Page 9 of Cold Comeback
TDrake:wow captain. praise? in my house?
Gideon:Don’t make it weird
TDrake:too late. printing it out and framing it over my door so i have to walk under it on the way to the ice
Gideon:I’ll take it back
TDrake:you can’t, it’s in the cloud now
A photo icon blinked. I told myself not to open it. Opened it anyway.
It was just his taped wrist and forearm, captioned:support the puck?Nothing explicit. Still suggestive. Still more than I should be staring at this late at night.
Gideon:Don’t fish for attention
TDrake:wow. captain cold. thought u liked good tape jobs
Another photo icon blinked before I could decide to block him. It was Thatcher in the mirror, hoodie shoved up one-handed to mid-torso. No face, just the slope of abs under damp skin, a line of tape residue still clinging to his wrist, and the suggestion of hipbones where the waistband of his shorts slung low.
Not obscene. Not safe either.
The same hands that had folded his gear this morning, and had taken notes like a rookie, were now holding a phone with the easy confidence of someone who knew exactly what he was doing to me.
My heart did the thing it does right before a faceoff, and I pretended to ignore it.
Gideon:Shirt down. Now.
Three dots. He didn’t.
TDrake:that a rule or a request
Gideon:Team rule. also asking
TDrake:what happens if i break it?
Gideon:Break it and see
TDrake:put me in the box, Cap'n
I swallowed nothing and it went down like something.
Gideon:Decide: praise or penalties
TDrake:praise is nice. penalties are fun. decisions are hard
TDrake:tell me what to do and i’ll pretend to hate it
Gideon:Don’t make me block you
TDrake:you won’t. you like good habits
Gideon:Prove it tomorrow
There was a pause long enough to let my pulse attempt returning to normal.
TDrake:yes, Sir
Two words. Too much in them. My thumb hovered over delete, but it was too late. Discipline starves if you don’t feed it. I’d let mine go hungry.
