Page 40 of Goaltender Interference

Come visit soon, okay?

I will.

He must have been shifting around too much because he woke Matt, who blinked at him for a second before reaching for his own phone. He opened up the Notes app and said, “Okay, look, if you can’t think of anything, I’m just going to keep a running list for you.”

“I don’t—”

Matt ignored him. “Bean counter?”

“That’s Ward...”

“Bean farmer?”

“Matt.”

“Juggler? You are pretty good at that; you could always take it on the road.”

“Matt—”

“Mime?” Matt typed the words with his thumb, without looking at the screen; his full attention was on Aiden, torn between horror and laughter. “Mime could work, you’rehandsome enough people would probably give you a pass for being creepy.”

“Oh my god—”

“Yoga teacher?”

Aiden actually thought about that one for a second. “I mean, Icould.”

“You walked my inflexible ass through it, you could probably teach anyone.”

“I don’t think I, uh, want to do that with anyone else, you know...” Aiden had a momentary mental image of how yoga with Matt had usually ended—in bed or on the floor—and of the kinds of people who’d be in a yoga class he taught, the way he’d had to turn down people’s numbers in the yoga classes he attended on his own throughout the years. He shuddered.

“Sex therapist?”

“Excuse me?”

“It was just a thought,” Matt said, the corner of his mouth tipped up. “Again, it works for me...”

“No.”

“Personal trainer?”

“I mean, same problem with yoga, really.”

“Real estate?”

“I hate talking to people I don’t know—”

“Phlebotomist?”

“Is that even a real word?”

Matt set the phone down, took Aiden’s face in both hands and said, “Baby, that’s the person who draws your blood.”

“I didn’t—uh—” Aiden started to say, but then Matt licked his lower lip, sucked it gently into his mouth, and Aiden stopped arguing. Matt’s mouth was so soft under his, so fucking tender that it almost killed him. Matt’s eyelashes fluttered, eyes closing. After a few minutes, though, he pressed his hand against Matt’s chest, pushing him back. “I...thanks, you know?”

“For what?”

“For not treating me like I’m fucking dying, or with kid gloves. I don’t know. Thank you. This is the first time I could laugh about this, even a little bit.”

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