Page 24 of Broken Ice, Mended Hearts
What the fuck am I thinking? I don’t want anonymous sex. It will only make me feel worse.
I dried off and then went into the bedroom, where I pulled on a T-shirt and some gym shorts. Settling in a chair by the window, I considered the situation. Why was I acting like a sixteen-year-old? Pip and I had agreed to hang out, which implied beingfriendly. But friendly doesn’t mean you’re boyfriends after one hookup.
Boyfriends? Who said anything about boyfriends?
With my brain trying hard to turn a casual hookup into a full-scale romance, I had to get hold of myself. I was clearly dealing with a bigger-than-average infatuation, but I couldn’t allow that to define my actions or my relationship with Pip. If our future was to be platonic, fine. I liked him and wanted to be friends. Whatever we did or didn’t do, my current plan was shit. Doing something as immature—no, make that stupid—as getting laid simply to prove I could, was about as smart as buffing your nails when you were on a breakaway.
I was secure in being gay, and Pip was likely still navigating the uncharted waters of his sexuality. After decades of living a heterosexual life, even if there had been one exception, he probably felt like he’d stumbled into an alternate universe. I needed to be patient while he acclimated to the idea of having sex with a man, as well as ready to reassure him it was perfectly okay if sleeping with men wasn’t for him.
He may have ghosted me, but I owed it to both of us to be a decent human being. Mission number one: get him to talk to me. Weapon of choice? Texting, with a dash of humor. Laughter is the universal language, right?
My phone was on a nearby table, and I reached for it.
SVEN: It’s okay if you don’t like me. Not everyone has good taste.
Air-conditioning had the room nice and cool, so I stretched out while I waited to see if Pip replied. After a while, I was considering a jerk session when my message tone sounded. Hoping for a message from him, I raised the phone and—yes!
PIP: I never forget a face, but in your case, I’ll be glad to make an exception.
So, that was how we were playing it after a day and a half of him ignoring me?
SVEN: Did you have a wild night, or could you just not decide what to say to such a magnificent man as me?
PIP: Neither actually. Spent all day yesterday looking for my phone and finally found it this morning under some dirty laundry. It was dead as a doornail, so I had to charge it.
SVEN: Likely story. Did you see my message when it came back to life?
PIP: Saw it but I’ve been trying to decide if it was authentic. The link looks a little weird.
What the hell? He’s full of shit.
SVEN: There was a link?
PIP: That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.
So, he was big enough to admit he’d been ignoring me. I respected that. While I decided how to answer, my phone vibrated. Pip wanted to FaceTime, so I touched the icon to accept. “Dude!”
His lips twisted into a mocking sneer. “Dude?What are we, fourteen?”
“Sorry, I thought it was an American thing.”
He rolled his eyes, reminding me of how beautiful they were. “It may be,” he said, “but I’m not an American.”
“You’re from Quebec, right? Grew up in Baie-Saint-Paul?”
He cocked his head. “Yes. Have you been there?”
“No, but…” My cheeks burned, and I wished I hadn’t agreed to FaceTime.
He threw his head back and laughed. “You looked me up again, didn’t you? On the web?”
Caught red-handed, I followed his example and opted for honesty. “Guilty as charged. I checked out the Barracudas website. Pierre Gagné, position defense, age thirty-five, height six-foot-two, weight two hundred ten pounds. Last year, you had eighteen goals and thirty-four assists, with a plus-minus of positive fifteen. And those numbers, which are damn good, represent your worst season since you’ve been in the league.”
Pip’s eyes widened. He hadn’t expected me to whip out his entire stat sheet. “What the hell, Holmer? You didn’t just look it up. You fucking memorized it.”
A good offense being the best defense, I narrowed my eyes. “All right, Gagné, where am I from?”
He chewed his lower lip while his internal struggle played out on his face. Eventually, he cracked into a shy grin of confession. “Kalmar. Southeast coast of Sweden, south of Stockholm.”
