Page 10 of Common Goal
“Oh, you mean the straight man with a wedding ring on his finger? Yes, it was very promising. I expect him to call on me any moment now.”
“Straight, old, and married. Isn’t that exactly your type?”
Kyle flicked a sesame seed at her. “I also like them gay, young, and engaged. I’m very open-minded.”
“Why don’t you go for Aram? He’s a sweetheart and he’s smoking hot.”
“Because he’s one of my best friends and he works with me.”
“You just exactly described Kip.”
“Yeah, but—” Kyle wasn’t sure how to elegantly finish that sentence, so instead he sputtered out some nonsense. “Kip was a crushfirst. Like, I saw him one night at the Kingfisher with his friends and I wassmitten. We flirted a bit, and I really thought I’d be taking him home that night. But then he left. The next time he came back, you were there. I think it was his birthday.”
“Oh yeah. I was super drunk that night.”
“You all were. And once again, I thought I’d be leaving with him at the end of the night. Turns out, of course, he was secretly dating Scott at the time.”
“And then there was that time you kissed him.”
Kyle dropped his head back on his folded arms. “And then there was that time I kissed him.” He raised his head. “But in my defense, hereallyled me to believe that he wanted it. He showed up alone, sat at the bar and flirted with me all night.”
“Getting drunk alone. Always a sign of emotional stability.”
“Iknow. I should have realized something was wrong. Honestly, I probably did, but I chose to ignore it because it was mychance. He left withme. And then I kissed him and...” He squeezed his eyes shut as if he could erase the memory. “I’m just glad we’re friends now.”
“I am too. But mostly I’m glad thatwe’refriends now.”
“Totally. It was worth all this heartache and embarrassment to have you making coffee for me in the mornings.”
“It’s the least I could do.”
It was true that Kyle had offered Maria a pretty sweet deal. Because the apartment had been paid for by his wealthy parents, Kyle didn’t even charge Maria rent. She just helped with the groceries and bills. Kyle had thought he’d prefer to live alone, but mostly he’d felt guilty about having so much space to himself. Plus, he’d been lonely.
“What are you up to today?” Kyle asked.
“I have to meet with my group for a school project this afternoon.” A year and a half ago, Maria had completed the entrance exam for the police academy and passed with flying colors. Then she’d swiftly decided that she wanted, in her words, to actually help people. Immigrants, like her own parents, in particular. So she was now studying Human Services at a local college. “How about you?”
“I might wrap myself in a blanket and binge that Alyssa Edwards Netflix series.”
Maria stood and patted him on the shoulder as she took her dishes to the sink. “You earned it, buddy.”
Eric fought the tremble that crept up his body from where he was balancing on his forearms. He took deep, controlled breaths and commanded his body to settle. His body, as always, obeyed.
Eric loved that feeling, when his body accepted the pain and pushed through it. He’d started practicing yoga fifteen years ago to increase his strength and flexibility on the ice, but now he considered his daily practice a gift he gave himself. He loved being perfectly attuned to everything his body was doing. Everything it gave him when he asked, and everything it asked of him. Some days he could easily hold a vertical pose like this one for well over a minute. Today his body was fighting him.
Three more breaths, he told his body. His left shoulder—the one he’d had two operations on during his career—had been tight lately but seemed all right now. His body had taken a lot of abuse over his decades of stopping pucks, and he knew he wouldn’t walk away from this game without some permanent souvenirs, but he could try to keep them to a minimum. He could treat his body with the respect it deserved, and control what went into it, and what he did with it between games.
One more deep inhale and exhale, and Eric slowly curled his extended legs back toward his torso and came out of the handstand. He finished his practice, going easier on his body with the final poses, and taking care to listen to what his body was telling him.
Eric knew what his body needed. It was grumbling about it now, but at night it practically screamed. It had been far too long since he’d last had sex.
As he headed downstairs to his kitchen, his thoughts involuntarily turned to Kyle. He was sure that Kyle flirted with lots of men—it was practically his job to do so—but Eric couldn’t help the fact that Kyle had captured the seldom-used lurid part of his imagination.
It was absurd. Kyle was young and, flirting aside, probably had no real interest in an old man like him. In fact, Eric was very sure that Kyle was hopelessly in love with Kip, based on the way he’d gazed longingly at Kip at the party. Scott and Kip’s happiness seemed to pierce Kyle like a blade. If Kip was Kyle’s type, then Eric definitely had no chance.
No chance. Jesus. No chance ofwhat?What did Eric even want?
Eric filled a glass with water and drank it down quickly. He refilled the glass, then returned his water pitcher to the fridge and grabbed a jar of overnight breakfast quinoa. He stood at the window in his kitchen and watched the morning traffic on 36th Street as he ate. The large house he’d shared with Holly had been on Long Island with a spectacular view of the water. But Eric preferred this: a front-row seat to the bustle of Manhattan. This Murray Hill townhouse suited him better in every way.
