“No,” I’m back to shaking my head. “You, Whit, everyone. You just talk about sex like it's no big deal. Like it's …”
“Fun?”
“Yeah,” I say, taking a seat on the floor next to him. “I just...do you remember Lexi?”
“Sure. You dated her freshman year, right?”
I nod. “It’s weird. Like, I’m messed up in the head or something. We'd kiss and I felt like the world was going to go up in flames. And not in a good way. Like in an ‘I did a bad thing and I'm going to hell for it’ way. Like, fire and brimstone, you know? But you guys…the team, you, Whit, Knox, and Ty—”
“Let me make sure I follow. You think we’re all going to hell? You worried for our souls, Book?”
“No,” I assure him. “That's the thing. The voice in my head that condemns me every time I stray from the path—any path—doesn't have anything to say about you or Whit or Koz or Knox or anybody. The rules are just for me.”
“Shit man, that's got to be a heavy load to carry.” Ollie puts his hand on my shoulder. It’s warm, comforting. But it’s nothing compared to the feel of Ian’s hand in mine.
“It is. And I'm tired,” I say quietly.
Friedline pokes his head into the hallway. “Jablonski, Keefe's got an apology he wants you to hear and then we need to get our asses on the ice.”
We stand up and get back inside. Our conversation is over, but I’m still replaying it in my head.
* * *
Ian
I've been in charge of three of Hannah's classes for a week now and damn... between lecturing, grading, managing a coffee shop, and attempting to maintain my relationships, I'm dead on my feet.
I was supposed to head home this weekend—nothing special, just a weekend with the fam. I haven't been home since Christmas and they miss me. I miss them too.
But I don't miss Laramie, my hometown. I don’t miss all the memories of being an outsider, or the way I felt awful every time my parents lost a friend or my brothers had to defend me against bigots.
Don't get me wrong, my town doesn't greet me with pitchforks or anything. It's more subtle than that. And stifling. So when my family heard about my schedule and mom said I could skip, I took her up on it. And she meant it—no hard feelings. She even sent me muffins.
So now, even though I should be catching up on sleep or grading or something, I'm lounging on my couch with Mel, catching up on Sister Wives and drinking a bottle of red. Tea cures all ills, but wine heals the weary.
“How does this man have one wife, let alone three?” Mel ponders for the eight millionth time.
“Don’t ask me. I can’t even get a boyfriend.” Unbidden, Booker’s face filters into my mind. I shut my eyes and block it out. No matter how much my subconscious wants me, I’m not going there.
Mel shoves me playfully, her wine sloshing slightly in her glass. “Stop. We should go dancing, like I told you. Guys are drawn to you like magnets. We’d have you hooked up and happy in no time.”
“Ugh. No thanks. Well, yes, to the dancing. It’s been too long. But no to the hookups. I know your heart’s in the right place, but it’s just not my scene. It never really was. I’m more of a relationship guy, not that I have time for that these days.”
“I get that,” she nods. “Sometimes what works for you isn’t right for other people, and what works for them isn’t right for you.”
We’re treading into more serious territory, and I have to ask. “Everything still good with…”
“Chaz,” she answers. “You can say his name, you know. Just because he works at the school doesn’t mean you can’t say his name.”
Chaz. Honest-to-God, he’s a 44-year-old man named Chaz. And that’s the least of his sins. He works at the school, like Mel said. As a professor. And he’s not currently Mel’s instructor, so there’s nothing necessarily untoward there.
But he’s recently divorced with three little kids, and honestly, I thinking she’s rushing headfirst into disaster.
“I know that look,” she tells me, frowning. “Phoebe’s right. You’ve got that whole older brother thing down pat.”
“I’m the middle-child,” I correct.
“Doesn’t matter. You’ve been throwing disapproving looks Luke’s way since he was born, and it shows.”
