Page 22 of From Coast to Coast
“Yeah, that’s true.” I sigh, rubbing a hand idly over my chest. “It makes me nervous, I guess. Talking online is one thing, but meeting in person makes it more…”
“Real?” Alex fills in.
“Yeah.”
“Which is the point,” he says, making me sigh again. “But if you’re not into this, then don’t do it. Download something else instead and find some nice Canadian girls.”
“Or I could just be alone.”
“Right”—he snorts—“because you could ever be alone.”
“I could,” I say indignantly, even though I probably couldn’t. I like having Grayson in the house with me, even though he largely stays to himself and is pretty silent. I know he’s there—it’s the presence that matters.
“Right,” Alex repeats, heavy on the sarcasm. “But we’re getting off track. If you’re not feeling this anymore, cut this guy loose and move on. The beauty of the dating app is that there’s no expectations and no strings attached. You don’t even know this guy’s real name.”
“Iamfeeling it, though.” I think about the photo he sent me, and just how into it I was. Am. “But maybe I won’t be when we actually meet in person. What if?—"
“Then you’ve made yourself a friend and you guys can laugh about the time you sent each other dick pics and got off. Remy, you are taking this far too seriously. For a laid-back California boy, you sure do know how to overthink things.”
“Yeah.” I heave a bigger sigh. “I know. But there might bea full-on sexual awakening happening over here. Overthinking seems like it might be part of the package. Also, things are a little…different on this team.”
“Different?”
“Yeah. You know how I’m living with Grayson, right? Well, they apparently weren’t very supportive of him when he came out to them and since then he’s struggled. It’s fucking weird, Alex. Nobody has said anything straight to his face, but there is a distinct vibe when he’s in the locker room. And the coach has steadily been decreasing his ice time. We just started the season and they’re already playing him less and less each game. They’re freezing him out.”
“Great. So, if it turns out this thing with your internet guy ends up being serious, you run the risk of tanking your career?”
“Internet guy isn’t going to get serious, that’s not the problem. I don’t want a serious relationship right now. I just got a divorce, remember? But I think some of these guys might be homophobes, and this is a contract year for me. I might not want to stay, but I still need to put up high enough numbers that somebody else will want me.”
“And it’ll be hard to produce if they cut your ice time when they find out you’re playing hide the salami with a guy.” Alex hums, thinking things over. I can practically hear his brain tick over from annoying friend to lawyer. My phone buzzes and I justknowit’s Brody messaging me. My skin tingles with the desire to check it—maybe he sent me another picture. “But it’s not like they’ll find out unless you tell them, and I don’t see you doing that. There’s no need for you to tell them you’re exploring your sexuality post-divorce.”
“No, I wasn’t saying that, I was just…shit, man, I don’t know. I just want to play hockey and get laid.”
“Sucks about your roommate, though.”
“Yeah.” I lower my voice. “He doesn’t say much but I think it’s been tough for him after coming out. He’s still got two years left on an eight-year contract, too, which is usually a good thing but?—"
“But only if you like your team?”
“Exactly. He could request a trade and somebody could buy him out, but that won’t fly if he has another season like last year. I don’t know, the whole thing is majorly fucked from what I can tell. I wish I’d never been traded.”
“You said the exact opposite when you found out you got traded.”
“Right, because I wanted to get out of California and start fresh. I didn’t realize I’d be starting fresh with a group of douchebags.”
“Are they?”
“Not to me, yet. But I’m Team Grayson if someone asks me, and apparently that’s not going to do me any favors.”
There is a heavy silence on the other end of the line, offset by a strange uptick in ambient noise like Alex put me on speakerphone. I wait—often he’ll have to answer work emails or texts mid-conversation.
“Grayson Brody?” he asks suddenly. I nod before remembering we’re not on FaceTime.
“Yeah.”
“Uhm.” He laughs, before clearing his throat and trying again. “Your dating app guy is Brody, right?”
“It’s not an uncommon name,” I answer, even though I have never met another Brody in my life. Whatever, Alex doesn’t need to know that.