Breakaway (14 page)

Jared smiled back at him. It was too late to do anything else.

THE FOLLOWING
day, the Renegades beat the Sea Storm 4-3.

Before Lane’s bus left, he sucked Jared off in his truck, and Jared gave him a hand job. Then Jared kissed him and said something lame like, “I’ll talk to you this week,” or something that meant he was going to call, or send him an e-mail—basically saying “Hey, we’re dating” without having to use any of those words.

“If I call you, are you going to pretend it’s a gay sex-phone line? Because you should,” Lane told him. He’d been pissed about losing the game, which got Jared off because he was still a hockey player on the winning team and it turned out that making Lane moan and ask for things after being a cocky bitch on the ice was his new favorite thing. Or one of them.

“I’m not sure if that’s the best idea you’ve had yet, or the worst one I’ve ever heard from anyone,” Jared said.

“I guess we’ll see. The best idea was the one about ordering pizza while we were having sex. But you actually didn’t do that. You waited until we were done.”

Jared reminded himself that that was what he was signing up for. God, he hated the stupid grin on his face but he was getting the same one right back from Lane. So that was okay. “Next time,” he said, and Lane’s blue eyes lit up like summer. He grinned, leaned in to kiss Jared, and bounded out the door.

HAVING A
boyfriend was pretty great, Lane decided. Then he wanted to punch himself in the stomach for thinking things like that at practice. Because then he’d lean against the wall, smile dopily, miss his turn for whatever drill they were doing, and get yelled at to “Stop dreaming about hoisting the Cup over your head, Courtnall.” Which was not what he was daydreaming about. But, of course, that one popped in there too. Finally Lane told himself not to think about Jared at practice, and Lane was good at self-discipline—too good actually, but that wasn’t the point. So that worked out much better.

But he talked about Jared a lot. And since there was only one person he could talk to, Zoe was probably getting tired of hearing it.

“You can tell me to stop talking about him,” he said during one of their weekly walks on the beach.

They tried to go running, but when he told her they might as well walk because she was so slow, she threw a seashell at him. A heavy one.

“I like hearing about it,” Zoe protested in response to his offer. “Plus, I could tell you, but it wouldn’t do any good. You wouldn’t stop talking about him.”

“Yes, I would.” At her look, he sighed. “Fine. I’d try, though.”

“Right. And you wouldn’t, so you might as well tell me. Especially the hot parts, like how he put a shirt in your mouth.” Zoe beamed. “Tell your roommate, Ryan, if he’d let me do that, maybe I’d sleep with him.”

“No. I’m not telling him that. Because he’ll show up at the door with it already in his mouth.” Lane tilted his head and thought about that. “I wouldn’t mind watching if you did that. Sometimes I think about shoving things in Ryan’s mouth. Mostly not shirts, though.”

Zoe was wearing tight black pants, running shoes, and a little jacket thing that zipped up the front. She had her hair back in a ponytail and held off her face with a thing that looked like a sweatband, but she told him that wasn’t what it was called. “It’s an ear warmer. See?” She pointed to the part of the band that covered her ears.

“If you pulled a sweat band over your ears in the winter, it could do that too,” he said. Zoe seemed to think about that for a minute and then admitted he was right.

She was so cute, Zoe. He’d talked to Jared about her once, on the phone. He said sexy stuff, or at least tried to. Mostly he just said that he wanted to see what she looked like naked and if her skin was soft. Jared seemed to like that a lot. Lane liked hearing Jared’s breathing and moans, and how he sounded when he was really turned on.

“You’ve got the dopey look again,” Zoe said, catching up with him. “Uh-oh. And you’re blushing. This isn’t about Ryan. Right?”

Even Lane wasn’t dumb enough to actually tell her, “Oh I talked to Jared on the phone about petting you because he thinks it’s hot, and that got him off. And then he told me about a threesome he had once with a girl and a guy, and that got me off too.”

“Some of your hair…. Here.” Lane tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. And then he gently touched her on the side of the neck, and she nearly jumped a mile.

“What are you doing?”

“Your skin is soft,” he told her defensively. “Sorry?”

“You are the weirdest gay guy, Lane. Though, I guess I shouldn’t expect all gay guys to know about fashion. That’ll teach me to stereotype.” She narrowed her eyes. “Also, why do you keeping touching me?”

