Page 29 of The Poster Boy
“Okay, how about this? You’re a shithead.” Boone grinned. “I know you got some. You’re in a better mood than usual.”
“Take that back.” My fake scowl didn’t last long, and eventually I shrugged and looked away. “I can take direction from the captain of my team.”
“You sly dog. Look at you, leaving broken hearts in every city. You’re going to have a twink in every port.”
I almost choked. Myers was no twink.
“Hardly.” I turned my head and looked at Boone again. “Are you sure you’re not the one who needs to get laid? You’re pretty invested in this.”
He stretched out on the couch and put his feet in my lap. I shoved them off, only for him to return them to where they were and wriggle his toes. Sometimes he was like a touch-starved cat. It was probably how he was raised. I think he was used to getting a certain amount of hugs a day, and when he left home, he was deprived of that. The result was a best friend who used my lap for a pillow, or a footstool as the case may be. He liked to sit in close proximity to me when we were watching a movie. I refused to call it cuddling, even though that’s what it was.
There’d never been a spark of attraction between us.Truthfully, I wasn’t surprised that Boone was bi, but I did wonder why he never dated. That was firmly none of my business, though. I wasn’t like Boone. I didn’t want to pry my way into people’s heads and shit. If they wanted to volunteer information to me, great. If not, even better.
“Yes, Boone, I took your advice. And that’s all I’m going to say about it.”
He let out a sigh and wriggled his feet again. “Well, did you at least have fun? Were you safe? Is it true love?” Boone batted his eyelashes at me.
“You’re a?—”
“Shithead,” he cut in, finishing my sentence. “Rub my feet, Brooksie. They ache like the dickens.”
“Like the what? What the hell have you been watching?”
Like a good best friend, I grabbed one of Boone’s feet and worked my thumbs into the arch of his foot. He had strange taste in TV shows and liked old black and white movies. Foreign films. Things with subtitles.
“I forget what it was called. It wasn’t that good, anyway. But I can’t get that phrase out of my head. I hoped that if I used it a couple of times that it might banish it from my brain.”
“I don’t think that’s how that works.”
Boone let out a groan, and he went boneless as I continued to work the muscles in his foot. “When you’re too old to get in hockey fights anymore, you should become a masseuse.”
“Massage therapist.”
“What?”
“They’re massage therapists now.”
“Well, you should do that for a living.”
“I still have a few good years left in me before I think of hanging up my skates, but I’ll keep that in mind.”
I didn’t like thinking about life after hockey. If I had it my way, I’d pretend that I was going to play forever and never think about what I was going to do when my on ice time was up. But now that Boone brought it up, I couldn’t help but wonder what other skills I had besides skating fast, slamming bodies around, and punching people in the face. Those weren’t exactly transferable skills.
“What are you going to do when you retire?” I switched to Boone’s other foot.
“Mmm. Coach, maybe.”
“I think you’d be a good coach. You’re a good captain. You’re bossy. You like it when people listen to you.” Everyone liked him. I left that part out, though, because his head was already swollen enough. But it was the truth. Everyone loved Boone. He was one of those magnetic people who just drew others in effortlessly.
“It’s just a thought.”
“It’s better than professional foot rubber.” I frowned at my word choice.
“I’m putting that on your business card. Jay Brookbank, hockey player and professional foot rubber.”
“I despise you.”
“You don’t hate anyone.” He cracked an eye open and looked at me. “Not even Myers, as hard as you pretend that you do.”
