Page 24

24

TRINSKY

I stepped away from the group of tourists with heart eyes and my laughing peers, hiking my thumb toward the counter. Maybe they thought I wanted to track down the waiter or use the restroom…didn’t matter. I needed a minute. Christ, this acting shit was hard work.

“Are you looking for another order of poutine or a refill for your shake?” JC seemingly popped out of nowhere, wiping his hands on his white apron.

Elmwood’s celebrated chef was a big dude with reddish hair, ruddy cheeks, twinkling eyes, and a dry sense of humor. He liked feeding people and I loved to eat, so we’d struck up a casual repartee over the years that usually consisted of praise for his poutine or general hockey commentary.

“Neither.” I glanced at the group of hockey players and the pretty tourists.

“Ah, it’s not easy being popular, eh? I wouldn’t know, of course. No one likes me,” he deadpanned in a thicker than usual Quebecois accent.

I chuckled. “Can you blame them?”

“Not at all.” JC squinted, pointing a finger at my chest. “What is this I hear about you buying a house in Elmwood?”

“I—what?”

“Smitty and Bryson were here with the kids yesterday, and Nathan mentioned it out of the blue. He said all the hockey players are moving to town. Like Trinsky. How do you know this? I asked. In a twist, you told the nine-year-old while you were eating corn at Jake’s house. All of this is a surprise, oui ? Elmwood, Jake, the corn…Perhaps you are friends after all?”

I nodded, unable and unwilling to lie. Weird, since I had a stranger’s phone number on my hand, and a group of peers nearby who’d swear I was as debauched as they came.

“Yeah. We’re friends.”

JC cocked his head curiously. “He’s a good friend to have. And Elmwood is a good place to live, but you should talk to Bryson. He’s the real estate agent in the family. I think he was surprised by the house news…and corn news.”

“I play for Denver. I don’t see myself moving to Elmwood.”

“Trust me, I didn’t either.” He patted my shoulder and turned to the kitchen. “Another order of poutine coming up!”

Okay, that was confusing. I headed for the restroom, fist-bumping a few regulars along the way.

Conversation and laughter drifted under the door, and some old-timey song was playing on the speakers. I stared at my reflection, hands braced on the counter, and let myself wallow in uncertainty.

Which was totally ludicrous ’cause there was nothing uncertain here. I was still me, and Elmwood was the same as always. Camp was almost over and soon, I’d go home to visit and then to Denver. And my team would play Jake’s, and everything would be the way it used to be. And I wasn’t going to hate it.

It would be familiar.

It would be fine.

Another round of poutine and a few servings of exaggerated hockey exploits later, we settled our bill, paid for the campers’ and the girls’ meals, and agreed to meet up at the Black Horse for drinks. It was large-group mentality. I wasn’t sure who was really interested in continuing the party, but the mood was light and it was easier to go with the flow than to make up excuses.

“You driving with us?” Denny asked, flipping his keys as he pushed the diner door open.

“Nah, I’ll get a ride with Milligan.”

“Leave Milligan alone,” Denny chided.

I flung an arm over Jake’s shoulder instead. “Now, how is that any fun?”

I got the laugh I’d been angling for, and Jake delivered the annoyed look everyone was counting on, and it was very…expected. They’d have been shocked as hell at our sighs of relief as we reached across the console of his SUV and linked our fingers.

We held hands for a few blocks. Jake let go on Main Street and drove through town, passing Town Hall, the fountain, and the antique lampposts that reminded me of movies my aunt loved to watch. He continued past the long road leading to Denny and Hank’s farm, and the shorter private one leading to his street.

We kissed in the SUV, languid slides of tongue, no hurry whatsoever. Eventually we made our way inside, undressed each other, and climbed into bed. My hands and mouth were everywhere at once. We gyrated wildly until need and desire reached mission critical. He prepped his hole, opened his legs, and invited me in. We’d talked about me bottoming for weeks, but somehow, this was how we always ended up. Jake begging for my cock and me wanting to give him anything he asked for.

Anything at all.

My body, my time, my every fucking thought.

I moved with purpose as if this were another language. One I hoped he understood. And when we floated back to Earth, I hoped Jake knew this was where I wanted to be. Right here. Next to him.

But I’d play my part.

I’d go to the bar, I’d chat with the tourists, and flirt if necessary. And no one would suspect that the need to be together was so intense that we’d risked the scrutiny of showing up late. They thought they knew us…individually and as a couple of guys who tolerated each other ’cause we had to.

The truth was so much better. It was almost sad that they’d never know.