understand her, but I no longer have the sense that she’s lying to me.
It’s not until I’ve showered and changed my sheets that I realize I haven’t yet checked my news feeds and chats as I’ve been doing since August. Guiltily, I grab my phone. No news.
I head to the gym to meet with Mats. We used to work out on Sunday mornings, but now he’s talked me into a new regime: recovery days.
Our routine is an easy ride on the stationary bikes, followed by a yoga routine, roller stretches, and then a cold plunge. We’re still experimenting with each element.
Turn down your bike tension, Mats scolds.
I obey with a scowl. It feels like I’m slacking.
You don’t have to punish yourself every time you hit the gym. Now that hockey has started, I bet we’ll see a huge difference in game performance. Our bodies need to heal.
Fine. But when I push myself to the limit, it’s a complete distraction. The worst thing about yoga is all the time I have to spend in my head.
You’re a lot more flexible than I am, I say as he lowers his upper body to the mat.
I’ve been doing yoga for years. Still, I’ve got nothing on Wally.
Our goalie can do the splits, something that pains me even to watch.
Recovery also helps with preventing injuries. You know how you’re tight and you end up straining something? Mats understands that I’m still not convinced.
Yeah, I hear you. Well, we’re the guinea pigs. If this works, we should invite other guys to join us.
Mats winces at my phrasing.
Sorry. I know you’re against animal testing, I joke. He’s a big animal lover.
Hey, you know who came into the shelter the other day? Mats volunteers at the St. Viola Animal Shelter.
No idea.
He smiles. Evie. Remember the girl we rescued from the party? She and her friends have started some kind of craft club. They made knitted mats for the cat cages. Much nicer than the cold steel floor.
I swallow. Nice.
Even her hobbies are those of an eighty-year-old woman. Evie is so odd.
Time to hit the cold plunge? I ask. The numbing pain is my favourite part of the routine.
But even while we’re soaking, my mind keeps bouncing.
Have you ever had sex with a virgin? I ask.
Mats starts, loses his grip on the rim of the tub, and slips in. He comes up spluttering. Jesus, Zee. Don’t shock me like that. He shakes the water from his hair. But yes. My first girlfriend and I were both virgins when we had sex. Why are you asking?
I don’t know. I guess I was wondering if there were special, you know, considerations. Beyond the obvious. As far as preparations go, I’ve got lube, lubricated condoms, and patience, since I’ve already jerked off today. Although when I’m with Evie, my body has no problem responding.
He squints at me. You’ve had a lot more partners than I have. I can’t believe you’re asking me for advice.
I consider Mats one of my closest friends on the team, but he would probably be surprised to hear that. The truth is that I haven’t let myself get really close to anyone here at Monarch.
I usually don’t go out with inexperienced women. That’s part of my dating philosophy, finding someone who accepts casual relationships. Truth is, I avoid commitments in all aspects of my life, as my hockey advisor can attest.
Communication is important. And trust. She has to feel free to tell you to stop if she’s not feeling it. But I’m only theorizing. In my case, my girlfriend was even more eager than me. Mats squints at me. Is it Evie?
Shit. How did you know?
Intuition. There was a vibe between the two of you that night.
A vibe? With an unconscious woman? I scoff.
No, it was the way you acted. You wanted to be the one to do everything for her. And then today, when I mentioned her name, you changed the subject immediately. He looks pleased with his deductive reasoning.
She’s not the type of woman I usually date, but… I falter, unable to explain my attraction.”
Sensing my discomfort, Mats lets the subject drop. After our recovery session, we head home. I still feel restless instead of exhausted as I would be after a tough workout. I finish up an assignment, but I can’t focus on anything else. My concentration is shot right now.
I message Evie.
Can we meet for lunch instead?
Evie is an itch, and the sooner I scratch it, the sooner I can focus on what’s really important: hockey and my family situation. Given her eagerness last night, I’m surprised when she insists that she has to finish an essay first, but we arrange to meet at 2:00 PM for a late lunch.
