“I was a straight black kid who was into figure skating,” Greg said wryly.
“Fair point.” Aubrey threw an easy faux punch in time to the beat of “Hot Stuff.”
Greg faked taking a hit and went into a camel spin. “What about you?”
“I got in a hockey fight once. I was seven.”
“Aww.”
Since neither of them had much experience, their “fight” quickly evolved into a dance-off, with “Stayin’ Alive” echoing from the speakers as they got increasingly ridiculous. Greg knew all the lyrics. Even Aubrey had to admit he was killing it.
He probably had to add this into the notebook.
When the last strains faded, hoots and applause echoed from the bench. Aubrey broke his dramatic disco pose and looked over to see a mixed group of hockey players tapping their sticks against the boards. He bowed flamboyantly, then motioned to Greg and began to applaud.
Someone whistled. Wait a second—Aubrey recognized that face. “Caley!” He ambled over for a fist bump. “Haven’t seen you since PyeongChang.” She’d played for Team Canada, so they’d seen each other around the Village. “How’s retirement?”
“Eh.” She grinned. “Ice time sucks, but the pregame show just got a lot better.” She made eyes at Greg, which was hilarious, since Aubrey was pretty sure she was strictly into women.
Oh boy. “You should see us do ‘It’s Raining Men.’” Greg slid smoothly up next to Aubrey, grinning.
“Might have to take you boys up on that.” She cut back to Aubrey and jerked a gloved hand over her shoulder. “We can’t all get cushy retirement gigs like you and Donut over here.”
Startled, Aubrey followed her gesture and met gazes with a wide-eyed Nate, who looked…. Aubrey took in the suddenly defensive posture, the way he broke Aubrey’s gaze to stare over his left shoulder, the bright spots of color on his cheeks when he hadn’t even touched the ice yet. He lookedguilty. “Caught with his hand in the cookie jar” guilty.
Maybe Aubrey shouldn’t have said what he said about Nate needing to get laid, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t true—not if a married man was looking at Aubrey like that.
“Didn’t you go into sports medicine?” Aubrey said, mostly to cover that he didn’t know what to say to Nate.
“I did, and you’re gonna need it if you don’t get off the ice and let the Zamboni do its job. Clock’s ticking, twinkle toes.”
“Hockey players. So bloodthirsty,” he teased. But he was grateful for the out. He didn’t want to examine how he felt about being the cookies when Nate was on a diet plan. Instead he just nodded to the group and made for the gate. “Guess I’ll see you next week.”
Mercifully, Greg didn’t ask about it as they showered and changed back into street clothes. But Aubrey thought about it all the way back to his apartment, all the way up to his floor, all the way through sorting his laundry and ordering a late dinner and an episode ofUmbrella Academy.
He was still thinking about it when the delivery guy left and he realized he had no idea what was happening on his show. He sighed and leaned back against the couch, tipping his head up to the ceiling.Goddammit.
NATE WASused to traveling weekends to do an on-site show, but that weekend they stuck around to film an extra episode to make up for the one that was preempted. It gave him time to catch up on his Netflix shows—at least that was what he told himself—but by the time Thursday rolled around, he was so sick of his apartment and his own company he could’ve screamed. The vase on the console table had entered full-on “Yellow Wallpaper” territory. With its iridescent coloring and oddly irregular shape covered in bulbous protrusions, it reminded him of something a giant squid might have shat out.
He’d made a habit of showing up to set extra early ever since last Tuesday, as if he could somehow make up for previous lateness, and today was no exception. Only today, before he could make it as far as Makeup, Jess poked her head out of her office and beckoned him inside. “Nate! Can I have a minute?”
He followed her in and took the chair across from hers, his stomach sinking. The past few times he’d come in here, the news had not been good. Figuring she’d called him in to chew him out for his on-air animosity with Aubrey, he braced himself and asked, “What’s up?”
“Ratings, actually.”
Nate blinked in an attempt to mask his surprise. He and Aubrey barely managed a veneer of civility on the air. He’d figured viewers would find it juvenile. “That’s good, right?”
“It’s great.” Jess leaned back in her chair and raised her ever-present coffee mug in a toast. “I can’t believe you bit your tongue around John for three years and Aubrey Chase is the one who makes you lose it, but thank God you never got to be friends.”
“People really enjoy us going after each other that much?”
Jess shrugged. “Guess so. Maybe they miss hockey fights and this is their replacement. I have to say, I personally prefer it to the blood.” She set her coffee mug down and picked up her tablet, which she handed across the table. “Voila.”
Nate looked down to see… a screenshot from the station’s Twitter account. Nothing stuck out to him as being particularly noteworthy. “What’s this?”
“Thatis a list of trending hashtags in Chicago last weekend. You booted the Bears right off the map. Which, considering how often and how vocally people complain about the Bears, is impressive.”
Sure enough, in the right-hand column, #InsideEdge proclaimed in bold blue letters that yes, people were talking about them, though Nate still wondered why. “That’s great, I guess.”
