| |
LATER THAT MORNING
Twin Cities Ice Arena
***
DONE WITH HIS OWN SKATING for the day, Aaron dug in his bag for a clean pair of socks. He’d have to be back at the rink later to teach, but for a few hours at least, his time was his own.
His phone barked with an incoming text.
Zack: Hello, Aaron.
Aaron wondered where Zack was right now. For people who didn’t live and die by the ice, the work day was just beginning. Perhaps he was holed up somewhere writing. Or recovering from whatever bruises he’d earned in his lesson. Aaron wasn’t sure what journalists did when they weren’t doing interviews or typing things.
But he wanted to find out. Zack had shown up yesterday, and this morning had submitted himself with a surprising willingness to Aaron’s instruction. Aaron approved of that nearly as much as he approved of his tattoos, sadly not seen since yesterday’s introductory meeting. Also his general physique, which Aaron had gotten to spend a lot of time assessing while Zack grabbed on to him and tried not to fall over.
Aaron: You still wanna do coffee?
Zack: If you do.
Aaron frowned at his phone. Either Zack was pissed off at him, or was one of those odd creatures who precisely punctuated their text messages. Given the whole journalist thing, Aaron decided to assume the latter.
Aaron: Def. What time? I need to go home and shower, and I have to be back here at four to teach some of the little kids. There’s a cafe not too far from TCI, I’ll send the address... can meet you there at like two?
Zack: I’ll see you there.
Aaron hummed to himself and went back to looking for his socks.
***
FORTUNATELY FOR AARON, Charlotte had a class at Concordia that afternoon which meant he could get home and shower without offering her an explanation of his coffee date with Zack. If Katie had been askance at the idea, Charlotte was going to be downright appalled.
He took entirely too long deciding what to wear, given that Zack had already seen him in practice clothes and the rest of his wardrobe only provided two options: t-shirts and formalwear.
He finally picked the shirt with a fish skeleton emblazoned on it that Huy had brought back for him from Vancouver a couple of years ago, made sure his curls were the appealing side of messy, and headed back to his car.
Zack wasn’t there yet when Aaron got to the café, but that allowed Aaron to take his time catching up with his favorite barista before he settled in at a table by the window. There were exposed brick walls on two sides of the café, plus tin ceilings and lots of warm dark wood paneling. None of it was original; the building itself was maybe thirty years old. But Aaron liked the decor and was fond of the calm, workaday atmosphere. There was always at least one group of college students huddled over notebooks and laptops, and on Friday nights the café hosted a board game club. It was a frequent escape for the TCI skaters, and once the season started Aaron would have been sure to encounter at least one of his compatriots there. But with so few people back in town, the odds of running into anyone he knew were low.
He stirred honey into his tea as he people-watched out the window. The early afternoon sun was bright and very welcome; Aaron already missed the fresh air and sunshine of the islands.
Still, Saint Paul had its perks. Aaron watched as a deep blue Mazda crossover parked at the curb and Zack got out. The sight of his arms in a possibly too tight black t-shirt made Aaron sigh wistfully and wish that the rink was less cold or that Zack could tolerate it better.
He waved as Zack pushed open the door and didn’t think he was imagining it when Zack’s face lit up at the sight of him. A few minutes later Zack was sitting across from him, a steaming cup of coffee in front of him and a grateful look on his face.
“I needed more caffeine,” he admitted.
“I’m not surprised.” Aaron took a sip of his tea.
“You mean after you made me go to the rink at fuck o’clock in the morning?”
“Basically.” Aaron had expected Zack to be somewhat more pissed about that—surely a typical human would have been. But maybe following inexplicable directives from subjects was just part of what journalists did.
“Anyway. Thanks for meeting me,” Zack said.
“Thanks for slipping me your number.”
“You handed me your phone. While your coach’s back was turned.” Zack sounded somewhere between horrified and in awe, and Aaron was flattered.
"Katie can be overprotective. That's not really what I mean, but..." Aaron trailed off, suddenly not sure what the appropriate or smart thing to say was. Aaron might have wanted this to be a coffee date with a cute guy, but Zack was a journalist and here to write about him. Assuming Aaron could be interesting enough.
Zack took a sip of his coffee. "If your life is anything like how my ass feels right now, your coach can be as overprotective as she wants."
Aaron laughed, nervous, shrill, and genuinely amused. He clapped a hand over his mouth. Game face, he reminded himself sternly.
