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LUKE

SEPTEMBER

Final results for August are attached.

Best regards,

Luke Tremblay - Financial Analyst (Internal)

Sent.

Another long, grueling reporting cycle is finally over. I collapse back in my office chair, the harsh glow of my dual monitors serving as the only company in my dark, quiet apartment. Letting out a breath, I rub my temples to diffuse some of the tension in my head.

I deserve a drink. It’s only a few steps to my kitchen where I flick on some lights and grab a bottle of whiskey, pouring a hefty amount into a tumbler.

I take a slow sip, feeling the warmth spread through me.

For a fleeting second, I let myself think that this will loosen me up for later, before reality comes crashing back.

Out of my large friend group from university, I’m the only one who could afford to stay in Toronto, and “later” will probably consist of me working out and sleeping early.

Sighing, I toy with the idea of going out alone and meeting new people.

Nothing ever seems to work, though, and the most I get from one of those nights is a random hookup or a random follow on social media.

Those are fine, I guess, but if there’s something in my life that I’m lacking, it’s connection.

Sure, I tried to find some kind of social footing over the summer, but nothing panned out, and now it’s getting colder.

The city unofficially slows down and stays in until around April.

My phone buzzes on the desk, and I smile once I see a few messages from my university friends.

The other four guys are scattered across Canada and the world for grad school and exciting-sounding jobs.

Scrolling through the chat, a pang of loneliness hits me.

I miss the guys and when we all used to live together in a house on Bathurst Street.

Someone had the bright idea to call us the Bathstreet Boys.

It was cringey back then, but now? It’s cute as hell, not gonna lie.

Realizing that I ghosted them for the past week, I tap out a quick text to let them know I’m still alive. I’ve barely hit send on a second message before Stefano starts a group call. I answer, taking another sip of my drink as I connect.

“It’s Luke!” Stefano’s voice booms through the phone from Montreal. “He lives!”

“Yup, I’m alive,” I reply, my grin spreading.

Stefano laughs, which is followed by a chorus of greetings from Mark and Carl, both in Vancouver. And then there’s Adrian, who’s working in Hong Kong. His eyes are bloodshot and he’s still in bed.

“Fuck, it’s six in the morning here and I’m dying, but it’s awesome to see you guys,” he croaks, dragging a hand across his face.

“Alright, Luke,” Mark says. “Give us a life update. Are you still working all the time?”

Stefano replies for me. “Nah, he only works the first and last two weeks of every month!”

I scoff. “Okay guys, enough about work. I’m off the clock now, anyway.”

Not even a second of silence passes before Mark jumps in again. “Sure thing. You find a man yet?”

Great. There it is. “Actually, I’m good to talk about work.”

Carl pipes up. “He’s probably still jaded about dating in Toronto.”

He’s not wrong. The dating scene here, if you can even call it that, is brutal. Half of the guys don’t know what they want, and the other half aren’t on the dating market. It’s slim pickings all around, and I’ve given up actively trying.

Stefano chuckles, which breaks me out of my thoughts. “You don’t need something serious tonight. Go hit up Church Street, find someone interesting, and see where the night goes.”

“That sounds like a lot of work,” I say.

Mark rolls his eyes. “You’re afraid of catching feelings, aren’t you?”

I let out a huff. “Please, I’d love to catch feelings if there was someone worth it.”

My friends all nod, and Adrian pulls his phone closer, showing me a flattering view of his forehead.

“At least leave your apartment. Don’t make me fly back and drag you out,” he mumbles. His mouth is right next to the microphone, which makes him sound a lot louder than I was expecting.

In all honesty, I would love for some of them to come back to Toronto, even though I don’t say it. There’s no point.

“Come on,” Stefano says. “You’d better be hitting up Church Street tonight. Give us all the juicy updates tomorrow.”

My face heats up, and I ignore it. “Okay, I’ll do it, but I’m not making any promises.”

Adrian is falling asleep again, but he still manages to make an input. “Luke is gonna go out and get his dick wet, and I’m gonna go back to bed.” He hangs up.

