Page 23 of From Coast to Coast
“And is it also common for someone to be six-seven? Because both of theseBrodysare the same height.”
I frown, because of course that’s not common. It’s not even common in professional hockey. I’ve been living on the assumption that internet Brody was fudging the numbers a little bit to make himself more impressive. Worry coils in my gut like a serpent—I didn’t accidentally pick up my teammate, did I?
“And we already know Grayson Brody is gay, so…” Alex trails off, but picks up again when it becomes clear that silence is my current preferred method of avoidance. “You’ve seen him naked in the locker room, haven’t you? Does he look like those pictures you’ve got in your spank bank?”
“I don’t know, he always dresses facing his stall and is super fucking quick. I don’t check people out in the locker room, Alex. It’s not him, though, it can’t be.”
“Those would be a pair of pretty distinct coincidences.”
Sitting up—the comforter falling away from my chest—I put Alex on speaker and lower the volume down as much as it will go. Toggling over to the app, I ignore the more recent messages from Brody and click the last photograph he sent me. Zooming in as much as I can, I squint at the background and try to discern if I can recognize where the photo was taken. It’s no use. I’ve never been into his bedroom or bath, which I assume is where this photo was taken. I zoom in on his body instead, trying to find distinguishing characteristics like a tattoo or an oddly shaped mole.
“You still there?” Alex asks.
“Yeah, I’m trying to decide if it’s Gray in those pictures,” I whisper, flicking a glance over at the door. The house is still silent. He’s probably resting, unbothered by the looming freak-out in my room. “He doesn’t have any tattoos though,so I don’t know how I’d figure out it’s him. Lots of people have chest hair, it’s not exactly a deal breaker.”
“You need to ask him out.”
“Grayson?” I hiss, and Alex gives an aggrieved sigh.
“No, dumbass, Brody. Ask internet guy to meet up and then bring it up to Grayson that you have a date. If he also has a date, you’ll know if it’s him or not. Simple. How have you made it this far in life, being this stupid?”
“This shit doesn’t happen in real life—this is fucking unreal.”
“Yes. Very strange for your gay roommate to be on a gay dating app,” he answers, so dryly I can practically feel the eye roll from here. “He used his last name, for Christ’s sake! That’s the lowest level of subterfuge there is.”
“It might not be him,” I say, and then repeat it a couple of times in my mind like a mantra.
“It’s him. Do what I said and figure it out for real. Listen, I have to go. My fucking email is blowing up right now.” He sighs, the background noise becoming louder as he shuffles through something. “This client isn’t happy with taking their spouse for half of their income—no, they want an arm and a leg, too. Greedy fucker,” he mumbles under his breath.
“All right, I’ll let you go,” I say, stomach sinking. I can’t look away from the picture of Brody’s chest and thighs. Have I seen those thighs walking around the training facility and in the kitchen?
“Message Brody and ask him out,” Alex reminds me. “If it really is your teammate, you need to figure it out and tell him. It’s not fair for you to know when he doesn’t.”
“Yeah,” I agree gloomily. What a joyful conversation that will end up being. “Sorry about your client. Talk to you later.”
We hang up and I force my eyes away from the dark hair covering Brody’s pecs. He’s messaged me three times since I’ve been on the phone with Alex.Does he talk like Grayson?Maybe the reason we get on so well is because we’re already friends in real fucking life. I know Alex is right and that it’s not fair for me to have this information and not him, so, ignoring the sickly feeling in my stomach, I message him back.
Ree
Hey so I was thinking…
Brody
Don’t hurt yourself.
I laugh softly. Unfortunately, this response doesn’t bode well for me. That’s exactly the sort of thing Grayson would say.
Ree
How do you feel about meeting up? Maybe grab dinner sometime this week?
I jump when somebody bangs on the front door. Scrambling off of my bed, I tug on a pair of sweatpants and jog shirtless into the hallway. I’d completely forgotten that I’d ordered pizza. Collecting the pies from the delivery guy, I head into the kitchen with my phone clutched in one sweaty hand. It hasn’t vibrated with a reply yet.
“Gray,” I call, “pizza’s here.”
He steps out of his room fully clothed, which is both a relief and a disappointment. I’d been watching his door and hoping he’d only be wearing pants, so that I could get a full frontal of his bare chest. No luck, because, of course, Graysononly ever walks around this place fully covered—always cognizant of the fact that he has a roommate.
His hair is wet and he runs his fingers through the strands a couple times as he walks toward me, smiling. I notice how dark his hair is, and how his stubble isn’t patchy at all. I notice the way his sweatpants fit and the stretch of his shirt over his shoulders. Grayson, for his part, notices me leering at him. His head tilts and he eyes me quizzically.Words, Remy, use your words.