Page 11 of Broken Ice, Mended Hearts

Chapter 4

Sven

After a quick shower,I toweled off, ran my fingers through my hair, and headed for the bedroom. Ten seconds later, I was back; it wasn’t the night to forget to wear deodorant. Pausing for a second to be sure I had remembered everything—yes, I brushed my teeth before the shower—I speed-walked to my closet.

I’d taken a nap after the flight home and wound up oversleeping, which put me behind schedule. Running late always made me frantic, even though it seemed like many of my teammates were used to it. I hated not being prompt. Growing up, I was taught that being on time was a way of showing respect for yourselfandthe person you’re meeting. That was especially important tonight.

Gagné had been on my mind all week. Every day, I’d hoped for a text from him—a simple hello, or a confirmation of our weekend plans—but none came. In fairness, I hadn’t reached out either, but last night I did. Anxiety had twisted my gut as I typed out the message, afraid he might not reply or had made other plans for the weekend. He’d seemed tense at first but soonrelaxed, so I figured it was my own nerves playing games with my head.

As I tucked a blue polo shirt into khaki shorts, my mind raced with thoughts about what might happen with Gagné and me. Since we had dinner at Alex’s, my imagination had been in overdrive, leading to more jack-off sessions in one week than I’d had since I was a teenager. Yet, as much as I was attracted to him, there was more to it. He gave off a vibe of loneliness that hit close to home. I understood the lingering bitterness from his divorce because I was still struggling with similar emotions after my breakup with Drake.

Friendship could provide the connection we needed to fill a void for both of us, to help us recover emotionally and move on with our lives. But I wasn’t sure that was possible. Maybe things would change when we met up for drinks, but after our wild texting flirt-fest, our mutual interest was obvious. If an opportunity for something physical arose, I didn’t think I had the strength to resist.

What did I want from him, though? After a week of intense masturbatory fantasies, it was clear what my body had in mind, but what about my other needs, such as healing from Drake? Would it be fair to put anyone else in the middle of my hurt?

Fuck it all. My mind made it sound like Gagné was there for the plucking, although that might not have been the case. He appeared to be straight, but the soulful gazes we’d shared in New York and the uncomfortable moments outside the Plaza Hotel made me hesitate. I hadn’t even found the courage to invite him inside for a drink, and when I didn’t, it seemed like he might take the initiative.

After an hour of internet stalking, I’d found at least a dozen stories about his exploits with women, going back quite a while. Though he’d never been married before Ella, he’d apparently dated every woman he met. None of the relationships lastedlong, and his string of hookups, along with photos of an illicit encounter in the restroom at a club in Los Angeles, solidified his reputation as a playboy extraordinaire.

His divorce had been all over the news for months, and recent reports hinted at a connection with one of Hollywood’s most popular actresses. None of that meant he didn’t fuck around with guys too, but if he did, shouldn’t at least one reporter have hinted at it? Maybe Gagné was just a hot, oversexed guy who craved attention. I’d known men who were happy to flirt with me but wouldn’t have been caught dead touching a guy.

I reached for my cologne and applied a little more than usual, enough to be sure he smelled it. God, you’d have thought I was going on my first date when I didn’t even know if itwasa date.

As I put the cologne back on the dresser, I thought about Gagné’s eyes. There was something in them I’d never seen in a straight man before. Even during our fight—at least, after the first moment—he hadn’t seemed angry. Instead, he looked curious, and when he was lying on top of me, his eyes went dark—with lust? I’d have bet a week’s salary he wanted me. Considering how he rubbed his cup against mine and had the most intense bedroom eyes I’d ever seen, I doubted I’d have lost the money.

Time would tell, and with a presumably straight guy, the only thing to do was let him take the lead. Nothing good could come of pushing him into a corner. I could be more assertive after he opened the door, but at least then he couldn’t hold it against me. He was unlikely to start rumors that I’d come on to him, because he wouldn’t know what I might say about it.

As much as I wanted Gagné, I shouldn’t try to rush anything. I needed a friend more than a lover, and it was important to be careful and make a good decision. Another wrong guy might kill me. Drake was living proof that handsome, muscular men hadalways been my weakness, yet they rarely proved to be what I needed. They weren’t interested in me as a person. They wanted what my money could buy, but had no desire for the affection that came with it.

As I’d grown older, emotional connections became more important. The breakup with Drake had been agonizing, showing how much I needed someone who wouldn’t view me as a means to an end. While a fling with Gagné could be fun, his reputation as a serial dater was scary. I couldn’t be judgmental because I’d had my fair share of fuck-a-lot, care-a-little affairs, but I’d moved past all that. Considering how much I needed to find a meaningful bond with someone, a few hookups with Gagné probably wouldn’t be the best way to move forward. If I couldn’t find a man who genuinely loved me, who prioritized me in his life, I might be better off alone.

We’d agreed to meet at a bar on U Street, a DC neighborhood known for its nightlife. I hadn’t been there, though many of my teammates had encouraged me to go. Gagné had warned me parking would be scarce and suggested we take Ubers. As a bonus, we’d be able to drink as much as we wanted.

It was about ten-thirty when I arrived. The area was teeming with people, some strolling on the sidewalks and others venturing into the street. Drivers must have been used to it because they were surprisingly patient. The bar where we’d agreed to meet was popular, bursting at the seams with patrons—so busy it seemed like the crowd was spilling out the door.

I texted Gagné, who responded quickly, saying he was already inside. Following his advice, I slipped twenty dollars to the hostess, who guided me through the bustling crowd toa quieter room upstairs. The atmosphere was more subdued, with groups of people conversing in leather-upholstered booths. Others were talking at the bar.

Gagné, sitting in one of the booths, stood and extended his hand as I approached. After we shook, I looked pointedly at the table, which was large enough to seat six. “Are we expecting others?”

Tilting his lips into that mysterious smirk I hadn’t been able to get out of my mind, he shook his head. “I come here pretty often, so they make room for me.”

We sat, and I positioned myself to face him. “I get it,” I said, shooting a playful grin his way. “The perks of being one of the most popular hockey players in the country.”

A blush spread across his cheeks, and he rolled his eyes. “It isn’t that. They?—”

I snorted. “It istotallythat. I saw how the hostess looked at you when she brought me over.”

As if on cue, a man who looked to be in his late twenties approached us. A girl clinging to him leered at Gagné like she wanted him to go home with them and be a third.

“Excuse us for bothering you,” the man said, “but aren’t you Gags? From the Cudas?”

A trace of annoyance flickered in Gagné’s eyes, but he stood and put on a well-practiced smile. The couple was polite, telling Gagné how much they enjoyed watching him play. Following a brief conversation, the man said, “It’s a huge honor to meet you. Can we send some drinks over to make up for the interruption?”

“No, please don’t,” Gagné replied. “I love meeting people who enjoy the game. Before you go, meet my friend Sven.”

As the man turned to me, recognition dawned. “That’s right,” he said. “You’re the new Congressman.”

I stood, and we all shook hands before they left. When Gagné and I sat back down, he motioned to a nearby server. Once weplaced our orders—a beer for him and a gin and tonic for me—he told the server to add the couple’s tab to his bill. He asked her to concoct a cover story so they didn’t know who had paid. It was a thoughtful act, something I hadn’t done before. While I hadn’t yet decided if he was as arrogant as some websites made him out to be, this simple gesture spoke volumes about something far more important—he had a big heart.

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