“Oh well, you can’t argue with Adrian because he’s gone! That means you have to go out,” chirps Carl.

“You guys are such a supportive bunch,” I say, drinking the last of my whiskey.

Joking cheers ring through my speakers, then someone changes the topic, and we banter a bit more before signing off.

I set my phone down on the coffee table, staring at the melting ice in my glass.

Even though I’m alone, going out tonight would be a good idea, even if I don’t meet anyone.

Branding my recent seclusion as self-improvement doesn’t do much to cover up the fact that staying in all the time isn’t healthy.

Heaving myself up off the couch, I head to the bathroom and inspect my reflection in the mirror. I need to shave, get a haircut, and drink more water. To be fair, I’ve kind of neglected myself over these past few weeks.

After doing my hair, I give myself a once-over in the hallway mirror, smoothing out my dark green button-down, and then I’m off.

The walk to Church Street doesn’t take long, and I get in line for Teammate, my go-to bar in the gay area. I pay cover and go in, weaving my way through the sea of bodies toward the stairs, and I grab a beer to get myself going.

Upstairs, I settle on a stool next to an empty table, which gives me a wide view of the place, and I mindlessly scan the room.

And then I do a double take when my gaze lands on a guy leaning against the wall opposite me. He’s tall with broad shoulders that fill out his black t-shirt, and a muscular arm flexes as he raises his glass to take a sip.

Fuck me, he’s hot.

His eyes dart around the room as he lowers the drink before clutching it with both hands, and even from over here, the tension in his fingers is clear. I can’t imagine why he’s that nervous, or why he’s hanging around in a dark corner.

Checking him out like this is creepy, but before I can look away, he catches me, and a jolt of excitement shoots through my body. I keep my cool and give him a quick upward nod, hoping it comes across as casual.

A shy smile appears on his face and I return it, preparing myself to approach.

With a deep breath, I head his way, bristling nerves be damned. As I get closer, the guy steps aside and makes room for me. His eyes are a piercing blue, and his expression is genuine. I try to ignore the knot in my stomach.

“Hey,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “I’m Luke.”

He extends his right hand, still holding his drink with the other. “Erik.”

While we exchange the usual pleasantries, he keeps fiddling with a coaster, which is kind of cute. We make small talk, and it’s clear he isn’t too comfortable with it.

“So, are you from around here?” I ask, trying to break the ice.

“No.” Erik takes another sip. “I’m from Sweden.”

“That’s nice.” I wouldn’t have guessed that from his accent—he could pass for Canadian. Maybe he’s been here for a while.

Silence falls between us, and familiar awkward energy slowly creeps up from my stomach.

Erik tenses, running a hand through his tidy, dirty-blond hair, and I try not to stare at the bottom of his shirt lifting up.

“Sorry, I’m not good at introductions and stuff. I could blame being Swedish, but it’s really a me thing,” he says.

“Don’t worry about it, you’re fine,” I reply. He isn’t ignoring me or trying to shoo me away, so I keep things moving. “Do you want another drink?”

“Sure, let’s go.”

As we settle against the bar, I point to my glass. “Two more of these, thanks.” Without a second thought, I tap my phone against the card reader to pay.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Erik says. His tone is guarded—either he doesn’t get out much, or he’s great at playing dumb. There’s no way this guy hasn’t had someone buy him a drink before.

I laugh. “Don’t worry, you can pay me back somehow.”

Erik’s face flushes a light shade of pink and I struggle to keep my expression neutral. If only my friends could see me using cheesy pickup lines on attractive strangers right now.

“Uh, so, what do you do for work?” Erik asks, changing the subject.

“I’m a Financial Analyst for Worldwide Bank. It’s pretty dull, but it pays the bills.”

“Oh, so you’re smart, then.”

I decide to stay modest. “Nah, I’ve got everyone at work fooled. What about you?”

“I play hockey here. AHL.”

Oh, god. He’s a hockey player.

Of course he’s a hockey player.

It seems like every time I find a guy attractive, he happens to play hockey.

As much as I keep trying to convince myself that it’s the muscles and ruggedness that draw me in, it’s impossible.

