The Inside Edge, page 11
“I think there’s a saying about this,” Aubrey mused without answering the question. “Something about—happiness is appreciating what you have, rather than having everything you want.”
Nate sipped his coffee and looked out the window. “Maybe you should get me the number for your therapist.”
Aubrey laughed. “Therapy’s not that simple. I read that on a fortune cookie.”
Nate’s stomach rumbled. “I wonder if there’s a good Chinese place in Tampa.”
They pulled up to the airport, and Aubrey tipped the driver while Nate got their bags. When Aubrey slipped off after Security to indulge in his weird airport pulp fiction fetish, Nate grabbed breakfast pastries and staked out a couple chairs in the lounge.
Before he could get more than a bite into his croissant, Kelly sat down in the chair across from him.
Nate wouldn’t say he panicked. Nate would not say he shat his metaphorical pants. Nate would not say those things, but they were still true.
“So,” Kelly said. Nate’s balls tried to crawl back up into his body. “You’ve been kind of hard to pin down the past couple weeks.”
Fuuuuuck.
“Uh, sorry,” Nate said, knowing it sounded feeble. Before Aubrey, he’d spent a lot of time with Kelly on breaks in filming. He’d always had lunches with her too. But he had a feeling she was talking about more than the fact that she was eating alone. “It’s just been a really busy few weeks, you know? Trying to get ready for the holiday and everything.”
Kelly crossed her legs and raised an eyebrow. “Wow. Good thing you’re a sports announcer and not an actor.”
Nate winced but didn’t bother trying to defend himself.
“I don’t get it,” Kelly said. “Devon said your date went well. But you haven’t returned his calls. You ghosted him. That’s pretty shitty.”
“Yeah.” Well, it was. Nate had managed to reply to one text, but it was a trite it’s not you, sorry that he still cringed even thinking about. “I know. I….”
“I mean, either you’re going to call him and do a lot of groveling, or….” She sighed. “Maybe this was a dumb idea. I should’ve stayed out of it.”
She sounded like she meant it. She looked like it too, which made it that much worse—especially since Nate was the one who’d introduced her to Caley. He knew she wanted to return the favor.
“No, it’s not your fault. When we talked the first time, I really did think I wanted to start dating again, I just….”
Aubrey came into the lounge, nose already buried in the paperback. One of these days he was going to run into something, or someone.
“I’m not looking for anything serious right now,” Nate forced himself to say. There. The honest truth. Not that he’d consider Devon either way, but Devon didn’t have to know that. “I thought I was, but I’m not.”
It wasn’t until Kelly softened and the tension eased from her face and posture that Nate realized he’d made her believe he wasn’t over the divorce. “Oh. Nate, I’m sorry too. It’s really none of my business, but I want you to be happy, you know?”
“I do, and I appreciate that.”
Nate was saved from having to elaborate further when Aubrey took the chair across from Kelly, barely looking up from his book. Nate nudged the pastry bag at him, and he took it without looking.
“But I’m actually pretty happy being single,” Nate finished, which was also weirdly true. He hadn’t had one of those moments of self-pity in weeks.
She shrugged. “If you say so.”
Fortunately their flight was called for boarding before anyone could choose a more awkward conversation topic. Saved by the buzzer.
They did their pregame meeting in one of Amalie Arena’s conference rooms, throwing around ideas of how to fill the dead air.
“First guy to mention Alex Killorn went to Harvard buys dinner,” Aubrey suggested with a smirk.
Nate cracked up. “You’re on.”
“While I have you here,” Jess interrupted, “there’s something we should talk about.”
Aubrey and Nate locked eyes, then turned to her. Nate knew her serious business voice, and this wasn’t it, not exactly. This was stress, anxiety… maybe something else too.
Kelly straightened in her chair. “What’s going on, boss?”
Jess leaned back and stared up at the ceiling for a moment, drumming her fingers on the armrests. “The thing is, I don’t know.” She lifted her head and regarded each of them in turn. “I’m not going to lie to you—our decision to fire John Plum didn’t go over well with our usual audience. You all know ratings in our traditional market suffered in the wake of that, even though I stand by that decision.”
