The Inside Edge, page 5
A crowd had gathered now, probably drawn by Greg and Caley’s laughter. The sound of it made Aubrey grin, remembering what he loved about performing live. He loved doing the show with Nate, but it wasn’t the same as entertaining people in person.
As much fun as he was having, though, the song didn’t suit him as a skater—a little too slow, not enough energy. In the slower sections, Aubrey found himself bored and thought, well, what the hell. Suddenly, instead of figure skating, he shifted into a hockey stance, a little clumsy since he hadn’t played a real game in almost two decades and Caley’s stick was left-handed. He burned rubber for the imagined offensive zone, pulled the stick back—
—caught a blade and went down chest-first, sliding on his belly like a penguin.
“Toe pick!” someone shouted, and Aubrey knew without looking it had to be Nate. He wouldn’t have thought he had enough air in his lungs to laugh, but he did anyway, raising his arm weakly to show he was okay and also to shoot Nate the finger. That fucker.
When he picked himself up off the ice, he got a mixed reception of applause and stick taps. But the thing that made his cheeks go pink was the way Nate looked at him, straight in the eyes for once, his face pulled into an expression of fond amusement.
He’s married, Aubrey reminded himself, and the flush faded as he stepped off the ice.
“SO, YOU think this is the one?” Greg asked as they sat at a cafe after their skate one morning. Aubrey had offered to share his ice time now that they were really gearing up for the audition. Greg was poking at an enormous cobb salad. Sucked to be him. Aubrey had the best burger in the city.
“It has good energy, very dynamic.” Aubrey dipped a fry in ketchup and gestured with it. “Once we nail the timing, I think it’s the perfect program—dynamic and fun, technical without being stuffy.”
Greg looked longingly at Aubrey’s burger and speared a piece of boiled egg. He chewed, then put down his fork and said, “I agree. And since you bring up stuffy—”
Aubrey glanced at him, betrayed. “Who talked?”
“Freddie. He said you went out dancing with the crew but, and I quote, ‘his head wasn’t in the game.’” Greg methodically shoveled in a mouthful of lettuce. When he’d swallowed, he said, “Your head is literally always in the game, so naturally he thinks you’re dying.”
“Nice,” Aubrey said dryly. Of course his… friends was too strong a word for the crew he went dancing with, since they only ever met to go hook up. Anyway, of course Freddie sold him out.
“So are you? Dying?”
Aubrey spitted him with a withering glare. “Eat your salad.”
“See, I would, but I’m invested now. And anyway, isn’t the phrase ‘toss—’”
“You’re hilarious.” Aubrey picked up his burger and took an impossibly large bite, as much for an excuse to pause the conversation as because it was delicious.
“It’s just not like you,” Greg said, lifting a shoulder as he looked back down at his plate. “Forgive me for my concern if all of a sudden sex doesn’t interest you.” He stopped then, and Aubrey thought maybe he was going to stick in another mouthful of lettuce and let the subject drop, but when he looked over, Greg wasn’t even holding his fork. “Or maybe….”
Oh boy. “Maybe what?” Aubrey asked in resignation.
“Maybe you’re getting it somewhere else, and you don’t need to go clubbing.”
“I wish,” Aubrey said reflexively, and then thought, Oh damn.
Greg’s face lit up like a Christmas tree, and he pushed his salad away, perhaps with a little too much glee. “I knew it! You are screwing Nate Overton!”
“What!” Aubrey squawked. “He barely even likes me!”
“Come on, Aubrey. I watch the show the same as any other hockey fan. You’re really gonna tell me there’s nothing there?”
Fuck. Aubrey thought he’d had a better lid on his stupid crush than this. “He’s married,” he pointed out. “I know I’m not exactly Captain Discretion, but I’m not an adulterer.” Ugh, that sounded so… biblical. “Adulter-ee? Accomplice to adultery?” Maybe he could distract Greg with semantics.
“Okay, so you’re not fucking him,” Greg said easily. Too easily, it turned out, because the next thing out of his mouth was “Doesn’t mean you don’t want to.”
