Page 3 of Love on Ice (Love in Terengia #5)

3

OUR SECOND KISS

Michael

The next few days fly by. The only thing I personally had to do was pack my suitcase. It turned out that my brother was in on the whole thing — he’d had to be really — because Sebastian had to arrange a leave of absence, visa applications, and so on.

Now the waiting’s over, and we're sitting at Schwechat Airport in Vienna enjoying lunch at celebrity chef Jamie Oliver's restaurant that overlooks the runway. The pasta I chose is delicious, perfectly al dente , the tomato sauce tastes like pure sunshine, and the herbs seem freshly picked — not bad in the middle of winter. It makes me long for faraway places, so it's a good thing that we'll be on a plane in just under an hour.

My eyes sweep over an Austrian Airlines plane with its signature red-white-red tailfin, and I wonder if this one is our plane for the first leg of our journey. I watch as it taxies out of sight. I’m so excited, I can hardly sit still.

I wrap another portion of the dreamy spaghetti around my fork and let my gaze fall on my travel buddy. Sebastian is on the phone, his eyebrows drawn together, and his mouth a thin line. I watch as he enunciates a few obviously tense words with what’s clearly taking a fair bit of self-control.

"You worry too much!" I lip-read.

I grin. It's the same every time. Sebastian's mother is afraid of flying and tries to persuade him to avoid it. When he doesn’t, she insists he calls her right before he gets on and when he lands. She honestly believes planes are the quickest route to an untimely death. Her words, not mine.

Sebastian shakes his head, exasperated. I suppress a laugh and concentrate on twirling the next forkful of spaghetti on the edge of my plate, as my Italian aunt taught me many years ago. It would be unforgivable if one of my nephews used a spoon to eat spaghetti! I remember her signing and can't suppress a giggle.

If the good mood I’m in now continues, the next few days will be awesome! Even if I still have no idea how to get my libido under control.

Sebastian’s cab swung by my apartment to pick me up, and just his smile as I slipped in the back seat next to him was enough to make my cock not only twitch but stand to attention. Luckily, my jeans were tight enough to mask it, even if it was uncomfortable for me.

And soon we’ll be sleeping in the same room for ten days.

Sebastian

After the phone call with my mom, everything went smoothly, and what felt like minutes later, we were sitting in our plane.

The flight from Vienna to Frankfurt was just a hop. Once there, we leisurely strolled around the airport for a couple of hours. It’s one of the biggest airports in Europe and I love its huge shopping mall. More than once, Michael had to drag me away from a gorgeous shop window. He doesn't like shopping that much unless it's for books. I could only lure him out of a well-stocked bookstore when I promised to buy him a bag of sour gummy bears.

Right now, we’re on the approach to Toronto, the Air Canada Airbus steadily gliding through the air. The lights of the big city sparkle promisingly below. I rub my eyes. Although it's just before ten p.m. local time, my body clock is telling me it’s already four a.m.

For the last few hours, I’ve been fighting hard to stay awake. Michael lost that battle a while back. My heart skips a beat as I glance to my left. My Fuzzball has never been a night owl, preferring to be in bed by midnight at the latest. His eyes closed two hours ago, and at some point, his head landed on my shoulder. Since then, I haven’t dared to move. I wish I could be this close to Michael more often.

Will I spend the rest of my life hopelessly in love with my best friend?

If the last nearly twenty-five years are any indication, that’ll be a yes — damn it!

My eyes wander lovingly over Michael’s sleeping face. He looks so peaceful, although that’s not unusual. He’s a very even-tempered person and is almost always at peace with himself and the world. But at this moment, lost in a deep sleep, his features even more relaxed, he looks like an angel. His full lips are slightly open, and I would give the world to be able to kiss them.

As if Michael has read my thoughts, he closes his mouth and shifts slightly, his wispy curls tickling my neck as he does. I love his hair. It’s almost as if the fine but wild curls are an outward sign of the tender but adventurous soul within his large frame.

Speaking of big bodies, I hope he doesn’t wake up with a stiff neck. As much as I enjoy the feeling of his head on my shoulder, I can see his neck is crooked. Since Michael is taller than me, he’s had to tilt his head quite a bit to lean it on me. I feel like I ought to get him into a slightly more upright position, but I’m reluctant to push Michael away from me even if it would be better for him.

At that moment, an announcement from the captain booms around the plane. Michael doesn’t stir. He carries on sleeping blissfully while all around us, people rub their eyes sleepily and stretch, groaning.

More than once, Michael has pitied me when we’ve been in a really noisy environment. Like when there was construction work going on in the next room during a university exam, or when I couldn’t sleep because of some noisy neighbors. With an innocent expression on his face and a humorous wink, he always signed that he wasn’t bothered by the noise at all, but he was very sorry that I had to put up with it. Why must he always be so perfect and also have this great sense of humor?