“I told you. You’re soft.” Lane shrugged. “It’s just different than what I’m used to.”

Zoe’s cheeks, red from the wind coming off the ocean and from their walk, flushed even brighter. “Lane, look at you. Look at me.” She waited, because by then Zoe knew he’d actually do things that most people meant rhetorically. “You look like an Abercrombie & Fitch ad. And I’m four years older than you, highly envious of your abs, covered in tattoos, and a lot more…. Hot Topic. You following?”

“You said you shouldn’t expect all gay guys to be good at fashion stuff. Remember?”

“Which means you’re not following.” She sighed. “I like you. You’re really the best friend I’ve ever had. And you don’t notice it when we go places, because you are oblivious to everything all the time, but I swear, people are like, why is that guy with the roller-girl wannabe, over there?”

“Roller-girl wannabe?”

“The roller derby. You know. It’s full of girls who look like me, on roller skates, knocking each other over and stuff.”

Lane stopped walking to stare at her. “That might have been the first time in my whole life that I was kind of turned on thinking about girls,” he said seriously.

“Lane,” she said, giggling helplessly. “If you were a little more straight? Okay, no—a lot more straight—I’d probably be in love with you. So don’t go on about this touching thing. What if I get ideas?”

Lane snorted. “You would not. You wouldn’t, Zoe. You like girls who look like the ones who sleep with my roommate, and actually you probably like guys who look more like Jared…. What? I pay attention. You think Ryan’s hot, even though he makes you mad.”

“What on
earth
makes you think that?”

“Because when you see him, you’re annoyed. But you act different than you do when you’re annoyed at me.”

“I actually
like
you, Lane.”

“Yeah. But you don’t want to go to bed with me. Do you? I mean, even if I were straight?”

She sighed. “I feel bad saying it. No? But I don’t know. I should. You are seriously hot.”

“Shh,” Lane whispered, looking around.

“And then you do things like that. I guess, you know, guys that look like you are supposed to be dicks, not nice guys who have hot boyfriends who shove shirts in their mouths and who buy me T-shirts because they feel bad they can’t aim the shirt cannon at me.”

“You should probably get over that, Zoe.”

“Probably,” she agreed. “And I’m curious if that shirt thing would work if I tried it when you start talking a lot.”

“Probably not. I’m a lot bigger than you and have more upper-body strength.” His face stayed serious, but he winked at her. “Zoe, if I were straight, I would definitely have asked to see your tits by now.”

“And then you say
tits
like a straight boy,” she muttered, breaking into a jog to keep pace with him. “Also your legs are too long.”

He slowed his pace again. “Also you said I’m too into them to be gay,” he reminded her. He made a vague gesture at her top. “Tits, I mean.”

“I’m beginning to think that’s just because you’re a male,” she muttered. “I shouldn’t have told you they were pierced. Is that when this started?”

“No. I looked at them before that. I mean the shape of them. You don’t look like a boy.”

“Good job, Lane. Those Canadian hockey tutors sure did teach you well. Didn’t they?” Her drawl was so thick, he could pour it over pancakes. “But you know, I bet I could sleep with you. You’re probably warm, like one of those giant body pillows, but with amazing abs. It’s the sex stuff that’d be weird. You’d pet my boobs. I’d pet your abs. And then we’d cuddle.” She considered that. “I’d consider it if my heat went out.”

“Boobs,” he said, nodding.

Zoe stopped dead in her tracks. “Seriously, are you running a long con on me?”

“I just didn’t know what to call them if not tits.”

“You don’t need to call them anything,” she informed him, and she blushed. “The bisexual girl and the gay hockey player. We could have a sitcom.” She patted him on the back. “I’m glad you have a boyfriend. I really am. Even if I’m a little jealous. Well,”—she made a face—“mostly I just want to get laid.”

“You could come over to my place and play Xbox,” he offered, because video games were the next best thing to getting laid. Weren’t they? “We’ve got pizza. Or will have pizza, because we always do.”

“And what, put the vibrating controller between my legs? Oh my God, you’re blushing. That’s hilarious. You do know girls do that. Right?”

“With my Xbox controllers?”

“Lane.”