Aubrey mulishly swiped a few fries through his pile of ketchup and mowed them down. He wasn’t owning up to that, not to Greg, anyway. “That’s not….” He wiped his greasy fingers on a napkin. “It just doesn’t….”
Greg waited him out. Asshole.
Fine. “I want more than just a hookup, okay?” Aubrey bit out, and then found himself shocked into silence.
He’d intended it to be a lie. He didn’t want to talk about Nate, and he’d have said anything to get Greg to back off. Only it turned out he’d stumbled onto an inconvenient truth, and now he was having trouble catching his breath.
Because he did want more than a hookup. Not necessarily with Nate, though Nate was hot and fun to talk to when he could be coerced to remember Aubrey existed outside of work. But in general—he wanted someone to share his life, someone who’d pay attention to him even when he wasn’t his best, someone he could show off for and spoil.
Aubrey pushed his plate away too.
Greg looked from Aubrey’s face, which felt like it must have gone a bit gray, to his plate, and grimaced in sympathy. “Sorry, man. I should’ve waited till you finished your burger.”
“Just for that, you can pick up the tab,” Aubrey said, injecting as much levity as he could.
Greg didn’t push further.
THAT WEEK took them to Houston. To his surprise, Nate was actually looking forward to it. Now that he was able to associate the city with just work and hockey instead of home and Marty, he felt much better about it. Given a late schedule change, the network gave The Inside Edge an extra half hour before the game.
“Okay, let’s take a few to figure out what we’re going to do with this.” Jess had them crammed into a tiny conference room in the arena. Next to her were Bob from marketing and her boss, Larry, who never looked completely pleased even when Jess was giving him good numbers. He’d always been nice enough to Nate, but there was something squirrelly about him that Nate didn’t like.
Bob immediately produced something from his jacket pocket with a flourish. He held up a small tube. “As it happens, Crotchguard is co-sponsoring a ball-hockey tournament in Houston next week, and as they are one of our largest advertisers, I think a short segment would be in order.”
Nate noticed Aubrey’s jaw drop slightly before he regained his usual composure. Nate wondered if Aubrey was wondering the same thing Nate was: did Bob carry samples of all their sponsors’ products on his person or did he just need—no, better not go there.
Aubrey shot him a sideways glance and raised an eyebrow as if reading Nate’s mind.
“Great idea,” Jess said. “We’ll send Dev or Kelly, but that’ll take no more than five. What else we got?”
“How about a segment on grading the last expansion draft?” Nate suggested.
Aubrey nodded. “Sure. We could call it ‘And Yet More Mistakes by Edmonton.’”
“I was going to go with ‘New Horizons in Fuck-uppery,’ but yours is more professional.” Nate grinned at him and then looked back at Jess with a bland smile.
“On the other hand, Dallas—”
“Totally fleeced them by making an overaged Russian with a bad hip look like—”
“Pavel Datsyuk?”
Unbelievable.
Despite their trading barbs on-air, a lot—most, maybe—of their opinions actually aligned. Nate could admit that he’d been playing it up a bit, at first because Aubrey irritated him, then because the audience loved it. But more recently Nate had to admit it was just fun.
Aubrey knew his shit, and he was clever, willing to make a hit, but he seemed to delight in taking them almost as much. Nate hadn’t had this much fun at work since he was playing professional hockey. If he had to pretend not to enjoy getting into it with Aubrey for an audience that was eating up their fake dichotomy, so be it.
After the game, when they’d wrapped the postgame comments, Nate took off his headset and checked his phone. As promised, Bonesy had texted him—twice. The first was what he was expecting:
Meet us at O’Malleys?
But the next one definitely wasn’t:
Big G says bring Aubrey. Thinks he’s hilarious.
Fuck. It wasn’t like Nate could say no to one of his favorite former teammates. Or, well, he could, but he didn’t want to lie. Bones had a very sensitive bullshit detector.
I’ll tell him. Meet you there. Looking fwd to seeing everyone.
Nate hoped they’d have a good crowd so on the off chance Aubrey wanted to come along, he and Nate could each do their own thing.