The captain has let us know that we’ll be touching down in Toronto in a few minutes. So I decide that it doesn’t make sense to move Michael now. If he’s been using my shoulder as a cushion for almost two hours, then a few minutes more or less won’t matter — that’s how I try to rationalize it anyway.

I look out of the small plane window and enjoy our approach towards the shining lights. A small air pocket shakes the plane slightly, and before I know what I’m doing, I’ve wrapped my arm around Michael to make sure his head doesn’t slip from my shoulder .

I hold my breath. What will Michael think if he wakes up to find me hugging him like this? But his breath is still slow and even. He really does sleep deeply.

I get hot and cold shivers, thinking about what I should do now. Should I take my arm away? Or will the extra movement wake him up?

We hit more turbulence.

Unlike my mother, I have no fear of flying. I see it rather rationally: Measured per billion miles traveled, the airplane is the safest means of transportation. It’s true that airplane accidents usually end fatally, but then … at least it’s over quickly! My mother nearly had a fit when I tried to explain these thoughts to her calmly. The mere memory of her horrified face makes me grin. Am I too old to enjoy driving my mom crazy? Probably. But sometimes I can’t resist.

The unexpected turbulence has given me the perfect excuse to leave my arm right where it is. My nose dips into Michael’s wild curly mane and I breathe him in. Even after an eternity traveling, he still smells like himself: Masculine and fresh with a hint of herbs I can never identify. It’s the most delightful scent I know.

By now, we’re low enough for me to make out individual buildings. I’d love to shout at the pilot to climb higher again. In all the years of our friendship, I’ve rarely been as close to Michael as I am now — and never for this long. And I have no idea how I’ll cope if I never get to do it again.

Michael

A shock jolts me out of a deep, dreamless sleep. Startled, I quickly sit up.

I have to blink a few times, as the dazzling light is a shock to my sleepy eyes. After a moment, my vision starts to clear. Gray seats, small round windows, lots of crumpled-looking people — we’re on the flight to Toronto!

Are we there yet?

I peer through the window next to me and see long tarmac runways and darkness beyond, apart from some brightly lit signs. The landing must have woken me up. Now I’ve reoriented myself, I rub my tired eyes and fall back in my seat. Carefully, I stretch my neck to either side and then my arms. Damn! Why are these planes always so small? My hands bump the overhead bin before I’ve had a chance to stretch my arms even halfway out.

That’s when my eyes fall on my best friend. His expression is reserved.

“Are you okay?” I sign, concerned.

My question seems to snap Sebastian out of his inner monologue, and a sparkle enters his eyes.

“Slept well?” he asks.

I stick my tongue out at him. “We can’t all be night owls like you.”

Sebastian laughs and everything is back to normal. Whatever was up with him has gone now. He and I banter as usual as the plane taxis the last few meters along the runway, and by the time we get off, I’m awake and ready for anything. Luckily, our suitcases arrive on the carousel quickly, and we’re off to collect the car rental that Sebastian has organized for our trip.

I have more than a little weakness for cars. Take my bright yellow VW Beetle. I love it more than anything, but when I scanned the documents Sebastian presented me with before our trip, it wasn’t clear what model would be awaiting us.

Fidgeting nervously while Seb talks seemingly forever with the bored young lady behind the counter, I try to gauge what’s taking so long. I can only lip-read in German, and even then it’s often more of an art than a science, so I can’t even begin to follow this conversation. All the dialects between Vienna and Salzburg I can cope with, but when it gets more towards the Tyrol, lip-reading becomes difficult.

The woman behind the counter’s dark hair is caught up in a ponytail which flicks back and forth every time she moves — it’s almost hypnotic. However, I can’t help but cast longing glances through the glass panes and out into the parking lot and at the cars waiting to be picked up. Which one will be ours? In which car will we be exploring the snow-covered highways of this vast country?

Finally, Sebastian holds a key out to me triumphantly. I can hardly contain my excitement. I may have even jumped a little … only a little, obviously.

We roll our suitcases out into the lot and I hold my breath as I press the button that unlocks our new car. The suspense is killing me as my eyes wander around the parking lot. Which one are the lights flashing on?

Then I spot it — a huge, white Ford Explorer.

I jump for joy and dash toward the car. Sebastian follows at a more leisurely pace.

I abandon my new yellow suitcase in front of the car and walk around the beast of a machine admiringly. The elegant shape is designed for sport and utility. Sebastian has taken up a position next to our suitcases and looks on, clearly amused.

"It's perfect!" I announce.

Sebastian smiles with satisfaction, but adds teasingly, "You and your cars!"

I shrug, unmoved. Everyone needs a hobby. Seb has Lego, and I love cars … and ice hockey. To each their own.

