No one on the team will out them, and they’re not exactly flaunting their relationship, so a lot of girls still think they’re straight. As team captains, those two attract a lot of interest, especially when they’re together.
Then again, most of us do.
I shouldn’t complain about the attention, but I meant what I said to Einstein. Sleeping with a woman right now would feel like I’m ignoring something I shouldn’t be. And none of these girls are interested in more than bragging rights about bagging a hockey player.
I’ve gotten it since I was in the juniors.
All the girls worth dating don’t bother with players.
Maybe that’s why I’ve never had a girlfriend.
“I’m going to go get a drink.” I excuse myself and go find the keg, but the farther I walk into the house, the sooner I realize my costume idea was not very original. It must be the costume of the year. I see no less than four others dressed as the Witcher.
I make my rounds and drink some beer, my phone still burning a hole in my pocket. If Einstein hadn’t said he was going out too, I’d probably ditch and go home to chat some more because I can never seem to get enough. He’s addictive, and every conversation reveals another layer to him.
The music is loud, and everyone seems to be trying to get laid or drunk in as little time possible. It’s definitely my usual scene, but I think about what the party Einstein went to is like. Off the walls like this one? Or something more laid-back, casual, and smart like the man I’ve been messaging.
I smother a laugh at myself because I’m thinking about him again.
I leave the makeshift dance room and step out into the hall as the door to the house opens, and Foster Grant steps through. No, wait, that can’t be right. He’s in Montreal.
I stare down at my cup and wonder if it’s been spiked with a hallucinogen.
A few others look at the guy the same way I do. He’s wearing a CU hockey jersey and a black helmet and has a hockey stick.
He glares at his friend. “I told you this costume is stupid. They all think I’m my brother.”
Ah. It’s Seth Grant. The guy I practically crash tackled the other day while I was too distracted.
I’ll be escaping now so we don’t have a reenactment.
Objectively, Seth and Foster look nothing alike for twins, but shit, I didn’t realize it wouldn’t take much to change that fact. All it took was a hockey jersey and to cover up their different hair.
I make my way into the living room and perch myself against a wall before I give up and inevitably reach into my pocket to check my phone.
Nothing.
Einstein’s probably out having fun.
I wonder if he’s ever had a one-night stand. I suppose not if he’s demi.
We couldn’t be more different.
He’s smart, and I’m … I’m not going to call myself a dumbass like I usually do, but I’m not delusional. I’m not academically inclined. He hates hockey, hockey is my life.
On paper, I should not like this guy as much as I do already.
I want to meet him in person and see if the same pull is there, but I’m reluctant to bring it up with him in case he sees it as me pushing.
Zach’s angry goth friend who’s always hanging around him lately catches my eye. She’s in the corner by herself judging people.
Okay, I don’t know if she’s judging people, but that’s what it looks like. She’s the last person I thought I’d see at one of these things.
Her attempt at a costume is a black witch’s hat and a black dress and black boots. Literally she is dressed like herself but with a hat. My guess is she’s not here voluntarily.
I’m about to turn away when a tattoo on her arm catches my attention.
It’s a Pride flag, but not the typical rainbow. It’s black, gray, white, and purple, and inside the flag is a small heart with green, gray, and black stripes. I recognize the colors in the purple one from googling what ace means. I have no idea what the green one inside it means.
Is it rude to go up to someone and say, “Hi, we’ve never spoken, but I know of you, and are you asexual? I have some questions.”
Probably not any ruder than calling my best friend and flat out asking if he’s gay.
Guess I’m going in, then.
I approach her cautiously, and she watches me with something of an amused expression on her face. “Hey.”
She looks like she’s trying not to laugh. “Hi.”
“Ray, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Who forced you to come here, and how much do you want to hurt them?”
She smiles. “My roommate, and so damn much.”
At the same time as, “I have a question” falls from my mouth, she says, “You’re barking up the wrong tree.” She holds up her tattoo for me.