He knew it—kind of—thanks to some videos he found on the Internet. “Right. Yeah. And no. I meant, Ryan is there. You could probably use him as a stud or whatever you call that.”

“Stop talking, Lane, and we can get a milkshake at Cruisers before I drop you off at your place.”

Lane nodded solemnly. As he expected, she didn’t last two minutes before she gave up and told him he didn’t have to be quiet. She also said they could still get a milkshake. She knew him pretty well, Zoe.

She didn’t offer to let him pet her, though.

“SO, WAS
that guy your boyfriend or what?” Riley asked, out of the blue, when Lane was over playing Xbox. He spent a lot of time at Riley’s place because Riley lived by himself and liked to cook. Real food too. Not boxed Kraft Macaroni & Cheese and a can of tuna, which was Lane’s only real culinary offering. That night Riley had made something with chicken—actual chicken—and a side. Like at a restaurant.

Lane had no idea what to say. Was it a trick? Lane gaped at him. His mind was racing, he had a sinking feeling in his chest, and what was he supposed to say?

“What guy?” There. That was a completely useless response.

“The one who plays for the Renegades.” Riley pressed some buttons and sighed when his goalie character failed to stop a shot from one of Lane’s players. “I don’t think Martin Brodeur would really have let in that goal.”

For a minute, Lane was really confused and thought Riley was calling him by the name of the legendary goaltender. “Why?” He was going to start hyperventilating or something. What should he do, and how did Riley even know about Jared?

Riley smiled. “It’s okay if he is your boyfriend, Lane. The Renegades’ player, I mean. Not Martin Brodeur. Though that’d be okay too. That’d be really cool actually.”

“How do you even
know
that? About Jared.”

“I saw you with him in Savannah.” Riley nodded at the screen. “You have to take the face-off, or you’ll get a penalty.”

Oh, right. The video game. Lane hit some buttons, and then he thought about it for a minute—really thought about it. Riley was so calm. It was hard to tell if anything bothered him. But he didn’t seem upset or bothered by the idea of Lane being gay.

“Yeah,” he said carefully. “That’s my boyfriend.”

“I thought so,” Riley said. “You should pay attention, though. You just passed the puck to the other team.”

It was too hard to have a revealing conversation and play a video game at the same time. “Can we pause this for a minute?”

Riley nodded. “Sure. Do you mind that I asked you about it? I’ve been trying to figure out if it was okay or not.”

“It’s okay, I’m just surprised, I guess.” Lane shrugged. Now that they weren’t playing, he stared intently at the video-game controller, as if trying to discern its secrets. “Do you not want to be my roommate anymore?” he asked. It felt terrible to have it there between them—this thing that was a big deal and shouldn’t be.

Guess that’s why they call it being out.
Lane hunched in on himself.

“Hey. Could you maybe look up for sec? Lane?”

Lane was horrified that he might do something involving emotions. But if a guy were going to have a problem with him being gay, he should look him in the eyes. Right? Right. Lane looked up at Riley and pulled his shoulders back into a challenging position.

“Whoa.” Riley held up his hands. “It’s totally fine with me, I don’t care. I just thought it must be weird. Because he’s on our rival team and he’s playing so well. Like, you’re probably glad but also want him to stop? That must be hard.”

Lane nodded. “You’re really…. That’s all you want to know about?”

“Oh, no. But it’s all I’ve figured out how to ask about. And yeah, I want to be your roommate. Actually I wish I’d asked you if you wanted to live here before Ryan did. I have that extra bedroom, and no one stays in it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Riley studied him. “I won’t tell anyone. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

Lane shrugged that off. He wanted to ask
Riley
if he was gay, but he almost didn’t want to know. The idea that Riley might be totally straight and just that cool with Lane’s sexuality was almost too tempting, and he never liked to get his hopes up. But if Riley
were
gay, he would want to support him.

This shit was hard. Why couldn’t he just play hockey and go to bed with Jared, play video games with Ryan and Riley, have milkshakes with Zoe, and literally do nothing else, ever?

That is about all you do, though. But without feelings.
Lane was arguing with himself. That’s what feelings did. They drove you crazy. He’d always known it, and here was proof.

“Riley… umm… can I ask if you’re…?” There. Lane would let Riley decide what the question was.