Our suitcases had to be squashed into our taxi to the airport in Vienna, but the trunk of the rental car is so big it makes our suitcases look tiny. I shake my head at the prospect of driving this vehicle through downtown Vienna — it wouldn’t be easy. I’d choose my little Beetle a zillion times over for driving through my city. But for Canada ...

I move towards the driver's side, but just as I'm about to get in, Sebastian stops me.

"Are you sure you're okay to drive? Even after your nap on the plane, are you sure you’re not too sleepy?"

I pause for a moment to think seriously about it, then notice a diabolical glint in his eyes. So I flip him the bird and climb into the driver’s seat. This car is awesome, and I run my fingers admiringly over the elegant lines of the dashboard. Everything smells like a new car — it really is a dream. One glance at the speedometer confirms my suspicions: The car hasn’t even done 200 kilometers yet.

The whole car vibrates when I turn on the ignition, the powerful V8 engine running majestically. But then the heater blows full force into my face and a shiver runs the entire length of my body. My fingers start to tingle unpleasantly. In my excitement, I hadn’t noticed how cold the parking lot is. I think about our thick winter clothes stowed carefully in our suitcases so we wouldn't have to lug them around. Maybe we should have worn them after all.

Sebastian

We speed along the Gardiner Expressway, the warm city lights twinkling as we pass. But I can't take my eyes off my Fuzzball. Michael beams as he smoothly changes lanes. He likes to race cars in his spare time, but I know it's not a hobby he takes seriously. Despite that, his many hours of training means he’s developed a certain confidence and style.

The street lights give the front seats a warm glow and soften the features of my best friend. His expression is one of pure joy. This was probably one of my best ideas ever! Can there be anything better in life than making Michael this happy? I would do anything for him.

Michael flips the turn signal to exit the expressway and head into Toronto. I’ve booked a small apartment for us in a high-rise building right next to the hockey stadium, and since Michael, unlike me, doesn't consume guidebooks before taking trips, I'm sure he hasn’t got a clue what a perfect location I've chosen for us.

As we drive past the stadium, I hear a joyful shout from the driver's seat, and I grin in self-satisfaction as Michael turns into the underground parking garage.

"Are you sure this is the right place?" he signs after the car is stopped.

Hope struggles with disbelief on Michael's face.

Time to drop the bomb.

"Yup!" I try to get the rest of my answer across as nonchalantly as possible, "We’re staying in the skyscraper that connects directly to the stadium via a bridge."

Michael's reaction is almost comic. His eyes widen, his jaw drops, and before I can blink, he’s in my arms.

I don't think we've hugged this much in many years. I laugh and, for once, allow myself to enjoy the feeling of closeness between us. I don't even care that the gearshift is pressing into my stomach.

After far too short a time, Michael pulls away and looks at me. Then he raises his hands and drops them — he’s speechless. It’s good to know I can surprise him like this!

There are a thousand things I could say to him, from the boring "You’re welcome" to the teasing "Cat got your tongue?" But before I can say anything, he leans forward and I brace myself for another bear hug. However, just like a few days ago in my apartment, Michael surprises me completely. For only the second time in the long time we have known each other, he gently but briefly kisses me on my cheek. Then he turns away and, just as quickly, gets out of the car.

I stay pinned breathless to my seat. Without conscious thought, my hand has shot up to the spot on my cheek where I’ve been kissed. The same tingling sensation that appeared when we kissed a week ago is now spreading throughout my body. Every fiber in me seems to vibrate.

Damn!

I try to remind myself that Michael's kiss was meant as an innocent sign of friendship, and it’s not his fault that my whole body is misinterpreting it as something more.

A knock on the window on the passenger side of the car snaps me out of my thoughts, and I turn around, startled.

Michael is standing there signing impatiently, "Come on!"

I take a deep breath, and as wonderful as the kiss was, I try to push the feeling down. I'm here with my best friend. My best friend who is into women. I've managed to suppress my feelings for him for so long, I guess I should be used to it by now, shouldn’t I?

With renewed resolve, I get out of the car, and Michael holds out my suitcase to me.

Luckily, the elevator is close because our winter jackets are still in the suitcases and it is damn cold here. It’s supposedly a bit warmer than usual this week. Clearly “warmer” is a relative term here. In fact, the only thing that concerned me about planning this trip for Michael was the thought of the temperatures in Canada at this time of year — constantly minus five degrees Fahrenheit. I mean, I knew Canada was cold in winter — I hardly expected a tropical climate — but the damn Niagara Falls has frozen!

At the last minute, I ordered some hand and shoe warmers online. I didn't understand exactly how they worked, some kind of chemical reaction — science is a closed shop to me, unlike my Fuzzball, here. It was only because Michael gave me extra chemistry tutoring after school that I didn't flunk the subject.

I shake my head at the recollection. What memories my sleep-deprived brain suddenly conjures up!