"Sorry," Zack said, holding Aaron’s gaze. "I didn't mean to make that sound dirty."
Aaron shook his head and slowly lowered his hand. "It's fine. Skaters are..." He trailed off. There was nothing he could say that was both appropriate for a journalist’s consumption and that could be explained in under fifteen minutes.
"I'm not going to try to fill in the blank on that one," Zack said.
Aaron laughed again, started to answer, and stopped himself. "Before I make my life harder than it already is—"
"Is your life hard?"
Yes, and you’re not helping right now. Aaron waved the question off and kept going. "To be clear, what is the context of this coffee we're having?"
"I think I spent a solid hour cursing you out this morning. Coffee was the least I could do,” Zack swirled the dark liquid in his cup.
"So is this conversation happening for your article, or...?" Aaron asked.
Zack had raised his cup to his lips but set it down again. "Oh. No. This isn't on the record. Sorry. No wonder you’re not finishing your sentences.”
"But you can't like... forget what I've said.” Now Aaron was curious. “It's all going to show up somewhere, right?"
"I mean, I’m always trying to absorb the atmosphere for a thing.” Zack rested his forearms on the table, leaning forward slightly as if to emphasize his earnestness. “But I do try not to do things like that to people.”
Zack’s left arm was awash in colors that formed a full sleeve, dominated by a swirl of ink that looked like a cresting wave. It was inches from Aaron’s fingers. Lost in his own curiosity, he reached out to touch the crest of it. He could feel Zack’s pulse under his fingertips.
“Oh shit.” Aaron suddenly realized what he was doing and jerked his hand back. His cheeks burned. “I’m so sorry. That was bad boundaries.”
“It’s fine.” Zack didn’t look upset. He also didn’t move his arm. He looked curious and amused, the way he had every time Aaron had said or done something figure skater-y that, apparently, civilians didn't do. As if touching someone uninvited was on the same plane as tying their skates for them.
Aaron shook his head. "No, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"
A smile tugged at the corner of Zack’s mouth. "Aaron. Relax. You're fine. I've dealt with some creepers in my day but, believe me, you are nowhere near being one of them."
"I—" Aaron tried to stammer out a reasonable explanation that wasn't we spent all morning together and I apparently got used to being around you and having to touch you a lot and also your tattoos are cool and I wish I got to see them more. Because that would have been way beyond bad boundaries.
He decided to shift the topic back towards something like professional. "The only tattoos anyone has around here are Olympic rings. Once they get there, that is. The judges hate anything else. So it's not something I'm used to seeing."
“Or feeling?” Zack looked arch.
Aaron’s face flamed again, but they were smiling at each other.
“Is it cool if I ask about them?" Aaron gestured with his index finger, but otherwise kept his hands tightly clasped in front of him.
“Of course.” Zack moved his arms forward on the table so Aaron could get a better look. “I got the first one before I went out on my first assignment in a conflict zone, and then I kept adding to it. There was no reason to stop, once I had started. My ex-husband thought they were me coping with stress badly, which was probably one of the few things he got right about me.”
He paused, like he thought Aaron might have a comment about that, but he didn’t. That Zack had been married was one of the first things that popped up on the internet about him, after glowing reviews of his book.
When Aaron said nothing, Zack went on. “I thought it was funny to keep telling people it would make it easier to identify my body. First of all, pro tip, I wasn't funny, I was an asshole. And what it did was make it easier to identify my live body as the asshole journalist no one wanted around."
"Oh, so we're both space aliens!"
Zack gave Aaron a baffled look. Which was justified. That probably wasn’t how most people would have responded to such a confession.
“I'm from somewhere really weird,” Aaron tried to explain. “So I get excited when I meet other people who also can't make polite conversation about who they are.”
“So which planet are you from, space boy?" Zack smiled at Aaron, his arms still on the table between them.
Aaron took a deep breath. "A string of islands in the middle of a lake that only a hundred people live on when it's not tourist season."
"Ah. I’m from Florida. It’s always tourist season there.”
"Yeah, not where I’m from."
"What are they called, your islands?"
"In the tourist brochures, the Key West of the Midwest."
Zack’s face was bright with amusement. "No, fuck you! You have to be making that up."
"I am not, because if I were making it up it would sound cooler and I wouldn't spend my summers gutting perch."
He had to resist the urge to clap his hands over his mouth again. He hadn’t meant to mention that—the island or the fish. Unlike Ari, he didn’t resent every outsider who came on to the islands, but still, they were a treasured home for him, one that was too easy for outsiders to misunderstand. He didn’t particularly want a piece about his dreams of the Olympics prefaced with too-intimate details of his life there.