That sounded ominous. “I thought things were going better,” Nate prompted. Twitter loved them, or at least loved to talk about them, which was almost the same thing.
“They are. We’re actually up a couple points over where we were last year. That’s why I’m cautiously optimistic about the meeting the director of the board called me to. It’s the second week in December.”
Kelly leaned forward over the table. “Any idea what it’s about? Like, did you get a feeling, positive or negative…?”
“I got a notification from our calendar app.” Jess shook her head. “His assistant set it up. She doesn’t know anything either.”
“It might not be bad news.” Aubrey sat forward too. His gaze sharpened from lazy amusement into something focused and intent. “It could be they’re thinking of a time-slot change—more episodes, different format. What’s the guy like?”
Jess sighed. “He’s the kind of guy who takes weeks to make up his mind, but once he does, he’ll never change it.”
“There we go, then,” Aubrey said. “We have two and a half weeks to show him why the network should keep us.”
“So, no pressure,” Kelly deadpanned.
Nate looked at Aubrey, looked at Jess, then shrugged. “We’re professional athletes. Working under pressure is kind of our thing.”
NATE AND Aubrey did, in fact, work best under pressure. That night’s show in Tampa, they found another level to the back-and-forth that had made them a surprise hit on the internet, even if all Aubrey’s goading couldn’t coerce Nate to say the word Harvard. Instead he managed to needle Nate about official NHL height statistics during intermission while Kelly was setting up to interview one of the Lightning players in the tunnel.
“I’m just saying, NHL height statistics are a little like”—don’t say Grindr, don’t say Grindr—“online dating profiles. Look, here’s yours. It says you’re five eleven.”
Nate gave him a long-suffering look—he was maybe five ten if Aubrey were being generous—but Aubrey could see the amusement playing behind his eyes. “And that’s our cue to go to Kelly outside the Bolts’ locker room, where she’ll be interviewing Tyler Johnson about the penalty kill, big saves from Vasilevskiy, and his power-play goal.”
The interview was smooth enough—typical hockey talk, full of buzzwords and rehearsed answers, signifying nothing—but when the video cut back to the two of them in the booth, Aubrey looked at Nate and said flatly, “If that man is five nine, I’m Evgeni Plushenko.”
This time Nate responded without missing a beat. “Maybe the NHL let a Russian judge take his measurements.”
Before Aubrey could recover from Nate making a figure-skating joke live on air, Nate went on, “And now for score updates from around the league,” and he had to scramble to keep up.
He was pretty sure it was a meme before they even left the arena.
The show staff had rooms for the night at the Marriott Waterside, but Aubrey still had that hankering for American Chinese food. He and Nate caught a cab after the game and ended up at Ming Garden, where Aubrey ate his weight in the house special lo mein while Nate put away a respectable amount of barbecue pork, both of them bickering good-naturedly the whole time.
When the server brought the check, they looked at each other blankly. Neither of them had won the bet, but usually restaurants back home asked them if they wanted to split it. Apparently they weren’t recognized as work colleagues here, but that was fine. Right? Aubrey was determined it should be fine, so he shrugged and reached for his wallet. “You can get it next time.”
It was stupid. Because until that moment of blank panic, it had felt kind of like a date. Or like Aubrey imagined a date would feel, since he’d never really been on any. The conversation came easily, he felt comfortable, the evening held that undercurrent of attraction that made it feel like anything could happen. The night held possibilities.
Except, of course, that Nate wasn’t looking to date anyone. He was happy being single. Aubrey had forced himself to forget about that remark while they were working, but it had sneaked up on him again during dinner, and now it threatened to spoil his evening.
He couldn’t afford to get maudlin. Nate would notice, for one thing.
Nate cracked open his fortune cookie while Aubrey was signing the check. “What’s yours say?”
