Page 21 of The New Guy
Oops. Having bursitis inbothhips would be more fun than talking about my stupid life. “There isn’t a story. I just don’t usually pick up guys.”
Finished with me, he releases my leg to the padded table. “Because…?”
This isn’t a conversation Ieverhave, so I try out a few answers in my head.
Because of conversations like this.
Because it could cost me my career.
Because reminding myself what I’m missing just makes things worse.
“Because I can’t,” I say lamely. “Not at the moment.” And when you’re always the new guy, that moment never seems to arrive. “I’m bisexual, as I’m sure you, uh, noticed. But I don’t date men. Or anybody, really.”
His eyes widen. “And nobody knows?”
“Nobody but you. I’d prefer if you would keep it in confidence.”
He makes a noise of surprise. “Of course I will. Jesus. But that sounds…” His voice softens, and his curious gray gaze pins me down. “Lonely.”
Suddenly I feel vulnerable. I’m lying here like a beached whale, and I hate it. So I sit up and swing my legs off the opposite side of the table, turning my back to his prying eyes. I need to get out of here. “You probably think I’m a coward,” I mumble. “But it’s complicated.”
“I bet,” he says quietly. “Sounds like maybe you could use a friend, though.”
My heart gives an ugly squeeze. Never mind that he’s right, I don’t like how pathetic it sounds. “Right, because the poor, confused hockey player doesn’t have any of those?”
“Hudson…”
“No. You can fix my hip, okay? But you can’t fix my life.”
He makes another irritated noise. “Messagereceived. I’ll still keep your damn secrets, though. It’s kind of insulting to ask. Maybe you could also refrain from mentioning that I shot my mouth off about Brooklyn’s prospects that night in the bar. You’re not the only new guy here.”
I snort. “Hell, I’d forgotten that part. So disloyal. I guess we both have blackmail material. You were rooting for Boston, for fuck’s sake. Why is that?”
“My husband was a big fan.”
Husband. That startles me to such a degree that I turn and look him in the eye again. “Was?”
“Yeah.” His eyes burn with sudden fury. “He passed away two years ago in a car accident.”
“Ohshit.” Just more of my eloquence.
“…Your life is complicated, I get that,” he says, grabbing a spray bottle and aggressively misting the table. “But maybe you’re not the only one? Next time you’re short with me, remember that my only sin was liking you. For a whole hour or two, you were the most exciting thing that happened to me in years. And the first person I kissed since the last one died. But hey—no big deal! You’ve got games to win. Go ice your hip and beat Philly.”
He grabs a fresh towel and wipes the table down like it’s on fire.
And it takes me an awkward minute to realize I’ve been dismissed.
SEVEN
Hudson
We do beat Philly.
Then I ice my hip.
My dad calls and tells me seventeen little things I could have done better.
They’re all accurate.
