Determined not to think about that, I texted Grandpa for Zeke’s number, then sent Zeke,~Hi. This is Callum.Plus a link to my tattoo guy. Nothing else. I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to answer back or not.
Then when all I got was,~thanks, it bugged me. That was it? Not one word about keeping my secret, or about the kiss? Well, I didn’t want him mentioning the kiss. Except it’d been good, great even, for something that lasted all of a minute and a half. Best kiss I’d had in months. Maybe ever. Which said more about my lack of a love life than about Zeke.
But what about him? I bet he didn’t have time or safety for fucking when he was undercover. Was he out to the police department? Had he finished that case and gone to Davie Village and found some guy to take the edge off with? I bet he was an awesome fuck, the way he?—
I whacked my shins hard with the bucket to interrupt that train of thought.
Not thinking about fucking Zeke. Or about how I currently have an apartment to myself, and a man I think I trust who knows I’m gay.As long as I did trust him… I tested that out, feeling in my gut for the fear of Zeke outing me, but I couldn’t make it real. He’d been the guy who babysat his infant brother, the one who never bullied anyone at school, and he’d come out to me first.
I should be safe.
God, my body roared to life at the idea of asking Zeke back to my place, having him stretched out naked on my bed, with time for whatever both of us wanted. My dick strained against my jeans. But I forced the fantasy down. Zeke was probably already laughing about that schoolboy kiss in the bushes. I’d look like a fool going back for more.
For the next ten minutes, I puttered around Grandpa’s backyard, pulling a few weeds, picking up stray branches from the maple tree. By the time I peeked around the corner of the house, feeling like a bumbling teenager, Zeke was gone. Inside presumably, unless he’d had to go after Josiah.
He would’ve asked for help finding Josiah, if he needed it. Right? His truck with the camper top was still in the driveway, so presumably he hadn’t had to chase down a wayward preteen.
My brain was buzzing with too many thoughts, and I couldn’t imagine settling in to pull weeds again, wondering if Zeke was watching me through his window. So I went inside, washed up, and drove off to give Grandpa a hand at the store instead of the house. I could use my day off cleaning and lifting and being useful. And if Grandpa wondered why I was acting weird, I knew he’d never ask.
I didn’t think any more about Zeke Evans in the week after our kiss.
Hah. Big lie. I had a hard time keeping my brain away from that hot cop and our furtive lip-lock throughout the Foxes’ whole seven-day road trip with back-to-backs in Everett, and Calgary. On those long-assed bus rides— because those cities were just inside the drive-don’t-fly limits— the feel of Zeke’s palm against my face and the taste of his mouth came back to me all too often. At night, in hotel beds, I jerked off to images of an anonymous dark-haired stranger I refused to give Zeke’s hands or lips, or scarred chin.
Grandpa texted me sometimes. I made sure Josiah had come home safe and sound, and seemed to be doing okay, but I didn’t ask about Zeke. I had enough to do helping the guys to three wins and an overtime loss that went to a shoot-out, so we got seven points out of eight. We were hot, two games out of first in the division, and that was more important than any fantasies my brain wanted to make up.
I was leaving the arena after practice our first day back, listening to the guys chirp Sully for letting Hannah convince him to shave his beard, when my phone pinged. Most of my messages were spam, but this time the header said “Zeke.”
~I made an appointment for tattoo repair. You still up for going with me? Tomorrow at four. I looked and you don’t have a game.
Zeke bothering to check my schedule first was worth something. Our third string defenseman Kegger had a girlfriend for a while who kept planning things in the middle of practice or games or road trips, and then getting pissed at him when he couldn’t make it. She didn’t last long. Dating a hockey player in the season sucked, and the wrong partner was worse than none.
Not that I was dating Zeke in any way, shape, or form, or any kind of partner. But I could be a friend, since I’d offered. I checked my schedule on my phone and sent back,~Works for me. Meet there?
~Sure. See you then.
The temptation to ask what Zeke was doing tonight hit me like a bucket of hot water, a flush of need running through my veins. Empty apartment. Hot gay guy.Go for it.
I squashed down my sex-starved libido. I’d just sworn I’d be a friend to Zeke. I’d get by with my right hand, same as always. Although I felt a pang of envy watching Sully get into Hannah’s waiting car outside the arena and lean over to kiss her before they drove away. I wasn’t even sure if I was envious of him or her. We’d been good as roommates, and I hated the empty apartment almost as much as I hated the looming rent. I’d never been good at making friends unless I was forced into it. Odds were low that my next roomie would be as compatible as Sully.
“Hey, Fitzer,” Docker called, jogging to catch up to me and gesturing after Hannah’s car. “I guess you really got ditched, huh? Any luck finding a new roommate?”
“No, not yet.” I cast around for things to say. I’d never hung out with Docker much. I was glad, even grateful, that he was out and proud and representing, but I’d always worried if we were seen as good buddies, people might ask questions about me too. I was a goalie, and goalies were expected to be weird and different, but my lack of a girlfriend had been noted in passing in a few stories in the last couple of years. That tentative shit-stirring wording of “Callum Fitzpatrick, whose name has never been linked with any of the attractive young women who orbit around the team” showed up here and there.
Docker offered, “I’ll put the word out with my friends, but there’s not a lot of people moving in February.”
“Tell me about it.” I tried to cut the bitterness from my tone. “I have till April first. I should be fine.”
“A bunch of us are going out tonight. Want to come?”
I really should’ve said yes. I needed to be more social. If—whenI got called up, it would be as a backup goalie. If you havea guy who’s going to sit on the bench for fifty or sixty games, it helps for them to be a good influence on the room. If they contribute to team spirit, that’s one more reason to keep them around. Right now, if asked whether I was a plus for the room, my teammates would say I was either so quiet I was invisible or yelling at someone. I needed to do better.
Except if Docker was leading this bar crawl, would they go to a gay bar? Most of the team supported him, and I knew they’d done that before. And if they did, was there a risk I’d be outed in a room full of functioning gaydar? I couldn’t afford to hook up in the Vancouver metro, but I might find it hard not to look, after a week thinking about Zeke?—
Docker said, “Maybe some other time, then,” and jogged away, calling to Tiki to wait up.
I realized I’d dithered so long he’d given up. “Shit!” I thumped my fist on the hood of my car as I reached it. Luckily, I had no alarm to go off and make people look, but Hobbes called from where he was opening his door, “Hey, we need those hands intact, Fitzer.”
“Sure, Cap.” I got in, started the engine, and headed home, gritting my teeth so I didn’t do anything stupid behind the wheel.
