Instead, when David picks up, Jake says, “How do you feel about picnics?”
“I don’t know,” David says honestly.
“How do you—” Jake starts, then pauses for a moment. “How do you feel about going on a picnic with me?”
David thinks about it.
“Fine?” he ventures.
“Okay,” Jake says.
“It’s supposed to rain on Sunday,” David tells him.
“Oh,” Jake says, so disappointed David can hear it through the line. David doesn’t like it.
“It might not,” he says.
“No, that’s fine,” Jake says. “New game plan.”
“Okay,” David says, and waits.
“I’m gonna think of a new game plan,” Jake says, after a moment, and David’s startled into a laugh. “Are you on your way to practice or anything?”
“No,” David says. “I have time.”
*
The Rangers rout the Panthers Friday night, a win they desperately needed if they want to secure one of the final playoff spots, and it bothers David. Mostly because the last thing the Islanders want is the city in playoff mode while they sit out of contention, but also because of the way Jake stood on the ice after the fifth goal went in, hair plastered to his face with sweat, posture defeated.
Once, David would have found some satisfaction in it, but he doesn’t now. He would take that as a sign of growth, has been told more times than he can count that he’s supposed to enjoy the win, but not enjoy other teams’ losses, but he knows it’s just because it was Jake. That it’s fundamentally a weakness.
There isn’t much attention paid to the Islanders-Panthers match-up now that David and Jake aren’t competing for the Calder. Both teams are so far out of contention that all the game is going to affect is their draft lottery chances, and the mostly empty arena reflects that. They’ll be covered on local TV, if that, and their coaching staff has as good as said not to try too hard, that a win and an injury is worse than a loss without one at this point, and a win might be worse for their lottery chances anyway.
David hates it, hates playing for a team where giving up is expected, and he can see the mutinous look on Kurmazov’s face as well, but everyone else seems like they’ve checked out, looking ahead to when their families are here, when the season’s over, an end to another disappointing year, the roster spreading out and then getting shaken up again, because nothing’s working, so what’s the point?
David tries anyway, because it’s his job, because he can’t not, and his line blows past the sleepy Panthers defence — they were probably given the same awful speech — sling in a goal, and then tap in another. It’s 2-0 by the end of the first, and with everyone playing the lacklustre game they are, that’s where it sits at the close of the third.
The locker room is loose, proud, and jocular after the game, as if anything other than David’s line and their goaltending contributed to the final score. David bites down the thought. He pats Knutsen on the shoulder on his way to the showers because he genuinely earned the shutout, even if the opposing offence was pathetic, since the Islanders D was as lazy as the Panthers’ was.
When he exits the locker room he’s expecting Jake to be lounging against the far wall, and when he isn’t, he tries to push down the feeling of disappointment for a moment before he pulls his phone out, refusing to just swallow it.
Being a sore loser? he texts, sends it after a moment of pause, because Jake isn’t the kind of person who would be, and he’ll probably just find it funny.
have to go to bed early, Jake texts back. big date tmrw :).
David rolls his eyes and calls him before he can rethink that either.
“What’s up?” Jake asks, enough noise in the background that it’s clear he’s still in the locker room.
“Are you seriously just going back to the hotel?” David asks.
“I don’t know,” Jake says. “Do you have a better offer?”
“Come get a drink?” David asks. “Or food. Or whatever.”
“Are you asking me out?” Jake says, sounding delighted.
“What do you think?” David asks, instead of answering.
“Meet you the usual place?” Jake asks. “Gimme ten.”
It takes him twelve. A number of Islanders filter out before he arrives, eyeing David askance when they see him standing outside the room, and he’s fidgety, uncomfortable by the time Jake finally gets there. He tugs David into a loose hug that’s the norm in hockey playing circles, but it still gets a raised eyebrow from Eisler on his way out because David doesn’t submit to hugs except on the ice. He used to go stiff the second Eisler would sling an arm around him, obvious enough that Eisler doesn't now, thankfully.
They go out for dinner, or more of a snack, really, splitting a couple appetizers at a place Jake’s sister told him to check out. It’s busy even at eleven, but just quiet enough that they manage to get a table, formal enough that it’s a good thing they’re wearing game day suits. The appetizers are so tiny that David’s still hungry after his fill, but everything tastes good, the kind of carefully crafted food David doesn’t usually have the patience for with thousands of calories to barrel through daily just to maintain his weight. The bill’s total makes him wince, especially considering how little they ate, but he reaches for it anyway.
“Rock-paper-scissors?” Jake says.
“It’s fine, I’ll pay,” David says.
“Rock-paper-scissors,” Jake insists.
David rolls his eyes at him.
“I’ll go up front and pay at the bar if you don’t play me for this,” Jake threatens.
“Fine,” David sighs.
Jake wins — or loses — the battle, refuses to play best two out of three, and slides his credit card into the billfold while David scowls at him.
“Nobody picks scissors,” David says.
“I do,” Jake says, and nudges David’s foot under the table with his own.