When I pull up in front of Humphrey Hall, Evie is already waiting on the steps. Today she’s wearing a green velvet jacket and jeans. Her clothing is unusual, yet suits her.
She gets into the car, buckles up and beams at me. Hi, Viktor.
Hey.
Her foot taps against the floorboard. How are you today? Wait, retract that question. I mean, we just saw each other a few hours ago, right? What could have—
I clamp a hand on her firm thigh and she freezes.
Evie, relax. We’re just going for lunch.
Just lunch? Is that all you want? she asks softly.
Nothing happens unless you want it to.
She’s full of contradictions. Last night she was the initiator, but today she’s timid. I want to reassure her that she’s in charge of how fast we go.
Okay. Thank you. She exhales and the tension visibly leaves her body. Where are we going?
You’ll see.
She leans back into her seat, even more relaxed. Oh, a surprise. My airport fantasy would be to pick a place from the departures board and just go there.
Hmmm. My airport fantasy would be joining the mile-high club.
I visualize Evie, stripped naked from the waist down with her long legs wrapped around me as I sink deep into her in a tiny airplane washroom.
Or maybe I should upgrade my fantasy to one of those first-class seats that convert into private bedrooms. A trans-Atlantic flight would allow us hours of fun.
I shift uncomfortably in my seat. Fantasizing about fucking Evie won’t help my self-control.
That’s not your fantasy? she asks, and for one moment I wonder if she can read my mind. Then I remember what she just said.
Not really. I like to know where I’m going.
Yes. I’ve noticed that you enjoy being in complete control, Evie states.
Once again, her insight startles me. Well, if she can read my dirty thoughts, as least she’s not trying to flee.
Anyhow, today is like that. Going on a surprise trip, she says.
Don’t get too excited, I scoff. How exotic can we get while remaining in Minnesota?
Okay, Mr. Grump. She laughs at me, making me feel off balance.
I reach into the console and pull out the purple toque I dug out of the bin at the arena. Is this yours?
Oh, yes. Thank you so much. She pats it, folds it, and puts it in her purse. Wait. How did you know?
It looked like you. The hat was hand-knit with a sequinned flower, so it either belonged to Evie or an elderly Mustangs fan.
Not to criticize, but should you be looking up in the stands during games?
Vision is my hockey strength. I can see the ice well, I reply. And Evie is hard to miss. I’m not sure if it’s her clothing or her vitality. And I never look around the arena while I’m playing, only when I’m on the bench.
I pull up to a retro roadside diner on the outskirts of Duluth. It could use some paint and new signage, but it’s authentically aged.
Evie is charmed. It looks so cute, she declares, practically skipping inside. Predictably, the place is deserted since it’s the middle of the afternoon. We sit in a booth with red vinyl seats and a turquoise tabletop.
She points to the tiny jukebox in our booth. Oh, wow. I’ve always wanted to try one of these.
I’m prepared so I pull change out of my pocket and place it in front of her. Go crazy. What kind of music do you like?
Cool jazz. Like Paul Desmond, Les Young, Dave Brubeck.
I frown. Good luck with that. Anything else?
She flips through the choices, and I’m shocked by how few songs she recognizes. Our waitress comes over with menus and water.
How’re you kids doing? She’s got a mother hen vibe.
We’re fine, thanks, I reply.
Just give me a holler when you want to order. She disappears through the swinging doors into the kitchen.
Now Evie is excited by the menu. It’s like she’s never been anywhere before. Oh, I’m going to get a milkshake. I love them.
After we order, she turns back to the jukebox and finds a song she knows. She inserts coins, presses buttons and forces me to select songs too. Then Carole King’s Where You Lead starts to play.
Have you watched Gilmore Girls? she asks.
Maybe part of an episode or two. It’s the kind of show your girlfriend makes you watch, so I’ve escaped that.
We had a DVD set of season one. My mom and I said it was just like us. Not exactly, of course, because my dad is in our lives, but more because she was so young when she had me. We’re really close.
Now this is something I’m interested in, what makes Evie tick. And what does your father do again?
Her gaze drops to the tabletop. I told you before. He sells machine parts.