Him

by Sarina Bowen

  “It’s… Wow,” I stammer. “How did you get here?”

  “Well, when I threatened to take up trapeze, my uncle lent me his car. Thought I’d get away for the night.”

  I do the math. It’s got to be a five-hour drive from Cape Cod. “Wow,” I say again. Apparently “wow” is now three quarters of my vocabulary.

  “Jamie,” she says, staring up at me. “Stop freaking out.”

  “What?”

  She tilts her head to the side, and those familiar blue eyes study me. “You’re panicking. Why?”

  “Um…” I can’t tell her. But I can’t not tell her. Because Holly is almost certainly planning to stay with me tonight. In fact, last summer I told her she could visit and I’d make it work, but she hadn’t been able to swing it then.

  Fuck.

  “Honey.” She reaches up to cup the side of my neck. “Is there someone else?”

  My heart spasms, because there is someone else. Sort of. Wes and I aren’t a couple, exactly. We’ve never had one word of conversation about it. But there’s no way I’m sleeping with someone else right now—that just wouldn’t be right.

  “There is,” I admit.

  Her eyes widen. She’d asked the question, but she still seems pretty shocked by my answer. “Who is she?”

  I shake my head. “You don’t know her. I’m sorry,” I say quickly.

  She takes her hand off me and steps backward. “Okay.” She bites her lip. “I should have called.”

  “I’m sorry,” I repeat.

  And I am. Holly has only been good to me. But after graduation, we’d had a little talk. She’d said, “I want to see you when you’re in Detroit,” and I’d said, “That’s probably not going to work.”

  She’d said, “We’ll see.” And now here she is, her face turning red.

  “Look,” I tell her. “Let’s go have ice cream. Or tequila, if you prefer. I want to catch up with you.”

  “We’re still friends,” she says softly.

  “Always.”

  Her eyes wander away from me and over toward the lake. She takes a slow breath and lets it out again. “Okay, Jamie Canning. Show me Lake Placid. You always talk about how much you love it here.” Her gaze returns to mine. “Show me why.”

  For a moment, my mind goes straight into the gutter, because Lake Placid means something a little different to me this summer than it ever has before. But I clobber that thought and hold out a hand for her. “How do you feel about waffle cones?”

  She closes her fingers around mine. “I feel pretty good about waffle cones.”

  * * *

  We spend the afternoon together walking all over town. Holly likes to poke around in the little touristy shops, and this gets old pretty fast. But since I’ve ruined her day once already, I just go along with it. I show her the toy store with the awesome rubber band guns, and she buys one for her brother. They have targets set up inside the store, so we stand there for a long time trying to outshoot each other.

  A few doors down there’s another kitschy shop, and I hold back my sigh when she leads me inside. She stops to look at a bunch of Miracle on Ice coffee mugs, while I wander over to the back aisle where they have a bunch of candy for sale in bulk. And when I take a closer look, I let out a bark of disbelief.

  “What is it?” Holly asks.

  “Purple Skittles!” I grab a bag and hold it under the chute. “Pull the lever,” I tell Holly. She does, and I don’t say “stop” until the bag is full. Then I chuckle all the way to the checkout counter.

  “What’s so funny?”

  I toss my wallet onto the counter. “I have this friend,” I begin. I feel like a heel describing Wes that way, but it’s the best I can do at the moment. “We used to send this box back and forth with, like, gag gifts inside.”

  “That’s fun. And he likes purple Skittles?”

  “Yeah. Except the last time I sent him purple Skittles in the box, you had to buy all the colors at once. I bought four giant bags at BJ’s…” Holy God, the name of the store causes an inappropriate bubble of laughter to rise in my chest. “I sorted them myself and sent him only the purple ones. Then I shared, like, five pounds of the other ones with my high school buddies at a party. It was a kegger, and when they did the Technicolor yawn, it was really Technicolor.”

  She hip-checks me. “Thanks for that visual.”

  “My pleasure.”

  When we step outside, she clears her throat. “Jamie, I need to find a place to stay tonight. Can we sit down somewhere so I can use my phone?”

