Page 9 of Between the Pipes

“Why don’t you have a TV? Or anything on your walls? Or anything…anywhere.” The space feels clinical; it feels like this is a long-term care facility, that he’s been admitted to. He sighs, closing his eyes and rubbing more vigorously at his temple.

“I don’t watch TV.”

I wait, but apparently the rest of the question is going to be ignored. “Do you like to read?” I ask, even though I haven’t seen a single book on the premises.

“Yes. I listen to audiobooks.”

“Cool.” The kettle begins to whistle, and Nico drops his hand away from his temple and turns away from me. The kitchen fills with the scent of peppermint and my stomach grumbles. “Hey, do you mind if I bring my food in here and eat?”

“That’s fine,” he answers, without turning around.

I’m out to the car and back again in less than five minutes. In that time, Nico has prepared his tea and is seated at the dining room table, long legs stretched out in front of him. There is a plate and silverware set up across from him, as well as my beer, which he’s poured into a glass. He hasn’t set out a plate for himself, even though I ordered more than enough food to feed us both. When I sit down, Nico opens his eyes and squints at me.

“Do you have a headache?” I ask. He’s been rubbing his temples, and was just sitting in a dim room with his eyes closed.

“No.”

Sighing, I begin unpacking the to-go containers. My stomach gives another loud grumble, and I catch Nico’s lips twitching into a smile. “You want some of this?”

“No,” he says again. He might not have a headache, but I’m going to get one from the strain of holding a conversation with him. “You can use the microwave, if you need to heat it up.”

“This is fine.” I shrug. It’s still warm enough. Bending over the plate, I apply myself to eating, conscious of Nico doing nothing more than watching me. For some reason, this makes me nervous. Below the table, I adjust my legs and bump his feet. “Sorry.”

Despite him telling me he doesn’t want any, he reaches across the table and steals a french fry. Without acknowledging this, I nudge my plate closer to his side of the table and continueeating the burger. He’s made his way through half of my fries before he speaks.

“I should apologize, for assuming you’d…for assuming you’d give me a hard time about my sexuality.” He pauses, collecting his thoughts. “I go there because it’s off the beaten path, and I wasn’t expecting to see someone I knew. So, sorry.”

As far as apologies go, it sounds sincere, although he looks like he just bit into a lemon. I didn’t need to hear it, but I appreciate the gesture. Looking up, I try to catch his eye. When his green eyes finally catch on mine, my stomach gives another flutter of nerves. I didn’t realize hazel eyes came in that precise color.

“Thanks. It’s okay, I understand where you were coming from.” And I really do. Cor felt like he had to hide from me and I’ve known him for years; I only just met Nico today. He’s watching me, fingers idly turning the mug of tea. With the kitchen smelling strongly of peppermint, my beer no longer sounds appealing. Feeling daring, I lean forward and hook a finger through the handle of his mug, pulling it toward me. It slips through his fingers, and I maintain eye contact as I bring it to my lips and take a sip.

When I place the mug back on the table between us, he snatches another fry off of my plate. He looks less pissed off now; more relaxed. It’s a much better look on him—I can only imagine what he’d look like if he actually smiled.

“I wouldn’t expect an NHL player to be so accommodating. About seeing two men on a date,” he clarifies.

“Why?” Burger forgotten, I frown at him.

“Because there aren’t any queer players in the NHL.”

Snorting, I try to control my expression, but it’s impossible. “Really? None?”

Nico narrows his eyes at me, but remains silent, refusing to take the bait. Eventually, he gives one shake of his head andlooks down at the table. It bothers me that he’s lumping every hockey player into one bigoted entity.

“Were you out to your team, in the AHL?” I ask, trying to figure him out. Unfortunately, it’s immediately apparent that this was the wrong question to ask. His brows lower over his eyes in a deep scowl, and his jaw clenches.

“No,” he says. Evidently, this is his favorite word.

I wish I could tell him about Troy and Corwin. For some reason, I get the feeling that he’s waiting for me give him a hard time. The way he looks at me stinks of mistrust, and it makes me uncomfortable. I want him to like me, damnit.

“I won’t say anything about you to anyone.” Finishing off the burger, I dust my fingers over the plate. “Well, I’ll probably tell my friends about you being an ass. But I’ll leave out the gay part.”

“I’d appreciate it.” Nico’s lips twitch again, and he lifts the mug to his mouth in an effort to cover it up. I notice he drinks from the same side I did, and a sliver of heat winds its way down my spine.I guess we’ll just have to date each other, he said earlier.Yes, please, I think, and surprise myself.

My plate is empty, so I push back from the table and bring it to the kitchen with my still-full glass of beer. I load my stuff into the dishwasher and turn to find Nico still sprawled in his chair, turning the mug in a steady circle and watching me.

“I do have a headache,” he admits.

“Do you have medicine?” He didn’t give me a tour so I have no idea where the bathroom is. I pop open the freezer door and peek in. “Or an icepack?”

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