Only One Bed

Behind me, the bathroom door opened, and Sam moaned. “Mmm. That smells amazing.”

When I turned, of course he was only wearing the towel around his waist. It wasn’t that he was all buff with a six-pack or whatever. He was slim and what people would probably call “average.” But he was Sam. Screw six-packs. I wanted to rub my face all over his soft belly and lick his nipples and smell his hairy armpits.

The machine poured a stream into the mug, and I added two packs of sugar and two fiddly little containers of cream before facing Sam again. “Double—”

Towel pooled at his feet, Sam bent over his duffle, ass just…right there. He stepped into his black boxer briefs and pulled them up, glancing over his shoulder.

“Double,” I finished.

“Thanks, man. You didn’t have to give me the first cup.” He took it from me with a smile.

“No prob!” I jabbed at the machine and put another mug under the spout. I had to limit sugar, and I’d been drinking my coffee black for a few years. I burned my tongue gulping it too fast.

“I almost forgot—merry Christmas. Belatedly.” Sam held out a little clumsily wrapped package. It was mostly tape and a piece of snowman paper bent around a narrow object.

“What?” I took it hesitantly. “We never give each other presents.”

“I know.” He shrugged and sipped his coffee. “It’s nothing. Made me think of you, that’s all.”

Pulse racing, I pried off the tape and ripped the paper open to find a black Batman key chain, the wings spread wide. There was a half-circle hole under the pointy-eared head. It took me a second. “Oh! A bottle opener?”

“Yep.” He grinned. “Remember when we brought in the contraband beer to the movies and realized the stupid bottles weren’t twist-tops?”

I laughed. “How could I forget? Trying to slam them open on the arm rests without breaking the bottles as the beer got warm as piss and all shaken. Why the hell didn’t we bring cans?”

“Because we were dumbasses. And it was that Batman movie we went to see. So, next time you need a bottle opener…”

“Hopefully I won’t be in a movie theater.” I dug around in my suitcase for my keys and attached the new ring. “Thank you. I don’t have anything for you, though.”

He scoffed. “Hello, I’m crashing in your cabin and getting a vacation. And the key chain was, like, ten bucks.”

“Thanks.”

As we drank our coffee and relaxed against propped-up pillows, scrolling our phones, Sam’s words echoed in my head like the sweetest music.

“Made me think of you.”

I told myself to cut the shit and opened Instagram. Naturally, the first pic in my feed was Chloe Desjardins and Phillipe Vincent’s Christmas post from yesterday. They were sitting in front of a roaring fire with their rescue dogs, both of them managing to look glamorous in matching reindeer flannel pajamas.

Ugh.

“What?” Sam asked beside me.

I must’ve made a disgusted noise out loud. “Nothing. Just Chloe and Phillipe being perfect and grateful and loving everyone on Insta.” I flashed the screen at him.

He grimaced. “I wish they weren’t so nice.”

“I know. But they are. I didn’t realize how much until we moved to Hackensack. We’re not even competition for the top teams, but no one’s nice. Yaroslav says you can be friendly, or you can be a champion.”

“That’s bullshit,” Sam said firmly. “Henry’s been world champion, and he’s more than nice. He’s one of the kindest people I’ve ever met. And…” He hesitated. “I know it’s good to train in a competitive environment. It breeds champions and all that. But when you and Bree were coached by Laura back home, people were nice, weren’t they?”

“Yeah. It was so different there.” I breathed through a pang of longing. “But Yaroslav coaches six of the top teams in the world. Can’t argue with success.” I stared at the picture of Chloe and Phillipe. “At least they’ll be back with their coaches in Montreal.”

“You should unfollow them. Forget about what they’re doing and focus on your own training.”

“I wish, but if I unfollowed them, fans would notice. We can’t look like we’re salty about them coming back.”

“Well…” He sighed. “Yeah. I wish I could say no one would notice your unfollows, but I’ve seen enough of the diehard skating fans to know better.”

We lapsed into silence again, sipping and scrolling. Even though we hadn’t seen each other in person for more than a year, we could have been back in high school. It was still so comfortable between us, which was a relief. I didn’t know what I’d do without this. And if it could be more…

Nope, forget it, don’t go down that path.

A text from Bree appeared at the top of my screen, and my gut clenched.

Hey. Feeling a little dizzy. Can we push back practice half an hour?