On the forty-eighth floor, we step out of the elevator. One of the reasons why I chose this apartment was exactly this: The forty-eighth floor! The view the owner posted online was absolutely terrific.

I enter the code I received yesterday via e-mail into the key safe next to the door, and before we know it, we’re standing in the middle of a cozy little apartment. On the left is a simple white kitchenette, on the right a wardrobe, and just behind that, a round dining table with four modern chairs in white leather that look decidedly uncomfortable. Beyond that is a small denim-covered couch, and at the far side a floor-to-ceiling window.

Damn! If anything, the promo pictures have undersold the stunning view this apartment has. Between the skyscrapers that surround us, we have an almost unobstructed view over a frozen Lake Ontario, and in front of that, I spot a plane just taking off from the small Billy Bishop Toronto City Airport.

It’s just perfect!

I have no idea how long Michael and I stand there frozen on the doorstep, shoulder to shoulder, enjoying the incredible view.

Eventually, Michael turns to me and says, "How did you find this apartment? It's totally awesome!"

I just shrug. After all, it wasn't particularly difficult to find something like this on the bigger internet booking platforms. So I take that as my cue to roll my suitcase towards the bedroom. What I find there is a little … unexpected.

In retrospect, the view from the apartment was why I hit book before checking out the rest of the space. I guess I missed a little something.

There’s only one, relatively narrow bed.

Michael

Sebastian has come to an abrupt halt in what I assume is the bedroom doorway. I move closer behind him, my brow furrowed. The apartment is a dream so far, so I’d be surprised if there’s a nasty surprise lurking beyond the doorway.

I peer around Sebastian’s shoulder and find a small but clean room, decorated in plain white. Then it dawns on me what the problem could be — there’s only one bed.

My gaze wanders to Sebastian's face. He looks lost in thought. I don't understand why he’s so shocked. Is the thought of sharing a bed with me that repulsive? It’s not like it would be the first time we’ve had to bunk up together. Granted, we were teenagers the last time we shared a bed, but it's not that big of a deal, surely?

I scan his face again only to find an almost desperate expression written there. My heart plummets and I feel like an idiot. For months I’ve been pining after my best friend, and apparently, the only thing he feels is disgust at the thought of platonically sharing a bed! I can feel tears threatening to well up in my eyes, and I do everything I can to fight them off. I'm too tired for this shit.

Determined not to let this spoil the mood, I turn around and drop onto the small couch. If Sebastian and I were to sit on it at the same time it’d be quite a squeeze. So, parking my five-foot-eleven frame on it the whole night will be ... an experience. But as it’s only for three nights, I’ll survive.

I bend down and rummage inside my bright yellow suitcase for my toiletry bag. Yellow is normally my favorite color, but now its brightness seems more like a taunt. The oh-so-personal gift from my best friend feels tainted with his rejection.

Sebastian has turned to face me and is now watching me closely. I tuck my toiletry bag under my arm and sign, "Chuck me a pillow, and I’ll head to the bathroom."

It’s a struggle but I manage to avoid eye contact. Sebastian takes a step back as if my words were a slap, but then he collects himself.

"Don't be ridiculous! You'll never fit on that pathetically small couch. I’ll sleep out here."

I should have anticipated he’d say that, but I'm shaking my head before Sebastian has even finished the sentence.

"No way! Your back needs a real bed."

As much as Seb dislikes watching sports, he’s very active. He’s been cycling since we were teenagers, but a few years ago, he was overtaken by a driver who misjudged the distance and took him out. Luckily, there wasn’t much damage done, but his back has never been the same since.

Sebastian makes a gesture that looks like he is brushing something off, but I shake my head determinedly. It's not lost on me that he's definitely moving more stiffly than normal after hours on the plane. Then his features change to show he’s surrendered; he knows I’m right.

"We can just share the bed," he suggests, but with so much reluctance I want to scream.

"No. There’s no need. I'm fine with the couch," I lie.

Sebastian peers at me.

"Not even one of my students would fit on that couch. We’re sharing the bed and that’s the end of it!"

I cast an uncertain glance at his face. The pure steel in his eyes makes me nod. Once he's got something in his head, I’ve got no chance whatsoever of changing his mind, and actually, I don't want him to. No matter how tired I am, I doubt I’d sleep a wink on this thing.

Of course, there's the teensy fact that sharing a bed will give me an opportunity to be closer to my best friend than I've ever been in my adult life. My cock twitches in my pants, but I ignore it. The memory of Sebastian's face when he spotted the bed resurfaces — it was sheer horror. As much as I want to get as close as possible to him, he’s quite obviously on a different page. That realization cuts me deep. What wouldn't I give for it to be different?

Three nights sleeping side by side with Sebastian.

I should be in seventh heaven, so why does it feel like hell?