They share a cab back at Jake’s insistence, even though Jake’s hotel isn’t in the same direction as David’s apartment. David allows it, but only because Jake agrees to let him pay his portion of the fare, throwing his hands up with an innocent look, like he wasn’t planning otherwise. David knows Jake well enough by now to know that’s a total lie. It’s a startling realisation.
“Wait five minutes, okay?” Jake asks the cab driver when they reach David’s apartment, handing him a twenty dollar bill on top of the fare David’s paid. It would serve him right if he came down to an empty spot, but the driver smiles at him, the way everyone does. Jake just seems to draw everyone to him, and even David isn’t immune anymore, if he ever really was.
Jake follows David into the lobby. “What are you even doing?” David asks.
“Walking you home,” Jake says seriously, and David snorts and lets Jake lope up the stairs behind him, close enough that David can feel him there, just over his shoulder as he unlocks the door.
“I’ll call you tomorrow morning,” Jake says, once David’s inside. “With my awesome game plan.”
“Come in,” David says, a little shy, to Jake’s shoulder and not his face. Wants it, for Jake to come in, to stay, to drape himself all over David and wake up beside him in the morning with bedhead and drowsy eyes, the way he’d looked that night David fell asleep in his bed. The thought scares him, but in the way Québec City did, New York did, the kind of fear that means he’s earned something he can lose.
“Cabbie’s waiting,” Jake says.
David gives him a flat look.
“I’m going to do this right, okay?” Jake says. “I mean it this time.”
“I don’t even know what that means,” David says, exasperated.
“I mean I’m going to do this right,” Jake repeats. “You deserve that.”
“And doing this right means you can’t come in?” David asks.
“Exactly,” Jake says cheerfully, then looks over his shoulder, brief, before leaning down and pressing a ki
ss to David’s temple, affectionate, like it’s easy. It makes David’s cheeks heat, his skin feeling lit up where Jake’s lips brushed. He still doesn’t know what ‘doing it right’ is, but he trusts that Jake does.
“See you in the morning,” Jake says softly, once he’s pulled back.
“Looking forward to it,” David says, and it’s saying too much, maybe, he thinks he might be saying too much, but he means it.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
David sleeps poorly that night. He could tell himself it was because he was wired from the game, or suffering the aches and pains of a long season, but that would be a lie, one even he couldn’t believe.
He wakes up at seven. Well, he wakes up long before seven, but at seven he has to give up on the prospect of sleeping entirely. He takes a scorchingly hot shower, tries to linger over breakfast as long as he possibly can. He checks the time when he’s done, and it’s only eight-thirty. He hasn’t heard from Jake, but then, Jake’s probably still sleeping.
David tries and fails to invest himself in the news, and then, bothered by the clutter around him, he starts picking up after himself, ends up pulling out the cleaning supplies and attacking his kitchen, then his bathroom, and finally, after a minute of hesitation, spends a significant amount of time making sure his bedroom is spotlessly clean. It’s foolish. Jake probably isn’t coming over, and even if he was, David knows the level of mess he abides in his own apartment, bedroom included.
David has to admit he’s feeling something like nerves, which is ridiculous, considering how many times they’ve been on, well — maybe not dates, not officially, but something not all that different. There’s no reason for him to be nervous. It’s just Jake.
David jumps when his phone vibrates in his pocket, which is also ridiculous, considering he was expecting a text, at minimum, from Jake.
is it ok if i cum over? Jake’s texted. or u can cum to my hotel if its not cool
You’re welcome to come over., David texts back, grateful he cleaned, and gives him the address. He’s not sure why Jake would think David wouldn’t be comfortable with that, considering he all but begged for him to come in last night. Maybe it isn’t appropriate for a first date, but then, David can’t even count how many times he was at Jake’s sublet last summer, so even if it isn’t, he doubts that’s particularly relevant to them, even if Jake wants to do this ‘right’, whatever that’s supposed to mean.
There isn’t anything else left to clean, not even when he looks for it. He can’t make lunch, because he doesn’t know if Jake has already eaten, and he can’t focus on anything he tries to read on his phone. He ends up in front of the news again, no more invested than before, restlessly picking at a loose thread on his couch until he forces himself to stop before he makes it worse.
Jake’s late, which is something David’s used to but doesn’t find any less irritating. The irritation is replaced by confusion when Jake walks in the door with two large canvas bags hanging from his arm.
David frowns at them, wonders if he can ask.
“I looked everywhere for a picnic basket, but apparently no one does picnics anymore,” Jake says. “Or maybe they just don’t in New York. I mean, you’d think with Central Park — well, whatever.”
“I thought we weren’t having a picnic,” David says. The forecasted rain has faded to a light drizzle, but it still isn’t the right sort of weather to sit outside and eat, especially when it isn’t even ten degrees out.
“Not a traditional one,” Jake says. “Do you have a blanket?”
“Yes?” David says. “Of course.”
“Can you go get it?” Jake asks.
“Okay,” David says after a moment of hesitation, then goes to take his comforter off his bed, inwardly wincing at how it throws off his perfectly made-up bedroom, and comes back with it. “Is this okay?”
“Perfect,” Jake says, before laying it down on David’s living room floor.
“Um,” David says. “What are you doing?”
“I told you I’d take you on a picnic,” Jake says. “So. Indoor picnic, since it’s gross outside.”
