If he hadn’t spent almost an hour lamenting the state of his love life to her and Caley two weeks ago, he would’ve just told her he wasn’t interested in dating right now. But after that conversation, what was he supposed to say?Sorry, but I’ve decided to sleep my way through this country’s gay population, beginning with my cohost?She’d probably try to stage an intervention.
His cell phone chirped as the crew started the safety video, and he spared it a brief glance. Earlier in the day, he’d gotten a message from Jess about rescheduling a meeting. Maybe she was canceling that? But no—it was his mother texting him flight details.Can’t wait to see you this Thanksgiving!
So that was one weekend he wouldn’t be exploring his new approach to life, but he could probably take a four-day break from casual sex to spend some time with his parents. He added the details to his calendar and turned his phone to flight mode.
It was only then that he noticed Aubrey in the aisle seat across from him, apparently engrossed in the safety demonstration.
Maybe he was a nervous flier.
IF AUBREYwas worried at all about how sleeping with Nate would affect their working relationship, he didn’t need to be. Their first show back after Winnipeg was the smoothest yet. Aubrey spent the commercial breaks drafting the most ridiculous yet still relevant phrasings he could come up with to get Nate to crack. Nate stared long-sufferingly at the camera to let the viewers know in no uncertain terms that he didn’t get paid enough to put up with Aubrey’s nonsense, and Bob in Advertising walked around like he’d personally given the show license to print money. Of course their demographic had shifted enough that he didn’t know who to sell ad space to, but that wasn’t Aubrey’s problem.
Aubrey had plenty of other things to worry about.
“You’re underrotating on the triple,” he told Greg at their practice on Friday.
“Do you think any of the Cirque people are going to notice if I land on the wrong edge?” Greg asked testily, and okay, maybe Aubrey had been a little extra critical today. Most Olympic judges would’ve needed a slow-motion replay to catch that.
“Uh,” Aubrey said, scrambling with whether to word an apology or an excuse.
“Speaking of edges, you’ve been on one since you got back from your trip to Winnipeg. Did something happen at work?”
“Uh,” Aubrey repeated. Without thinking about it, he started to skate backward, away from Greg. Some primal part of his brain had engaged the fight-or-flight response. Aubrey was a lover, not a fighter. Flight it was.
Greg narrowed his eyes, obviously scenting blood in the water. “Did something happen with—”
Somewhere in the rink, someone laughed, and a locker room door banged open into solid concrete, fortunately reminding Greg that not only were they not alone, but Nate’s group had the ice after them.
Aubrey’s skates bumped slowly into the boards and he let out a breath, figuring he was caught anyway. “Come on,” he said firmly. “We still have five minutes. Then I’ll let you interrogate me over beer.”
Greg lifted a shoulder easily, unperturbed. “Sure. But after this week? You’re buying.”
Considering his propensity for gossip, Greg behaved himself admirably, waiting until they were ensconced in a booth in a down-market neighborhood place not far from the arena before he prompted, “All right, tell me everything.”
Aubrey scrubbed his hands over his face. A server stopped by for their drink orders, offering him a few seconds’ reprieve, but in the end, he didn’t have to say much. As soon as he met Greg’s gaze, Greg knew.
“Holy shit.”
Aubrey groaned and fought the urge to bang his head against the table.
Greg lowered his voice and hunched forward. “So? Are the two of you a thing now?
“Uh. Not exactly.”
“What do you mean, not exactly? This isn’t a question with a lot of gray area. You said you were looking for something long-term. So…?”
There was nothing for it. “Does twice in one night count?”
Greg sputtered into a cough. “Not in most people’s books, although congratulations, I guess.” Then he turned serious. “I’m assuming that rather than approach the idea of having a relationship with him, you just charmed his pants off and hoped for the best?”
Aubrey had plenty of empirical evidence about how good he was in bed; he didn’t need to hope—but that wasn’t totally inaccurate either. He flashed the server a smile as she deposited their drinks and then immediately pulled his toward himself and took a swig.
“So, yes.”
“It was really good?” he offered feebly. He sounded miserable about it. Because he was, apparently. That just went to show how messed up everything had gotten, if Aubrey could be depressed about how great the sex was.
“So what’s the problem, exactly?”
“He basically asked me to help him figure out how to hook up with people.”