  I don’t answer right away, because I’m wracking my brain for a solution. Which doesn’t come easy, because the dormitory is always plenty full. “Let me find you a hotel room,” I suggest.

  “I’ve got it,” she says quickly. “Seriously. It’s no big deal.”

  Still. “Let’s sit on the porch at the dorm. You can use the wi-fi. And if everything is booked up, I’ll ask Pat for help.”

  “Thank you.” Her voice is low.

  Another apology is on the tip of my tongue. But I don’t say it, because I don’t think she wants to hear it.

  There’s nobody in the rocking chairs, so I set Holly up with the wi-fi password and tell her I’m going to get us a couple of drinks. “I’ll be right back,” I promise. Then I shoot up the stairs and drop by our room, hoping that Wes is there.

  The room is empty.

  Before I leave again, I dig out that gift box Wes had sent me in Boston. I’d brought it all the way to Lake Placid, because I was trying to decide whether I should restart our meme. But then he showed up here, and I forgot about it entirely.

  Now I dump a motherlode of purple candy into the box and close the cover. Setting it on his pillow, I wonder if I should leave some kind of note. But what the hell would it say?

  Before Holly showed up, it didn’t seem to matter that Wes and I were hooking up without any sort of discussion about it. We didn’t need a label. This room was like our private bubble—everything that happened here was just between us. The rest of the world didn’t matter.

  And that was fine. Except the rest of the world still exists, whether I remember it or not. Suddenly this whole thing has gotten all kinds of tricky, and not because of Holly—that was just an awkward moment with a friend. In a few short weeks, though, he and I would land on two different NHL teams in two different cities. We were heading for an upset regardless, and I just hadn’t realized it.

  Hurrying back downstairs, I grab two sodas and take them to the porch where my ex-fuck-buddy waits. “I found a place just outside of town,” she says. “It wasn’t even expensive.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t want you to—”

  She holds up a hand, silencing me. “It’s fine, sweetie. And in the morning I’m going to drive back to Massachusetts, okay?”

  “We could—”

  Holly shakes her head. “You have a job to do. And it’s not your fault, Jamie. I didn’t… I wasn’t being smart.” The words are firm, but her eyes water a little, and it kills me to see it.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I do care about you but…”

  Once more she waves me off. “You were never dishonest, Jamie. Don’t start now.”

  Well okay then.

  * * *

  We go out to dinner together. I pick a nice seafood restaurant right on the water, but as we eat our crabcakes, the mood is subdued.

  “Will you tell me about her?” she asks at one point.

  I shake my head. “Let’s not do that.”

  Holly gives me a rueful grin. “I was just trying to be a big girl about it.”

  I take a long look at her. “Can I tell you something I’m trying to be a big girl about?”

  Holly giggles, and I’m happy to have made her do that. “What?”

  “The idea of moving to Detroit depresses the hell out of me.” I haven’t said that to anyone yet, and it feels good to get it off my chest.

  She stirs her drink with her straw. “I know it’s not
the prettiest city in the world, but you can find a nice place there, I bet.”

  I shake my head. “Urban decay isn’t the problem.” Although it isn’t helping me picture a life there. “I don’t know a soul. And I’m not getting any playing time next year. Let’s be honest.”

  “Oh, honey.” She sighs. “The first year could suck. But you’re good at what you do.”

  “See, I know that. It’s not that I lack confidence. But the odds of really making it as a goalie are awful. It isn’t just the first year that might suck. It could be five years where they play me twice a season, and I’m just waiting around for my big chance. Or they send me to the minors, and I play seven games instead of two.”

  “Or someone could get hurt, and your number could come up.” She puts her hand over mine. “But I know what you’re saying. It’s a long shot. And it won’t be your fault if it doesn’t work out.”

  A waiter comes over to take our plates out of the way, and Holly orders a piece of blackout cake. “And two spoons.”

  I’ve never been a fan of blackout cake, but now is not the time to point that out.