Aubrey did come, but their large group spilled almost the length of the bar. Nate sat beside Bonesy at one end, while Aubrey took the far corner between a recently acquired winger Nate didn’t know well and Kaden, a young D-man who was living up to the promise he’d shown when Nate was with the team. Kaden and Aubrey were talking, so Nate should have been able to forget Aubrey was there, but he couldn’t resist checking to make sure Aubrey wasn’t being obnoxious or inappropriate. Only the next time he looked down the bar, it was Kaden talking animatedly, gesturing with his hands, and Aubrey listening attentively, head tilted toward him. Apparently Aubrey could be an engaged listener when he was motivated. Nate frowned and tried to focus on his own conversation.
“Anyway, so Amy said a two-seater wasn’t practical,” Bonesy said. Nate nodded in apparent agreement about a car (probably) while he wondered what a young defenseman from North Dakota could possibly have to say that engaged Aubrey so much.
While Bonesy went on, Nate couldn’t help trying to keep up with Kaden and Aubrey. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Kaden’s body language shift. He was leaning in toward Aubrey like a sunflower trying to find the light, as if Aubrey were something radiant.
Aubrey wasn’t bad-looking. At all. And he was certainly turning on the charm—head tilted, fingers tapping on Kaden’s forearm as he made a point about something. He had Kaden enraptured. When Nate caught him flashing a smile, he was reminded of a big bad wolf. It was a little sexy. Nate didn’t like it.
“Earth to Nate? Nate, this is Houston, come in.” Bonesy waved his hand in front of Nate’s face.
“Uh, sorry. Anyway, you were going to buy the Mercedes—”
Bonesy huffed. “Oh no, we’re done talking about car shopping, and we’ve moved on to you and your new coworker.”
“What about him?” Nate turned his head as if looking at the conversation down the bar for the first time. He didn’t think Bonesy was fooled.
“Well, I don’t think Kaden’s your type—”
Nate snorted.
“So I gotta go with you’re a little preoccupied with slim, dark, and handsome down there.”
Nate shook his head. “He’s not so handsome,” he lied.
“Dude, I can tell he’s handsome. I’m straight, but I haven’t been concussed that many times.”
“He has a big enough head already.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve met your ex. I know that’s not exactly a turn-off for you.”
Nate’s ears went hot, and he reached for his beer to give himself time to think of a comeback.
He didn’t want to sleep with Aubrey really, right? Finding someone attractive wasn’t the same as wanting to spend time with him naked.
Plus, there was the show. Jess said their dynamic worked, had brought their numbers up. Nate didn’t want to fuck with that. He and Aubrey would be fine if they got canceled, but what about the rest of the crew? He wouldn’t jeopardize their livelihood just to get his dick wet.
“It’s not like that,” Nate protested, but it sounded weak even to his own ears.
Bones raised his eyebrows. “Uh-huh.” He leaned his elbows on the table and put his head in his hands, eyes glinting with mischief. He looked like a teenager at a sleepover. “Why don’t you tell me what it is like.”
Nate could tell him to butt out. He probably should tell him to butt out. But sitting there at the bar, surrounded by old friends, glancing down the table at where Aubrey had taken the lead in the conversation again and was diagramming something on the table using lowball glasses and stir sticks, he couldn’t help himself. He wanted someone to talk to about everything that had happened, and his former captain was as good a therapist as anyone, probably.
“I haven’t been single in almost ten years.”
He might as well start at the beginning.
Without changing his expression, Bonesy lifted a hand to signal for another round. Nate knew he could count on him. “I get the feeling we’re going to need that.”
Nate acknowledged it with a tilt of his head. “And even when I was younger, it wasn’t… I never got into the whole pickup culture, you know? I never really dated. And then I met Marty, and that was it.”
“Uh-huh,” Bonesy repeated. The server brought the next round of drinks, and he raised his to his lips but paused before taking a sip. “And now that’s over.” He sounded sympathetic, but he was also clearly inviting Nate to elaborate.