Aubrey bit off a chunk of crunchy moon-shaped goodness and glanced down at the paper he pulled away. When he’d swallowed, he read aloud, “Work with your destiny. Stop trying to outrun it.” Maybe a little too on the nose, and considering Nate’s recent announcement, it stung. He wasn’t trying to outrun anything anymore. “Yours?”
“Follow the middle path,” Nate recited dutifully. “Neither extreme will make you happy.” He shook his head. “That’s almost creepy, considering our conversation this morning.”
And Aubrey thought his had been too insightful. “Don’t know why I spend all that money on therapy when I could eat fortune cookies instead.”
Though it was late November, the air was pleasant and warm. “You want to walk back?” Aubrey suggested, and then immediately realized how date-like that sounded and had to wipe suddenly sweaty palms on his pants. Nate was pretty oblivious. He’d probably pass it off as an innocent suggestion that they get some exercise. “We’re not gonna get weather like this in Chicago for a while.”
“Yeah, not a bad idea after that.”
The restaurant was in a pseudo industrial area, which kept the walk from feeling romantic, but Aubrey couldn’t help thinking of what it could be like. It was nice, going out to dinner with Nate. Riding in cars with Nate. Even waiting around in airports with Nate was superior to traveling alone, and not just because Nate bought him pastries.
What if he could have that all the time?
“You’re quiet tonight,” Nate commented as they reached the shinier, cleaned-up Channelside.
“Just thinking,” Aubrey answered. Just thinking, Why does my timing suck so bad? Why couldn’t I have met you when you were actually looking for a relationship? What can I do to convince you to give this a shot?
Not that it would matter if he did, probably, because the bigger question was still Who do I think I’m kidding?
Normally Aubrey would’ve expected his comment to earn him a smart remark. Tonight Nate only cocked his head and glanced at him sidelong. “All right. You want to talk about it?”
Yes. But he couldn’t make himself say the words. “Maybe some other time.”
Chapter Eleven
THE TRIP home from Tampa was a shitshow.
The first flight got canceled when the aircraft experienced difficulties with its landing gear, leaving the crew stranded in the airport for four hours until the next flight to O’Hare… which was delayed several more hours due to a freak blizzard that had blown in off Lake Michigan.
Even the private lounge couldn’t keep them entertained. Nate broke two hours into the second delay and went for a walk. By the time he returned, Aubrey was slouched on a sofa with a posture that suggested his spine had slithered out his ass and crawled away to die. His paperback, which he’d finished before Nate left, lay discarded on the table.
Nate dropped a new one on the couch next to Aubrey and picked up his castoff. “This any good?”
Aubrey looked down at the book—it was the next in the series he was reading—and then at Nate. “It beats staring at the wall for two more hours.”
He had a point there.
When they finally landed in Chicago, it was close to midnight, the ground was covered in a layer of white, and Nate was wiped. “I’m getting a cab, if you’re going straight back,” he offered as they slogged through the airport.
Aubrey shot him a quizzical and also very tired look, which was fair. Where exactly did Nate think he was going to go after eleven on a Sunday night? Especially when they were supposed to have been home twelve hours ago.
“Stupid question?” Nate asked.
Aubrey waved that off. “I’ll cut you some slack this time since today sucked so bad.”
Nate snorted. “I appreciate it. I’m beginning to think I left my brain in Tampa.”
“At least it won’t get frostbite.”
Just as Nate opened his mouth to reply, a harried-looking woman pushing a tandem stroller knocked into his leg.
“Oh God, I’m so sorry!” She had dark circles under her eyes, and the baby was fussing. “I’m just, I’m exhausted, I’m supposed to be flying to my parents’ for Thanksgiving and then the snowstorm and—I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
“It’s fine,” Nate promised her, and was about to move on when he noticed Aubrey kneeling next to the stroller.
“Dropped something,” Aubrey explained, holding up a stuffed lamb with a visible coating of baby slime on its ear. “I don’t know, do these things have to be disinfected before they go back in the baby’s mouth?”
“Not if I don’t want everyone in Chicago to hate me.”