“Oh,” David says. “Do I just — do I sit down?”
“It’s a good start,” Jake says.
“Okay,” David says, sitting down on the blanket, and watches, a little wide-eyed, as Jake produces a variety of fruit, crusty bread, shredded chicken, a vegetable platter, hummus, a box of chocolates, and a bottle of sparkling wine, along with two champagne flutes he carefully unwraps from tissue paper.
“That’s a lot of food,” David says.
“I figured we could pick and choose,” Jake says. “Plus it’s all pretty healthy. I mean. Maybe not the chocolate, but you’ve got to have one ‘bad for you’ thing. That’s picnic rules.”
David wasn’t aware picnics had rules, but then, Jake clearly has more experience with picnics than David does.
“I knew I forgot something,” Jake says. “Can you — plates and like, forks?”
“Sure,” David says, going into his kitchen to retrieve them, along with knives, which Jake also forgot.
“Nice,” Jake says, before popping the cork of the sparkling wine.
“It’s one in the afternoon,” David protests when Jake starts filling the flutes.
“You just need a little for a toast,” Jake says, and pours barely more than a sip’s worth into David’s flute before handing it over.
“What are we toasting?” David asks.
“To new beginnings?” Jake says. “Or trying again, or — something like that.”
“To new beginnings,” David says, and smiles down at the blanket when Jake gently clinks their glasses together.
David’s not used to drinking champagne — and it is champagne, not simply sparkling wine, he studied the bottle when Jake took a bathroom break, feeling sort of ridiculous when he started wondering if there was significance to that choice — and the minimal amount he’s sipped seems to have gone to his head, left him feeling a little giddy.
Fundamentally this is something they’ve done before, done over and over, and yet he doesn’t feel that way. It’s just talking, really, they’re just talking over a meal, the same thing they’d done dozens of times at Jake’s sublet, though it’s different, and not just because they’re sitting on the floor, David careful with every bite, trying not to drip hummus on his comforter, which he’s pretty sure is dry clean only. David has a throw blanket he probably should have used instead, but at this point it’s silly to ask to swap. If he has to dry clean it, he has to dry clean it. It’s fine.
After they finish eating most of the food — there really is a lot — Jake clears some to the side and his head ends up in David’s lap. David’s not entirely sure how it got there, but he doesn’t think he minds, finds himself toying with Jake’s hair without his own permission.
“That feels nice,” Jake says, eyes half-lidded, and David pauses, feeling caught, but then — Jake’s obviously not complaining. The opposite. After a moment, he runs his fingers through Jake’s hair again.
“It’s getting pretty long,” David says.
“Gonna cut it soon,” Jake says, and David feels like protesting, though he’s not sure why. It doesn’t suit Jake, really. It looks better when it’s short. Still.
He tucks a lock of Jake’s hair behind his ear, the one that always seems to spring loose, get in his eyes. “The picnic was nice,” he says.
“Shit news about the weather,” Jake says, and David hums agreement, though he actually prefers it this way. They could hardly do this in public. “Okay for your first picnic?”
“Pretty good,” David says, and when he leans down to kiss Jake, he tastes like the chocolate David didn’t touch, sweeter like that, a taste of it without cheating on his nutrition plan.
“That’s good,” Jake says, or at least David thinks so, the words more an impression against his lips than anything else, and then, thankfully, he stops talking. Not that David minds him talking, he’d just prefer, well — this.
It’s also something familiar, something they’ve done before, but at the same time David’s immediately overwhelmed by it, how kissing Jake can feel like coming back to something but also feel completely new.
“We shouldn’t,” Jake says against his mouth, and this one David’s more sure of, because he rolls away, sits up, suddenly too far away. His mouth is wet, pink, and David can’t stop staring at it. He wants to bridge the distance again, but isn’t entirely sure he’s allowed. He’s out of his depth, here. He always seems to be, with Jake.
They’re kissing again, and David doesn’t know who leaned into who, whether it was him or Jake, but he doesn’t think it matters. David feels lit up, almost fizzy — possibly from the champagne, but then, he didn’t have enough to explain the feeling.
“I should go,” Jake says, pulling away and knocking his forehead against David’s when David tries to pull him back into another kiss.
“You don’t have to,” David says, rather than what he wants to say. Pleading is pathetic. David doesn’t want to be pathetic.
“No, I do,” Jake says. “New beginnings, remember? Taking things slow.”
David didn’t know that when he was toasting to new beginnings, he was toasting to Jake leaving his apartment with nothing more than a few chaste kisses. They’ve already done everything, so it isn’t like it makes a difference if they do it again. He thinks they were doing it right the first time. Or maybe not, maybe Jake’s right, but he still doesn’t want Jake to leave.
He bites his lip so he doesn’t say anything, feeling faintly gratified by the way he can see Jake’s eyes drift to his mouth, like he wants to stay as much as David wants him to.
“See you in July, hey?” Jake says, and David doesn’t know why it sounds like some sort of promise, like more than a simple acknowledgement that they’ll be in the same place in a few months, but it does.
Coming in First Place (Between the Teeth Book 1) Page 13