Shane explains. “Yeah, at first we laughed it off. Luke and I were barely on speaking terms back then. Until about a week later, I was driving back to the Gamma house in the pouring rain after a late study session at the library. I spotted someone who had broken down a few blocks before Greek Row.”
“It was me!” Luke beams. “Shane stopped to help me change a tire, but neither of us had a jack. So I had to call roadside assistance, and he invited me to wait in his car, since it was raining. We got talking, really talking, for the first time, despite having been teammates for almost three years at that point.”
Shane takes his boyfriend’s hand, squeezing it affectionately. “By the time assistance arrived, we were hitting it off. I felt stupid for never even trying to get to know Luke, just to prove our teammates wrong. So I invited him to the Gamma house for a beer.”
“And the rest, like they say,” my brother pulls Shane into a side hug. “Is history.”
I don’t know what type of reaction they expected from me, but I’m far from sold. “Ok. She guessed one thing: big deal. Coincidences happen.”
Shane and Luke argue that it was more than a coincidence. “How could she know our initials? And how could she tell there were two gay guys in her tent?”
I can see their point there. The only thing that could remotely give away Shane and Luke’s sexual orientation is how well dressed and perfectly groomed they are. But other than that, the way they speak, dress and conduct themselves is on par with any heterosexual guys I’ve ever met. If anything, their tall statures and muscular physiques, and the sport they play, would lead to the opposite assumption.
But I’m still not convinced. “Maybe someone said something or she might have seen you out on the pier with a date before. There must be a reasonable explanation. No one can predict the future.”
The last thing I expect is that Connor backs them up. “I hate to agree with them on this point,” he says. “But the old hag knew that I had gotten my heart broken and said that my rival was someone in a position of power. She also said that I would be alone and miserable.”
Damn. “Fuck that.” I shake my head. “I thought fortune tellers weren’t supposed to give bad predictions?”
Connor shrugs. “Yeah, well. I’m that lucky, I guess.”
Luke comes to the fortune teller’s defense. “But you’re forgetting the last part of her prediction. She said that you would be alone and miserable for as long as you held onto your anger over your ex’s betrayal. She didn’t say you’d be alone forever.”
Connor’s green eyes darken as he glares at the tent. “I doubt I’ll ever get over what Fiona did. So I’m probably going to be alone forever.”
The sadness in Connor’s eyes pulls at my heartstrings. If he and I were friends, I would pull him into my arms and hold him tight. But I fight the urge.
The truth is that if Connor were one of my friends from Bridgeport, we would be subject to my father’s no unnecessary physical contact rule.
One person who seems to have no problem with physical contact is Jamie, who slings one arm around my shoulders and one around Connor’s. “Sorry guys,” he grins in Luke's and Shane’s direction. “I have to side with Bex on this one. I don’t believe that anyone can predict the future. But if it was possible, I wouldn’t wanna know if there’s something bad on the horizon. Fuck that.”
Luke argues his point. “She didn’t say anything bad, Connor. It was more of a warning.”
“Yeah, no.” Connor says. “One prediction was more than enough for me.”
My brother pouts. He used to do that all the time when we were kids and he wanted to drag me into one of his “adventures” that would always end up getting us grounded.
“So no one is coming to get their fortune told with me and Shane?”
Jamie chuckles. “You’re on your own, Captain. We’ll be playing some fun games along the pier. Maybe win the pretty girl a giant teddy bear, or something.”
“Ok.” Luke says, joining his boyfriend at the end of the line waiting to see the fortune teller. “We’ll catch up with you later.”
Bex
“Aww, come the fuck on!” Jamie gripes, as his dart misses the balloon again. “This game is fucking rigged.”
Connor backs him. “I agree. Between the two of us, we didn’t win a thing.”
I can’t help but laugh at their shocked expressions. “I think the games are just fine. It’s your aims that need work. Which is crazy for two hockey players. I hope you have better aim with the puck, or your coach has a lot of work to do.”
Their bewildered expressions are the funniest thing I’ve seen in months, maybe years. “Aiming darts at a balloon isn’t like shooting a puck.” Jamie complains.
“Right. Or like shooting down a can with a BB gun.” Connor agrees, referring to another game they failed at.
“Or,” I tease. “Throwing a ball inside a can, which is another thing you guys have trouble with.”
Connor takes offense. “Oh, really? I’m one of the top scorers in our conference amongst defensemen. So my aim is just fine. If you’re so convinced that these games aren’t rigged, why don’t you have a go?” he crosses his arms over his chest, and I can’t help but notice the way his bicep bulges.