  “I don’t like feeling ungrateful,” I tell her. “Everyone is so excited for me—they hear ‘NHL’ and get stars in their eyes. I’m not sure what to do.”

  “I guess you show up and try it. Give it a year?”

  “Maybe.” That’s the easy choice. But I can see how I could end up waiting forever. You could keep telling yourself, just a little longer! “Maybe there’s something else I could do with that year, though.”

  “What does your friend Wes think?” she asks suddenly.

  “What?” The mention of his name startles me.

  “What does he think about Detroit?” She waits for my answer.

  “I, uh, haven’t asked his opinion,” I confess. “He wants to be in the pros so badly. I’m not sure he’d understand. But it’s different for him. There’s more demand for centers. And he’s got that Frozen Four win...”

  “Should have been yours,” Holly says firmly. She’s loyal to the core.

  I look across the table at her wide-set eyes and wish things were different. If I was in love with Holly, life would be less confusing.

  But I’m not. And it isn’t.

  When the dark chocolate cake arrives, I tell her I’m too full to have any. Then I pick up the check on my way to the men’s room, so she can’t get to it first.

  25

  Wes

  It’s past midnight when I stumble back to the dorm. Luckily Pat isn’t sitting guard in one of the rocking chairs, because there’s no way I can carry on a normal conversation right now. Walking in a straight line is also a challenge.

  Yeppers, I might be a wee bit drunk.

  I approach mine and Canning’s door and stare at it for a good minute. Fuck, what if his girl is in there? I stayed away for as long as I could, but a man’s gotta sleep sometime. And I’m not fucking doing it on the porch.

  He would’ve texted me if she was crashing here and told me to stay away.

  Right?

  The thought is like a hot blade to the gut. I can’t believe his fucking girlfriend showed up at camp. He spent the whole day with her. Whole night too, probably.

  My hands curl into fists as a parade of unwelcome images marches through my head. Jamie’s big hands roaming Holly’s feminine curves. His cock sliding inside her. His lips lifting in that dirty grin he always gives me right before he puts his mouth on my dick.

  I’m such a goddamn moron. I shouldn’t have started anything with him. It was going to end once I left for Toronto, anyway. So hell, maybe it’s better if it just ends now.

  I finally suck it up and turn the doorknob. It’s unlocked. And when I enter the room, I see Jamie’s mattress is on the floor again, just where it had been last night. But mine is on the bed frame where I’d put it this morning. Jamie is the only one in the room, too. My blood pressure eases, but just a bit.

  He’s asleep. Good, because I’m not in the right frame of mind to talk to him right now. I can feel my temper pulsing through my veins along with all the alcohol I drank.

  The room’s annoyingly dark. I stumble forward, bumping my arm on the side of the dresser as I reach down to unbutton my jeans. I kick ’em off, then tackle my shirt. There. I’m in my boxers now. I just need to make it to the bed without waking Canning, and then we’ll both be sound asleep and the Big Talk can be dealt with in the morning.

  I ease my body onto the mattress as quietly as possible. Hell yeah. I did it. My drunken ass is now in bed and Jamie is still sleepi—

  My head collides with something hard, and then an explosion of sound blasts through the room. A cacophony of pings and dings and clangs assaults my ears. It’s as if someone took a sledgehammer to a gumball machine and unleashed a wave of candy.

  I stagger to my feet, cursing loudly when I step on something hard and round. “Son of a motherfucking bitch!” I hop around on one foot as I use my hand to rub away the pain shooting through the other foot.

  Jamie bolts into a sitting position, his panicked voice slicing through the darkness. “What the hell?”

  “Seriously? You’re asking me?” I squawk. “What did you put on my pillow?”

  “Skittles.”

  He says this as if it’s supposed to make sense. “Why?”

  I kneel down, fumbling for the box I’d just conked my head on. I hear Jamie’s footsteps heading for the door, and then a switch flicks and light floods the room.

  Jesus. A sea of purple Skittles covers the floor and Jamie’s mattress.

  And a lump rises in my throat as I realize the significance of what I’m seeing. Canning kept the box I’d given him in Boston, filled it with my favorite candy and left it on my pillow.