It’s an open secret at this point: I have a thing for guys who can tie their skates up tight and tie me up even tighter.

Or pin me down. I’m not picky.

“That’s cool!” I say, snapping out of my wandering thoughts. “How long have you been on the team in Toronto?”

“It’s my third season here. It’s been great?—”

A raucous group of people crashes into the space beside us, cutting Erik off. They’re yelling, loud enough to drown out the music.

I wince, trying to focus on Erik.

His brow furrows. “This place is getting crowded.” He’s barely audible over the commotion.

I nod in agreement. “Yeah, let’s get out of here.”

Erik downs his beer and heads for the exit, his imposing frame parting the crowd and clearing a path for me. We reach the door, and the cool night air is a refreshing change from the stifling heat of the bar.

“Much better,” I say.

“Definitely.”

“So, what do you want to do now?” My voice is totally casual, but inside, my mind is racing. I left a bar with a guy who’s attractive as hell, and we aren’t making a beeline for either of our places. It’s chill, and this night could go anywhere.

Erik glances at me, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t even feel like going out tonight,” he admits. “It’s the first time I’ve been to a gay bar in, like, a year. My teammates showed up at my apartment after practice and practically shoved me out the door.”

Well, that explains his surprise when I bought him a drink.

Smiling, I shove my hands into my pockets. “Ha, that’s funny. My friends talked me into coming out tonight, too.”

“Seems like we both owe our buddies a favor.” He grins, and it’s the most relaxed I’ve seen him so far.

Holy shit, he’s so cute.

As we talk, our steps slow, and I realize we’re walking by my building.

“Hey, this is my place,” I say. “Want to come up for another drink?” My breath hitches. While the prospect of undressing his hockey-toned body and running my hands over him makes my heart race, hooking up might not be the best way to kick things off with Erik.

There’s a flicker of feelings, and I’m not opposed to letting those grow.

“I’d love to, but I have morning skate tomorrow, so I should get some sleep.”

Ah, shit. That’s a bit disappointing, but not unexpected. I sure don’t miss the early mornings from my high school hockey days.

Still, the way Erik is eye-fucking me right now says that he’s interested. He’s being subtle, or at least trying to be, but his gaze travels along the length of my body and back up, obvious enough for me to notice.

I break the silence to save it from falling into awkward territory. “You’re a disciplined man, that’s for sure.”

He hesitates for a moment. “I had a great time tonight. Let’s exchange numbers.”

The direct way he says that surprises me, and I’m smitten. I unlock my phone and hand it over.

Erik hands my phone back after filling in his details and texting himself. Intrigued, I scroll through his contact, finding out that he just put his name in as “Erik.”

“Do you have a last name?” I ask.

“Yeah, it’s Norberg.”

I finish entering his information. “Thanks, I wanted to have you saved as more than Erik ‘Cute Guy from Bar.’”

Erik stares at me, his face flushing again as he shifts his weight from one leg to the other.

“Uh, you know you’re attractive, right?” I say.

“I guess, maybe?”

He’s either fishing for compliments, secretly blind, or part of a cult that bans mirrors. There’s no way he doesn’t know.

A flustered sound escapes Erik, and he tilts his head down at the ground, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly.

Sheesh, that’s one gorgeous smile right there.

“I’m not used to hearing it said like that,” he says, casting a quick glance off to the side.

“That’ll change when we hang out again.” I shoot him a wink that I hope isn’t awkward. “Text me and we’ll make something happen.”

“Sounds good. I’ll text you!” At that, Erik abruptly spins around and walks away.

Okay, he’s a lot less suave than most other people who look the way he does, but that’s the furthest thing from a problem.

Before heading into my building, I swivel my head back toward Erik’s departing figure, lingering on the way his powerful legs propel him forward.

Then I avert my gaze. I don’t want to be that kind of creep who stares furtively at someone’s ass, even if said ass might as well have been carved out of granite. Holy hockey butt.

Smiling, I walk into my building. Hearing from Erik in the next few days wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Very far from it, in fact.