Page 79 of Him
“Nope. I had a single at Northern Mass, so I usually brought hook-ups home. Or I went to their place.” He pauses. “That was the better option. Means I didn’t have to kick ’em out when they wanted to spend the night.”
I furrow my brow. “You’ve never spent the night with anyone?” He and I have been sleeping together regularly.
“Nope,” he says again.
“Why not?” I’m suddenly curious to know about his love life. Not the sex—the idea of him with anyone else bugs the shit out of me—but the relationship stuff. For as long as I’ve known him, Wes has been single. Now, knowing he’s gay, it makes sense why he never had a girlfriend. But has he had a boyfriend?
“I didn’t want anyone getting too attached to me,” he says with a shrug, his eyes focused on the road.
The response only makes me more curious. “Did you ever get attached to them?”
“Nope.” This is his go-to answer for the day, apparently.
“Have you ever gone out with anyone?” I ask slowly.
He’s quiet for a moment. “No,” he admits. “I don’t do boyfriends, Canning. It’s too messy.”
For some reason, my gut clenches. I want to ask him what I am, then. An extended hook-up? A summer fling? I knew this thing with us was bound to end eventually, but I at least thought the time we’ve had together has meant something to him.
Because it means something to me. I’m not sure what, or why, but I do know that this isn’t just about sex for me.
“And once I’m in Toronto, I won’t be doing anything,” he says glumly. “Celibacy is gonna suck.”
An uneasy feeling washes over me. “Did you talk to your dad about the Sports Illustrated thing?”
“Haven’t told him yet. But I’m not doing the interview. That’s not a can of worms I’m interested in opening.” He swiftly changes the subject, as he usually does when the conversation is too focused on him. “What about you? Have you bought a ticket to Detroit yet?”
Great. He picks the one topic I don’t want to discuss. “No.”
“Dude, you need to get on that.”
Wes parks in front of the supermarket and we hop out of the car. I hope he’ll drop the subject now that we’re here, but he’s still talking about it as we walk into the air-conditioned store.
“You’re supposed to report there in three weeks,” he reminds me as he grabs a shopping cart. “You thinking of renting a house in the suburbs? Where do the Detroit players tend to live?”
I nod, thinking about my conversation with Pat. He pulled me aside a couple days ago and said he’d put some feelers out in the coaching community. We’re supposed to talk again on Monday, but I still haven’t told Wes about it.
Deciding to test the waters, I grab another cart and say, “Honestly, I’m not sure how I feel about going to Detroit.”
He looks startled. “Meaning what?”
“Meaning…” I take a breath. Screw it. Might as well tell him.
We head for the freezers in the back, and Wes listens with no expression as I pretty much repeat everything I discussed with Holly—how I don’t want to play backup my entire career, my lack of enthusiasm about going to Detroit, the possibility of being sent to the minors and not even playing a pro game. The only part I leave out is that I’m toying with taking a coaching job. I’m not ready to talk about that yet, especially when nothing is even official.
Once I’m done, he still doesn’t respond. He chews on his lips, thoughtful. Then he opens the freezer and heaves out a bag of ice. “You’re really considering not playing this season?” he finally says.
“Yeah.” The cold air hits my face as I grab two more bags and load them into my cart. “Do you think I’m fucked in the head for throwing away a chance at the pros?”
“Yes and no.” He drops another bag in his cart. “I think all your concerns are valid.”
The conversation halts when a woman pushing a cart pops around the corner. Her step stutters when she notices Wes’s black eye, and then she continues on with a wary look.
Wes glances at me, chuckling. “She thinks we’re hooligans.”
I roll my eyes. “She thinks you’re a hooligan. As she should. I, on the other hand, am a saint.”
He snorts. “Should I flag her down and tell her how I got the shiner, Saint Jamie?”