Aubrey conceded the point with a tilt of his head and wiped the stuffed animal on his trousers before offering it to the baby, who paused mid fuss and reached out a chubby fist. Beside the infant, a curly-haired toddler slept peacefully.
Aubrey glanced at Nate, brows raised in an implicit question. Nate wanted to say no, but this woman could probably use the help. Sleep would wait another ten minutes. He nodded imperceptibly, and Aubrey asked, “Can we offer you a hand getting to your gate?”
By the time they climbed into the car, Nate’s legs were throbbing and his eyes kept falling closed.
Aubrey seemed to agree, if the way he leaned his head against the window and sighed were any indication. “God. I cannot wait for a hot shower and a warm bed.”
A warm bed did sound nice. Especially one that potentially had Aubrey in it, not that Nate had the energy to do much with him tonight. It would be convenient to stash him there until morning, though.
For the life of him, Nate couldn’t figure out how to ask. Hey, I know you’re leaving for Hawaii tomorrow afternoon, but want to spend the night so we can get laid first thing tomorrow morning? Aubrey probably had plenty of willing bodies lined up for him in Hawaii anyway, or he would as soon as he landed. Nate had no doubt he’d find as much company as he wanted.
They rode back in sleepy silence. Nate wasn’t expecting anything more than a muttered good night, but then their phones chimed simultaneously as they waited for the elevator.
“The fuck?” Nate griped as they reached in their pockets in unison. “I swear, if this is Jess telling us the show’s canceled, I will do a murder. I need sleep. Whatever it is can wait until tomorrow.”
“Not Jess.” Aubrey seemed to have gotten the message first, and he didn’t look happy.
Nate soon found out why: They’d received a text from building management apologizing to residents of the top four floors for the lack of heat and water due to “unforeseen circumstances beyond our control.” A second text promised that residents who submitted receipts for hotels would be reimbursed up to $250. Nate guessed the message had been delayed by his phone’s habitual reluctance to come out of flight mode all at once instead of in stages.
“Oh, fuck me,” Aubrey muttered.
Nate could relate. He couldn’t imagine summoning the energy to pack up a fresh bag and head out into the cold, only to have to pack again tomorrow.
“Well, that’s one good thing about being a peon on an unfashionable floor,” Nate quipped. “Warm air and hot water.”
Obviously Aubrey could stay with him. But now he was torn. First he hadn’t known how to ask Aubrey to come over for sex. Now he didn’t know how to say, “Come over, but we’re only sleeping. I can’t even get my eyelids above half-mast; my dick is a lost cause.”
Aubrey huffed. “Not funny, Nate.”
The elevator doors opened, and Aubrey cut Nate off to get in. He jabbed at the Close Door button, obviously in no mood to be teased.
Damn it. He might as well give it a shot. Nate stuck his arm out before stepping in beside Aubrey.
The doors closed.
“Didn’t mean it to be,” he said, mentally fortifying himself. Although really, what was he worried about? What was Aubrey going to do, turn down a warm place to sleep that didn’t involve trekking all over the city? “Come stay at mine. I would’ve asked earlier, but I’m kind of beat. I didn’t want my mouth to write checks my body couldn’t cash.”
Aubrey stared at him for a second, expression unreadable. Then he sighed and his shoulders relaxed. “Thanks. Got the guest room made up?”
Nate rolled his eyes. “Maybe not that beat.” He pressed the button for his own floor, then Aubrey’s. “Get whatever you need. I’ll leave the door unlocked.”
Chapter Twelve
THE DOOR was unlocked when Aubrey got down to Nate’s apartment, which was a good thing, since Nate was sacked out and snoring softly when Aubrey padded into his bedroom and then through to the bathroom. He shut the door gently behind him so he could shower without waking Nate.
And wasn’t that a trip? From unprofessionalism to grudging professionalism, to a friendly fake rivalry with hot sex, a romantic walk, and now here Aubrey was, being domestic, and so thoroughly exhausted he couldn’t even properly freak out about it.
