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Nate

Nate

Good morning!

I text Marcos the first thing in the morning when I wake up at six for weight training, which is probably embarrassing.

I don’t care, though. People don’t get what they want by playing games or not saying things they want to say, and I want Marcos.

I probably shouldn’t, since I barely know the guy and he’s clearly pretty hesitant about me, but I know I’ll regret it if I let him pass me by.

So, late night wank sessions and early morning texts it is.

When he hasn’t replied by the time I get to the gym, I tuck my phone into my locker and tell myself it’s because he’s sleeping in and not because he’s ignoring me. There aren’t a lot of people here yet this morning, although I see Vas over on the leg press, so I decide to start there. I love him .

“Morning, Vas,” I greet him as I walk up. He beams at me, like nothing makes him happier than my presence.

“My friend, how are we this morning?”

“Good, good. Mind if I join you?”

“Certainly not,” he says magnanimously, still smiling.

Most people prefer to work out alone—pop in earbuds and do their thing.

I, on the other hand, am a social creature and would prefer to have the option to chat.

How lucky for me that I’ve got Vas here this morning—too polite to tell me to fuck off—instead of Micky, who would simply ignore me.

I give him a couple more reps in silence, before chatting him up as he changes the weight. “So, how are things?”

“Very well. I have just found out that my brother will be visiting soon. He wishes to watch me play,” he responds a touch shyly, like he’s embarrassed that his brother is making the effort.

“No shit! Good for you. He’s an agent, right?”

“He is,” Vas agrees, beaming at me, happy that I remembered. “Jakob is very busy, but for this time it will work out for him to come and watch our game.”

I smile, grabbing a pair of free weights and setting up next to his machine to do stationary lunges. I wonder if his brother is just an older version of Vas. I’d fucking love to meet the guy.

“You should tell Coach Mackenzie he’s coming,” I advise him. “So that he gives you a lot of ice time. He usually does that when we have family in town.”

“Oh no, my friend. I would not wish to cause any trouble.”

I huff a laugh, dropping the weights on the padded floor and standing up to shake out my legs. Maybe there will be a way I can casually mention his brother coming within Coach’s hearing. Vas might not ask, but I will .

He finishes his workout before me, having gotten here earlier, so I speed through my final reps and make my way back to the lockers.

I’m eager to check my phone. It’s been a pretty long time since I’ve felt this level of excitement about a crush, and I’m enjoying riding the wave of heightened emotions while simultaneously ignoring the little niggle of fear about the fact that he’s a he .

I don’t want to think about it right now, I just want to… feel.

I’m able to fully smother the doubt when I unlock my phone and see a return text from Marcos.

“Fuck yes,” I whisper, grinning as I open the message.

Marcos

Morning.

Nate

Sleep good? *insert suggestive eyebrow waggle*

Marcos

*insert dramatic sigh*

I laugh out loud, and the sound echoes through the locker room, drawing several looks from guys changing near me. Pulling everything from the locker, I leave. Head bent over my phone, and barely paying attention to where I’m walking, I reply.

Nate

Do you have class this morning?

We should get breakfast.

Or coffee, if you’re not a breakfast guy.

Or tea if you’re not a coffee guy.

I don’t really care what we do! Do you want to hang out, though?

Marcos

I don’t know if that’s a good idea.

Nate

Why??

Marcos

Because I’m not really sure I’m in the best place right now to be starting a relationship, if that’s what you’re trying to do. I don’t know what it is you’re looking for or expecting from me, and I don’t know how much I’m able to give you right now. I don’t want to lead you on, is all I’m saying.

Also, sometimes it bothers me when people touch me and I think that would bother you.

I stop walking, looking down at the messages and reading them three times through, frowning. My mind snags on his second text and holds there. What the hell is that supposed to mean?

Nate

I’m not expecting anything from you.

And I don’t really know what you mean by the touching thing, and that bothering me. I wouldn’t do anything you didn’t want me to.

Marcos

That’s not what I meant.

Listen, sometimes it REALLY bothers me when people touch me. It didn’t use to be so bad, but lately it’s been a lot worse and I don’t want you to be forced to deal with my shit.