Zack peered at Aaron, seeming to consider something. Aaron braced himself to be asked to have a conversation on the record regarding everything he least wanted to talk about.
But instead, the other man stuck his hand out across the table. "Well, Aaron, space boy from the planet perch, nice to meet you. I'm Zack and I'm a damn fool who thought covering wars would make me special."
Aaron shook his proffered hand. Zack’s grip was sure and strong, with a hint of calluses on the palm. He didn’t want to let go.
In his pocket, Aaron’s phone barked. He reluctantly withdrew his hand to check it—a calendar reminder.
“I’ve got to go in a few,” he said. “I’ve got a class in an hour. But can we do this again?” He still didn’t know what this was, but he sure hoped it would prove to be something other than professional.
Zack looked surprised. “I got the impression your minder wouldn’t be too happy about that.”
Aaron stirred the dregs of his tea. “Katie has very good instincts about things that are significant, she just doesn’t always know if things are going to be a problem.” He paused, trying to find words that would make it make sense. “Sometimes, if she’s wary about something, it’s as much a sign to run towards it as away from it.”
“Is she wary about me?”
“Not professionally, I don’t think,” Aaron decided to leave out the part where she had encouraged him to show off for Zack.
“That’s good.”
“But I don’t think this coffee had particularly professional vibes for her,” Aaron tried, hoping to get a sense of what Zack’s intent had been.
Slyly, Zack clicked his own empty cup against Aaron’s. “Indeed.”
***
AARON DROVE BACK TO the rink with the windows down and the radio turned up, singing along happily to the songs of the summer. Coffee with the journalist definitely wasn’t a date. But Zack was very nice to look at, and weird in a good way, and Aaron felt fizzy with the delight of it.
He got back to TCI a little earlier than he needed to, and was standing at the front desk chatting with Cal, one of the zamboni drivers who Aaron had dated very briefly two years ago, when Katie brushed past him.
"Don't think you got away with that," she murmured as she passed.
"What?" Aaron asked, breaking off mid-sentence.
Katie kept walking.
“Uh, catch you later!” he called to Cal who, long accustomed to the oddities of figure skaters, waved him off with a chuckle.
“What?” he asked again, hustling after Katie.
She glanced at him over her shoulder as she walked down the hall. “You and Zack and your coffee date."
"It wasn't a date," he protested.
“You wanted it to be.”
“Well, sure.”
"I told you no. Him, too."
"Right then, because we had ice time. I wasn’t going to skip out on work.” Aaron was somewhat offended. He hadn’t come back from the islands to fuck off from work with a boy.
"Aaron," Katie said slowly, like he was one of the little kids learning how to skate who needed reminding to bend his knees. "I didn't tell you no because we had ice time."
“Then why? You’re the one who told me to show off and be nice.”
Katie stopped at the door to the little office she and Brendan shared with the other TCI coaches. “Yes, but there’s being nice to the journalist and there’s being boy crazy at the journalist.”
Aaron couldn’t exactly defend himself against that one.
“I’m not saying you can’t be friends with him or get coffee with him,” Katie went on. “Just...be aware, okay? Because every moment I have known you, you've had a crush on someone. Usually ill-advised."
"You didn't mind when Huy and I were dating.”
"Because Huy is sensible. He has good boundaries and knows how to balance his personal life and his skating.” She shot him a sideways look. “I’d hoped he’d be a good role model even if you two want different things out of the people in your lives.”
“Are you saying I have a bad work-life balance?”
Katie sighed. “It’s hardly your fault. Your home and your family are out there in the middle of the lake and your work is exhausting. That’s a big gulf.”
“So maybe I want to close that gulf.”
“Do you?” Katie gave him a keen look. “Or do you want a fun distraction because the work is hard and you’re lonely? Look,” she said, slinging her arm around his shoulders and steering him farther down the hall in the direction of the locker rooms. “You’re a competitive figure skater. The work is brutal and involves too little reward most days. I get it; I’ve been there. But be smart about what you’re doing. And seriously, don’t fuck the reporter. Okay?”
“Do you want me to say ‘okay, I hear you’ or ‘okay, I won’t fuck the reporter’?”
She levelled her gaze at him. “Honestly? I’ll take what I can get.”
“Well,” Aaron said as he laughed and ducked out from under her arm, “that makes two of us!”
––––––––