Then Theodore shot off the bed and into the bathroom. I listened to him vomiting, guilt washing away my resentment. I considered bringing him a bottle of water from the mini bar, wondering whether it was better to try and help or give him privacy and not intrude. Even though it was my room.
In the end, I was still debating when he emerged red-faced with his hands in his pockets. “Sorry. Tequila was a bad idea. I forgot that it makes me puke.”
There was a soft knock on the door, and Theodore showed his ID to the employee and took the new key card. He smiled at me, but it was more of a grimace. “Thanks, man. Sorry for barging in. See you at gala practice. I’ll try not to be too hungover.” He waved and was gone.
His suit jacket remained where I’d hung it properly over the chair. I folded it over my arm and opened the door, but the hallway was already empty. His room must have been close by.
Suddenly, I wished I knew the number so I could return his jacket and give him the water. Did he have toothpaste and a toothbrush? Surely he did. I had Listerine, and it would help to gargle with it to get the acid aftertaste out of his mouth.
I considered knocking on every door on the floor until I found him, but eventually retreated into my room. I pulled off the coverlet, folding and leaving it on the spare bed.
I discovered Theodore’s tie crumpled on the tile floor in the bathroom and ironed it before carefully rolling it into the pocket of his jacket.
Chapter Six
Theo
Even though I was in a new city, launching the hookup app was like opening the fridge and seeing the same chicken breasts and broccoli inside.
Granted, it was barely eight o’clock in the morning and the rink was in the middle of nowhere so no one was raring and ready to go nearby, but I could still scroll the local options who weren’t online.
Meh.
I’d caught a ride with Henry even though my first session wasn’t until nine. I figured I could still relax while I was waiting and drink my extra-extra-large black coffee.
I’d convinced Henry to hit the Tim Hortons drive-through since it was on the way. I wasn’t picky about coffee as long as it was full of caffeine, but Henry had turned up his nose, sticking to his thermos of whatever he brewed himself. I thought it was green tea or something.
Watching Henry drill his quad Sal, I licked the last crumb of sugar from the maple dip donut I hadn’t been able to resist, trying not to feel too guilty. I’d had an egg and ham breakfast sandwich too, though Henry had clearly disapproved.
He probably made his own power bars of oats and tofu or whatever. But I’d be on the ice four hours total today with two hours of cardio off-ice, plus strength work. A little sugar boost wouldn’t hurt, even if my mother would really, really disagree.
I scrolled the app. It was all cauliflower and protein shakes when I wanted…what? Chocolate cake? Filet mignon? Mmm, bacon. Hell, I’d settle for a butternut squash. Or maybe a rutabaga. Radishes. Anything but more carrot sticks. I wanted the hookup equivalent of that maple dip donut.
I watched Henry power around the rink and land Sal after Sal consistently. He missed a few, but not many, and the running edge on his landings really was gorgeous. He didn’t rush through elements like I did sometimes. And his black pants clung to his long, lean legs and his ass…
Jesus, I really was horny if I was thinking about Henry Sakaguchi’s ass.
I opened the virtual fridge again, knowing the same shit would be inside. I tried another app, scrolling aimlessly past headless abs. Did Henry have a profile?
He’d seemed adamant that he didn’t, but hmm. I tried to remember glimpsing him in the locker room and what his chest looked like, but I’d really never paid attention.
Probably not much hair. Lean muscles, flat stomach. Pinkish nipples. Would he have a little hair under his bellybutton? Was he cut or uncut? What did he like? Was he as innocent as he seemed?
I gulped down the rest of my now cold coffee and fidgeted on the bench. Popping a boner at the rink wasn’t in my training plan, but it sure did wake me up.
Enough pondering Henry’s imaginary hookup app profile. He was way too uptight to have one. I couldn’t imagine him relaxing enough to actually have sex or have fun doing it. He’d be the most boring lay ever.
A few hours later, I sat in the small linoleum-floored, orange-walled lunchroom in the dungeon by Manon and Bill’s office. There was a microwave and fridge and a few round tables.