Page 26 of Riding Pine
His whole demeanour shifts, and I touch his foot under the table with mine.
“You don’t have to tell me deep stuff on the first date if you’re not comfortable, Ben.”
“It’s not deep, Lukas. My dad didn’t want a son who joined the circus. It’s that simple. The gay part was easy, but he couldn’t bring himself to be proud of his son the acrobat.” He sighs again and shakes his head. “Sorry. I don’t want to bring down the mood. Where did you go to school?”
“Well…it was a very prestigious university that I had a scholarship at.”
“Oh…brains and brawn. I love it. What did you take?”
“I only did a sampling. I didn’t know what I liked, but I do know I hate philosophy.” On paper, it sounded interesting. Reading and listening to a professor talk about it was an entirely different matter. Sorry, Thoreau, but what I listened to put me to sleep.
“You didn’t have to pick a major with your scholarship?” Ben’s brows knit in confusion.
“No. It was a sports scholarship, so I didn’t have to. I just had to maintain an average. Which I did, but I dropped out when I signed a professional hockey contract.”
Ben’s eyes widen. “You play hockey? Is that how you got the black eye?”
“Yeah. It happens frequently. Is that a problem?”
Our server arrives with the pizza, interrupting us long enough that I wonder if he’s going to reply. With hot slices on our plates, Ben blurts, “What team do you play for? Is it professional or just hacking with friends?”
He catches me mid-chew, and after swallowing, I answer. “The Bloomburg Aspens. Not the big show but still professional.”
Ben takes a giant mouthful of pizza and nods. More than once, and I’m not sure if it’s because he’s burning his mouth with pizza cheese and too embarrassed to say it or if I’ve just made him uncomfortable somehow.
“I heard they have a mascot,” he finally says after swallowing and quickly bringing a beer to his lips.
“Yep. First time. A beaver named Slappy. It’s ridiculous, but I guess it pulls people into the seats, and that’s what we need.”
“Heh…yeah. A beaver.” He twists a napkin in his hands.
“Ben, did I say something wrong? You’re…well, not acting like yourself.”
He drinks from his beer bottle and mutters under his breath before whipping his head up and meeting my gaze.
“Listen, Lukas, I like you. In fact, I like you more than anyone I’ve ever slept with. Which is a lot.”
“Uh…okay?” Should I ask how many? Or does he mean he likes me a lot? I’m unclear because he’s being weird. “Thanks? I think?”
“I guess that sounds…not good. Shit. I mean…like…I’ve never dated any of them, but you make me want to date, and I don’t know if I should now because…” He bites his lip, clearly struggling to tell me something.
“Ben, don’t. It’s fine. If you have an issue—”
“I signed a contract, Lukas. That’s my issue. I figured I’d have nine months to work two jobs, and the whole secrecy thing wouldn’t even come up. But then you show up, rock my world, and you’re all…nice and shit.”
When did dating get this weird? This is not how I expected tonight to go. I don’t even know how it’s going, because I don’t understand a single thread of this conversation.
“Ben, I have no idea what you’re trying to tell me.”
He jams another chunk of pizza in his mouth while staring at me as he chews. Am I supposed to figure out what he’s trying to say?
Finally, he swallows and blows out a long breath. “Lukas…it’s me, hi. I’m the beaver, it’s me,” he sings, and my brain tries to reach for how I know that tune.
“Did you just use Taylor Swift to tell me a secret?”
Ben spreads his arms wide. “Yes, and thank you for noticing. I’m a terrible singer,” he sighs, the earlier nervousness returning. “The contract. I signed it with the same damn hockey team you play for. I’m Slappy the Beaver, and I’m not supposed to tell anyone, but I can’t keep that from you. If this works out, how do I tell you after?”
It’s now that I notice Ben is bordering on panic. His knee is bouncing and jostling the table, and none of his usual cockiness appears. No smart comments. Just a man looking at me, hoping I hold the answers.