“Yes!” Nate said, a little too loudly, and he glanced down at his glass and wondered if maybe he shouldn’t slow his own pace of drinking, because he’d drawn a bit of attention with that. Even Aubrey had stopped at the end of the table, in the middle of saying something that had his eyes wide and his mouth parted in surprise. Nate quickly looked away again.
When he didn’t say anything for a few long moments, Bonesy leaned forward, pitched his voice so it wouldn’t carry, and said, “Are you telling me you can’t figure out how to fuck someone without any strings?”
“Not exactly. Okay, yes. But that’s only part of it.” He swirled the ice in his glass as though it would help him order his thoughts. “I never wanted those things before. Or maybe I did but I wouldn’t admit it to myself. And now I feel… cheated? But I’m also not sure how to tell if….” He glanced toward Aubrey again. An attractive flush had spread across his face, but he wasn’t looking at Kaden anymore; he was staring at his own hands.
Nate took a long drink.
“Let me get this straight.” Nate shot Bonesy a look. “Shut up. It’s a figure of speech. You want to know if that guy wants to fuck you as much as you want to fuck him. Do you talk to him in person like you do on the air?”
Nate snorted, using his thumb to draw a sad face in the condensation on the glass. “No. I kind of avoid him.” He inhaled deeply and made himself hold it for a few seconds before letting it out slowly. “We got off on the wrong foot.”
“Never would’ve guessed,” Bones said, dry. “But here’s a thought—if you want to know if he’s DTF, try it. Your show is a master class of sexual tension.”
Nate winced, wondering how to explain that was part of the problem. Once he and Aubrey slept together, that tension would disappear, right? “The thing is, I sort of have instructions, uh, not to make friends.”
Bones blinked at him over the top of his glass. “What?”
“My boss, okay, ratings were… suffering with John, and with Aubrey they’re not, and she said, and I quote, ‘Don’t. Change. Anything.’” He smeared the sad face. “What if I screw it up and the show gets canceled?”
Carefully, Bones put his glass down. Then he said, in a clear, slow voice, as though Nate were being particularly obtuse, “Nate. I know your ego is as out of control as any other professional hockey player’s. But if the show gets canceled, it’s not going to be because you and Mr. Bedroom Eyes gave in to your hormones and got your poles waxed.”
Nate didn’t have time to respond to this allegation before Bones continued, “You’re making excuses because moving on from divorce is hard and you’re chickenshit.”
Nate’s shoulders seemed to recognize the truth of it ahead of his brain, because he felt them slump even before he admitted to himself that Bones had a point. He sighed, spun his glass around on the table, and finally raised his eyes again, looking down the table almost automatically, as though Aubrey really were magnetic—only to find Aubrey looking back at him.
A second later Aubrey looked away, returning his focus to Kaden, but it seemed to Nate as though his heart wasn’t really in it.
None of this gave him the slightest idea what to do next. “I hate you,” Nate mumbled. “Why couldn’t you just tell me to forget about it and move on?”
“Hey, you get what you pay for. You want your head shrunk, get a therapist.”
Nate was screwing up his face in a grimace, reaching for something cutting to say, when a wadded-up napkin flew through the air, hit Bonesy in the face, and fell into his glass. The rookies in the center of the table erupted in cheers, and Nate ended up smothering a laugh with one hand lest he inadvertently encourage them.
“Just for that you’re picking up our tab,” Bones threatened, shaking his head. “And get me another drink.”
NATE HAD obviously not expected Aubrey to accept the invitation to drinks with him and his former teammates. Even Aubrey was a little surprised at himself. He’d fucked a couple hockey players, but aside from a few carefully curated outings with Jackson, he didn’t spend time with them en masse—too much aggressive heteronormativity. But something about the possibility of seeing Nate in his natural habitat called to him irresistibly. So here he was.
Having, it must be said, a surprisingly pleasant time.
“I don’t know, man, call me a weirdo if you want, but there’s something about folding your socks and putting them in a drawer to look all nice that’s soothing, okay?”
“No, I actually agree,” Aubrey said, wondering how the hell he’d gotten into a conversation about Marie Kondo with an NHL defenseman. “It must’ve taken me an hour to get folding a T-shirt right, though.”