Nate

Is that why you’re saying you aren’t in a good place to be in a relationship? Because 1) I’m not asking you to be my boyfriend, I’m just asking you to drink coffee with me, and 2) I’m not a fucking asshole! If you don’t want me to touch you, I’ll just stare longingly at you over the table, instead.

Marcos

*insert much heavier sigh*

Nate

*insert puppy dog eyes and slow blinks*

Marcos

Stop it, I’m trying to have a serious conversation.

Nate

Okay, let’s meet up and we can talk in person.

There’s a noticeable pause in the messages after that, and I smile to myself as I tuck my phone away and drive home.

I really don’t want him to talk himself out of…

whatever this is. I don’t want to lose this; don’t want to lose something that already feels so good.

If he can’t do a relationship, that’s fine.

I can work with what we’ve already got going.

When I get back home, I wave off the calls from my roommates to join them and head straight up to my room. On the way by, I pound a fist against the wall to say a morse-code hello to Atlas, who yells back a welcoming fuck off, Nate . It’s so good to be home.

Pulling off my shirt and dropping it on the floor, I scrub a hand through my sweaty hair and check my phone. There’s an entire string of texts from Marcos. Sitting on the edge of my desk, I read through them.

Marcos

No, I can’t meet up today. Or probably any day.

It’s not that I don’t want to, but shit is just really crazy right now, and I don’t want to bring you into all that.

And you might not even want to date or whatever, and that’s fine. I know you said you’d never been with a guy before, and I’m not going to give you a hard time if you decide to stick to women. Or maybe other guys. Whatever you want. I know it can be hard to figure yourself out.

I’m not doing a good job at explaining this.

I’m bad at talking.

Laughing, I pull up his contact and call him. It rings all the way through to voicemail, which makes me smile. I can picture him staring down at my name on the screen, pretending not to be available and waiting for it to stop ringing. When his voicemail picks up, I clear my throat.

“Hey, Marcos. I just wanted to let you know that I’m not here to make your life harder, so if you want me to leave you alone, I will.

But if you want to get together and fool around, I’d like that.

If you just need someone to listen while you talk, I can do that, too.

Maybe we were just a fling, but we can be friends moving forward—that’s fine if that’s what you want.

I’m not trying to push you into anything, and honestly, I’m not even sure what I want, so…

Anyway, text me, or call me back, okay? Bye. ”

Hanging up, I feel like I didn’t end that as strongly as I meant to.

I think Marcos is trying to find a diplomatic and polite way to friendzone me, and I’m extremely unsure of how I feel about that.

I’ve never before experienced such a sudden and strong desire for someone—a lightning strike of attraction.

I have no idea what those feelings mean or what the hell I’m supposed to do with them.

Should I try to hook up with a different guy?

I’m certainly noticing men differently since Marcos and I hooked up in that darkened backyard, so maybe I need to lean into that a little bit.

Confused, and feeling oddly hurt, I toss my phone onto my bed and strip down. I’m going to take a shower. Thinking is always easier in the shower.

When I get back into my room, towel tied around my waist and calmer than I was before, I check my phone to see a new and devastating message.

Marcos

Can we just be friends? I don’t think I can handle more than that right now.

The check sends me into the wall hard. My shoulder cracks against the glass, and my helmeted head whiplashes.

Planting my skates, I keep the puck corralled against the boards, while whichever fucker that hit me tries to fish it out.

He shoves me in the lower back and a whistle blows.

College hockey can be as rough as the big leagues, but most of the refs try and keep things controlled.

Everyone—coaches and players included—are aware that NHL goals are fragile, and not worth losing over a bad hit in college .

Bending, I scoop up the puck and hold it out to the referee who skates up to me. When I sit down on the bench next to Max, I lean back when I feel a hand on my shoulder. I don’t even have to look to know it’s Coach Mackenzie.

“Good?” he asks gruffly.

“Always.”

“You’re doing good on the backcheck—keep it up.”

I smile and pop my mouthguard out, tucking it into my glove and reaching for a bottle of water. Beside me, Max is watching the game with the intensity of a hawk. Glancing at the ice, I can see why.