“Not really,” Jess says, proving she’s still the same trustworthy vault she’s been since we were in middle school. “Just work drama, but I’m on top of it.” She glances back to me, pushing her glasses up her nose. “So, I guess we should tell Ian not to bother coming over tomorrow night?”
“Or give up on Sex Class altogether,” Cam says, with a yawn. “I hate to be Danny Downer, but I don’t think Ian is going to be able to help us. His experience is skewed by being a hot, famous professional athlete. Our dating lives aren’t really comparable, if you know what I mean.”
“You’re hot, Cam,” I say, arching a brow as he yawns again, showcasing his tonsils. “When you remember to cover your mouth when you yawn, of course.”
He chuckles. “Sorry.”
“And you can cook,” Jess says. “I know tons of girls who would date you for the gourmet meals alone. You just need to find a woman who’s food motivated and likes nice guys.”
“Or I could embrace my dark side,” he says with a sleepy grin that makes his dimples pop.
Jess and I both laugh.
“Hey, I have a dark side,” he says, glancing down at his pajama pants with the sleeping cats on them. “Though I can see your point. I’d need a wardrobe change.”
“And a personality transplant,” I say. “You’re a sweetheart, Cam. And that’s one of the best things about you. You shouldn’t change that to pull tail, especially if you want the tail to stick around long term. You want to find someone who’s smart enough to adore you just the way you are.”
Cam sighs. “That’s the dream, anyway. Thanks, Evie.” He glances back and forth between us. “What do we think? Should we tell Ian we’ll find our way on our own? I vote yes.”
“I think so, too,” Jess says, turning back to her screen. “He means well, but you’re right, he’s not on our wavelength. Will you text him for us, Evie? Tell him it’s not him, it’s us, or whatever gentle breakup thing you should say to your amateur sex therapist.”
“Yeah, I will,” I say, backing toward my room.
“But is that okay with you, Evie?” Cam asks. “I mean, you get a vote, too, and I think it should be unanimous. Otherwise, I’m happy to resume class next week or whatever.”
“I agree with you guys,” I say. “I think this is a journey we each have to make on our own.”
But once I’m tucked away in my room, I don’t text Ian right away. Instead, I sit staring at our text thread, wondering if I should cancel our meeting, as well, and not for the reasons I gave Jess. If I’m honest, it’s not worry about all the stressful things on Ian’s plate that’s tempting me to cancel; it’s the way I felt last night.
Like I never wanted our co-ed naked play time to end.
Like I would be perfectly happy if I died right there on the floor of his apartment, as long as I got to come again on his wickedly talented mouth first.
Like I wanted to stay and sleep in his big, cozy-looking bed with him, wake up with his arms around me, and share our plans for the day over breakfast. I want to be with him, enjoy him, support him, and not just as a friend.
“Looks like you’re as bad at casual as you are at trying to start something serious,” I mutter to myself, while my gut quietly, but insistently warns that this longing I’m feeling will only get worse if Ian and I seal the deal Friday night.
But when I craft my final text, all I say is—Sex Class is off for Thursday and on pause for the indefinite future. Jess and Cam are busy tomorrow, and we all agree this may be the kind of thing we’ll have to figure out on our own. Even if it’s hard. But we all appreciate your offer and all the work you did for us.
Bubbles fill the screen and then—I get it. I’ve been having fun with my research but you’re probably right. There are too many variables at play. And if teaching people to find a great sex partner or true love were easy, someone smarter than I am would have figured it out by now.
I sigh and reply—I think you’re very smart, but yeah…relationships are hard.
He shoots back a smiley face emoji and—But at least we’re easy. Looking forward to Friday with you. And not just because kissing you is fun. I really enjoy your company, Feisty.
Throat going tight, I text—You, too. Off to tackle homework, sleep well!
I add a gif of a cartoon kitten covering another cartoon kitten with a blanket that’s cute and playful, but I don’t feel either of those things.
I feel…torn. Worried.
And excited, so excited I’m going to be at our meeting place on Friday with bells on, no matter how dangerous my feelings for Ian are becoming.
Chapter 22
Ian
Friday morning practice starts off strong. We’re actually running new plays without anyone bitching and moaning about it, and Sven the Dick is clearly hungover, despite the ban on drinking during the week, and doesn’t have the energy to cause his usual level of trouble.
I feel hopeful that we might be turning a corner as a team until we settle in for our eleven a.m. group therapy session and Braxton, of all people, has a meltdown, tells Sandra, our therapist, to “respectfully, fuck off,” and storms out of the room.
Braxton is one of the few guys I can usually count on to be a team player and put the game first. If he’s getting sucked into the drama, I’m not sure how much hope there is for the Ice Possums in their current incarnation.
And maybe that’s okay.
Maybe this is what we deserve.
Thousands of players would kill for a chance to be part of an NHL team. If these guys are too angry and childish to realize how lucky they are, then maybe they’re going to reap what they’ve sown and be out of a job sooner than some of them expect.
But as one of the few players who have been with the Possums since the beginning, I’ve proven that I can be part of a functional team. Those first few years, we were good. Not great, but we had promise. But I can’t bring that promise to fruition on my own. I’m just one man and maybe it’s time to admit that I can’t solve this problem, no matter how much I want to.
It’s like with Evie and her friends. You can only take another person so far, no matter how pure your intentions.
But at least Cam, Evie, and Jess were invested in giving my suggestions a shot. These men stopped listening to me a long time ago and you can’t help people who refuse to help themselves.
After another shitty afternoon practice, I text my agent—Looking forward to our Monday meeting. I’m about ready to admit defeat and get out before it’s too late.
Fred texts back almost immediately—So happy to hear that, buddy. You have no idea. Want to swing by my office now? I have an opening at four and some very exciting news to share with you.
I can’t, I shoot back, not even stopping to consider it, I have plans this afternoon, but I’ll be there with bells on come Monday.
All right, he replies, but be ready to pull the trigger by then, okay? We’re running out of time to make a deal before the preseason starts. And I’m not sure how long the interested parties will stay interested. And yes, I did say parties. Plural. The Badgers aren’t the only ones looking for an experienced defender with a great rep. You’ve got options, good ones, and I, for one, can’t wait to see you finally get the kind of respect and support from a team that you deserve.