  As an apology for spending the day with his ex?

  Or is it an apology for something else? Something worse…like fucking his ex.

  Jamie squats beside me. “Help me clean this up.”

  He sounds pissed. Looks it, too. Which only pisses me off, because what the hell does he have to be angry about? I’m the one who got ditched today.

  We don’t speak as we start picking up Skittles. His jaw is set in a tense line, and he’s tossing the candy back in the box with more force than necessary.

  “What?” I mutter when I catch him scowling at me.

  “You’re back late.” His voice is tight.

  “It’s our night off. I grabbed a drink at Lou’s.” I stick a hand under my bed and gather up more Skittles.

  “I’d say you had more than one. Your breath smells like a brewery.” His tone suddenly sharpens. “You didn’t drive, did you?”

  “Naw. I got a ride.”

  “With who?”

  “What’s with the Twenty Questions?”

  Jamie whips a Skittle into the box but it bounces right back out, skidding under the desk. “None of the other guys have cars, Wes. Please don’t tell me you hitched with some random stranger.”

  Guilt pricks my insides. But why the fuck am I feeling guilty? Unlike some people, I didn’t spend the day gallivanting around with an ex.

  “Who drove you home?” he demands when I don’t answer.

  I meet his gaze head-on. “Sam.”

  Jamie’s breath hitches. There’s no mistaking the cloud of hurt in his eyes. “Are you kidding me? The guy from that hook-up app?”

  “I met him for a drink,” I say with a shrug. “What’s the big deal?”

  He doesn’t answer. He just kneels on his mattress, gathering up more candy.

  “Are you seriously pissed off right now?” I fight a burst of annoyance. “Because you’re not the one who got ditched today, Canning.”

  “Like hell! First of all, you told me to take off early. And I didn’t know she was coming, okay? She showed up out of the blue, and, what, I’m supposed to ignore her? She’s my friend.”

  “She’s your fuck buddy,” I shoot back.

  “Not anymore.”

  He stands up and rakes bo
th hands through his hair, then grabs the box and slams it on the desk. The floor looks pretty clear, but I know there’s no way we managed to pick up all the candy. Canning must’ve cleaned out that entire fucking candy store.

  Either way, the Skittles are all but forgotten as Jamie levels an irritated look in my direction. “But just because we’re not fooling around doesn’t mean she’s not my friend anymore. And she drove all this way to see me. So yeah, I spent the day with her. Went shopping, grabbed some dinner.”

  I can’t control the hot streak of jealousy that races through me. “Bet that was fun. Did you eat some pussy for dessert?”

  His mouth falls open. “Did you really just fucking say that?”

  I sure did, and I don’t even regret it. I’m sick to death of not knowing where I stand. Where we stand. Last night, I was inside this guy. And the second Holly showed up, he acted like we were strangers. He hadn’t even looked at me before he’d gone off with her.

  Ain’t gonna lie—it hurt.

  “Am I wrong?” I ask flatly.

  Jamie releases a slow, even breath, as if he’s trying to calm himself. “I want to punch you right now, Wesley. Like, for real.”

  I set my jaw. “What, for daring to call you out on the fact that you’re still into women?”

  “You really think I’d just roll out of bed with you and into bed with her? I didn’t hook up! Which is more than I can say for you and your precious Sam.”

  “I didn’t hook up with him, either.” Frustration spirals through me. “We just met up for a drink and talked about you the whole time. Jackass.”

  Jamie blinks. “Then why the hell are we arguing right now?”

  I falter. “Uh. I’m not sure anymore.”

  There’s a beat. Then we both let out a tense chuckle. I’m feeling a lot less hostile and a lot more sober as I walk over to shut off the light again. When I turn back toward Jamie, he’s beckoning to me in the dark from his mattress on the floor. When I sit on the edge, he tugs me down to his pillow.

  We’re stretched out on our sides, facing each other. We’re both waiting for the other to speak. Then Jamie sighs, his expression flickering with resignation. “I don’t like the idea of you messing around with anyone else.”