Page 33 of Reckless On Ice

I laugh. “I always look this good.” I run a hand down my fitted button-down shirt tucked into slacks. I dressed up for the game when I had to hide the mark on my neck. It’s a good thing, too, because I wouldn't have wanted to show up here looking casual. Not after I just decided I’m going to be more open about who I am, and that means living out loud a bit more.

“You really do,” she says appreciatively. “You dance, right?”

I rock my hips with one hand on my stomach and the other hand up, throwing my ass around in a bachata kind of move for her benefit. “Yes, girl, I dance.”

“Shake it, baby!” someone calls from the line along the side of the building.

“Save me a dance, sexy!” I hear from another high male voice. My face heats, but I grin, for once feeling like I’m gettingthe kind of attention I want.

“Looks like I’m going to have competition,” Lilah says, laughing. “Come on, Outlanta put us on a list, and we don’t have to wait in line.” She takes my hand, and we walk up to the door, giving our names to a man with a clipboard who lets us inside.

The club is loud, the pop music remixed and pulsing through the speakers by a live DJ with a dance floor full of people, well, men mostly, dancing with abandon. It’s a beautiful gay buffet of men in all states of dress—from twinks in colorful shorts and mesh shirts, to bears in tight pants with suspenders and no shirts, to himbo guys in tight shirts and jeans, to others who are dressed like me, and more who look like they stepped out of a neon rave all blending seamlessly on the dance floor.

But the one thing they have in common is their joy and freedom to be who they are right out in the open without judgment. It’s so beautiful my eyes prick with tears, and I have to blink rapidly to keep them back. I’ve never allowed myself to go to a club like this for fear of someone finding out my secret.

Lilah and I wander past the bar toward a roped-off VIP area where we’re allowed in by someone from Outlanta when we give our names again. It’s a bit quieter over here, around the corner from the main dance floor, with booths flanking the walls and low tables with buckets of iced-down bottles of champagne, liquors, and mixers. Several groups of large men stand around talking with glasses in their hands, and I imaginethose must be the players who were brave enough to come out to a gay club. I look at Lilah, glad to have her with me in this awkward situation. I don't know anyone here, and these are a bunch of straight, mostly white, hockey players who wouldn't normally go to a gay club.

Suddenly, the crowd parts, and my eyes meet Ryder’s. I can’t look away. He’s staring so intently, and when he starts toward me, it’s like my legs lock up, too. I don't know what to say to him, or how to act after what happened this afternoon, and the way we left things. He kind of used me while trying to push my buttons and then felt weird about it. That doesn't feel good, and I’m tired of him making excuses for his bad behavior when he should know better. I finally blink and look away just as he stops in front of us.

“You came. Let me get you some drinks. What do you want?” he asks.

“Rum and Coke,” Lilah says quickly, easier in the interaction than I am.

“Same,” I say because I can barely think when he’s so close and smells so good, all freshly showered, his hair still damp, and his cologne fresh in his black game-day suit. He looks incredible in a burgundy shirt that sets off his tan skin and does unholy things to his hazel-green eyes, turning them into a shade that looks like the forest at golden hour, with sunlight slanting through the trees.

He nods and turns away to get our drinks. Lilah and I move to one of the booths and sit while we wait. I try to breathe pastthe knot in my chest. This all feels so foreign, being at a gay club, with Ryder present, no less.

“You’re wound so tightly. You okay?” Lilah asks.

“Yeah, just in my head,” I tell her.

“Sounds like you need to dance and let it all go,” she tells me, just as Ryder returns with our drinks and a few guys.

“Knox, Lilah, this is Westin, Rook, Campbell, and Nico. They play with me on the Hydras. Boys, this is my friend Knox, from the Atlanta Condors football team, and you know Lilah, from the Atlanta Free Press,” he says, introducing me to his teammates. He called me hisfriend. That’s something I haven't heard from him in a long time.

I say hey to the guys and take a sip of the drink Ryder brought me, hoping this won't be awkward.

“Man, you were amazing in the game last Sunday. That catch and run you made in the fourth quarter for a touchdown blew my mind. I didn't think you were going to hold on to the ball,” the guy with slick black hair and sparkling brown eyes says as he smiles. Nico, I think is his name.

“Thanks,” I say, amused. “You watch football?” I ask the group.

Two of them nod. “When I can,” Rook says. “I’m a Minnesota fan by birth, but I’m acclimating to Atlanta and starting to warm to the Condors. You’re not bad out there.”

“They may watch football, but I bet you don’t watch hockey,” Campbell challenges.

“Not true. I grew up on it. I’m a lifelong Detroit fan, butI’ve caught all the Hydras games this season, whether on TV or a recording, and I was at the game tonight,” I say with gusto to prove him wrong. It’s easy enough to talk about neutral subjects like our sports.

“You were at the game tonight?” Ryder asks, looking shocked, then pleased.

“Yeah, it was a great game,” I say, looking down so I don't have to think too hard about his smile and the way his shoulders drew back, making him look impossibly broader.

I get to know Ryder’s teammates for a while as we drink and chat until Lilah finally stands up from the booth with an exaggerated sigh. “Y’all can keep talking, but I came here to dance. Anyone joining one of the only single, straight women in the building?” She looks around the group, popping her hip out. Rook and Nico jostle each other as they stand, fighting to get out of the booth area first.

“I’m a Puerto Rican from South Florida, chica. I have better rhythm than all these white boys, so I’m your best bet,” Nico says, taking Lilah’s hand.

“But I have a twin brother and know how to share, so let me join you anyway,” Rook says, sliding in behind Lilah and taking her other hand as she follows Nico.

Standing, I know this is a chance to enjoy myself, too. I feel Ryder’s presence behind me as I make my way to the dance floor. Ignoring him, I focus on Lilah with the two big hockey players she’s captured for the evening. She throws her hands up and circles her hips to the song’s beat as Nico and Rooksandwich her in and dance with her. Knowing her stance on not dating within her city, she’sprobablyjust having fun. I purposefully don't look for Ryder as I nod my head to the beat and get a feel for the rhythm, my body moving as I loosen up.

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