After a while, the sauna clears out until it’s me, Alex, Miller, Randy, Lance, and Rookie.
“So . . .” Rookie slaps his bare thighs. “You and your girl get freaky, huh?”
Of course he’s the one to start off the conversation.
I shrug. “I guess it depends on your definition of freaky.”
“Whatever floats your boat, right?” Miller glances nervously at Lance when he scoffs.
I don’t know his whole story, only bits and pieces from time spent with him. But based on his previous on-ice behavior, his penchant for fights, his occasional destructive meltdowns, and his former reputation with women, I can take a stab in the dark.
I wonder if the ability to intuit brokenness in other people is a sixth sense only other damaged people are privy to. Like me and Charlene. Sometimes the most broken souls find each other, as if their missing pieces exist in another person. It doesn’t matter what form the abuse takes. The holes it leaves in the psyche fracture the soul, too. It probably accounts in part for my instant attraction to Charlene. She’s guarded and open at the same time. I might want more from her, but I won’t take it at the risk of pushing her too far and losing her entirely.
“As long as you’re both into it, it’s cool, yeah? Consenting adults and all that.” Randy runs his fingers through his beard thoughtfully. “Do you buy Charlene’s lingerie, or does she do the shopping?”
I try not to envision all the lace and satin and leather we left in the living room last night. “I buy the lace, she buys the leather.”
Randy’s eyebrows pop. “Who’s in control?”
“Who’s in control in your bedroom, or bathroom, as it were?”
Randy rubs his bottom lip. “Both of us?”
“Why would you think it’s any different for me and Charlene?”
“Good point.”
“I gotta get home,” Lance grumbles and pushes up off the bench. The massive cross tattoo on his back shifts as he punches the door open and disappears through it.
“He gonna be all right?” I ask.
Miller runs a hand over his buzzed head, then taps his temple. “I think he has some messed-up ideas about what’s going on with you and Char.” He turns to Randy. “I’ll ride home with him.”
“Mind if I come with you?” Rookie asks.
“If you want, sure.” Miller shrugs.
“You think I need to talk to Lance?” I ask as Miller and Rookie get up to leave.
This is the exact reason I like my privacy, because people tend to jump to conclusions. Often the wrong ones.
“He’ll come to you when he’s ready,” Randy says. “I’m hoping whatever conversation the girls have today will get relayed by Poppy and he’ll relax a bit.”
“If that’s what you think is best.”
Miller and Rookie take off, leaving the three of us.
“So, I have a question.” Alex’s knee is going a mile a minute.
“Fire away.”
“What exactly are you and Charlene?”
“I don’t understand the question.”
Alex rolls his shoulders. “Like, is this a real relationship or is it contractual?”
“Contractual?”
“Like those books they all read—you know, they made some of them into movies, and those girls binge watch the fuck out of them every time a new one comes out, and then Violet wants to—” He pauses, maybe realizing it’s not just the two of us, and he should probably censor. “Anyway, in the beginning the girl signs all these papers about what she will and won’t do. Is it like that?”
“No, Alex. It’s not like that.”
“So then what’s it like?” I can see the challenge in his eyes, and maybe a little mistrust, because I haven’t been upfront with him about this, and we’ve been friends for a long time. But explaining how it really is exposes Charlene, and I’m not willing to do that, because it could compromise what we have.
“It’s a real relationship. There’s no contract, and whatever you think is going on, it isn’t.” I reconsider that, since Alex and Vi are pretty strait-laced, apart from the locker room sex and the dick dress-up games. “Well, it probably is going on, but not quite the way you think.”
“I’m not judging. I’m trying to understand what this is. I mean, you and Char have been together almost as long as me and Vi, and it all seems pretty casual. What’s your plan if you get traded—to Vegas or another team?”
This is the exact question that’s been eating at me since the expansion draft was announced. I shrug, because I don’t have answers to that. “I guess I’ll have to wait and see what happens.”
Do I want it to end? No. Not at all. Would I want her to come with me if I was traded, yes and no. Selfishly, I want to keep her, but is it reasonable? I don’t know. I can give her what she needs physically, but I’m unsure if I’m capable of providing her with more than that, or if she’ll even let me try.
Is it fair for me to take her away from everything she knows, everyone she cares about and keep her all to myself? I know Charlene, maybe better than she knows herself. If I took her with me, I’d be her everything, and she’s made it very clear that’s not what she wants. And I respect that.
Her childhood was bad enough that her mother took her and ran in search of a better life, and Charlene shuts down every time I try to talk to her about it, which admittedly hasn’t been often. Most of the time it’s enough that I know she’s broken. But sometimes I want to know how closely our broken parts match.
Alex’s brow furrows. “Haven’t you ever talked about it?”
“About what?” I ask.
“The future, asshole. Your future with Charlene.”
“She doesn’t like being tied down.”
“Uhhh . . . We’ve moved on from your sex life, Westinghouse.” Randy snorts.
I shoot him a look. “I’m not talking about my sex life. Charlene is . . . complex.”
“She’s a woman; of course she’s complex,” Randy says.
“Do you think I should talk to her about the future?” I look between Alex and Randy, who are both more than half a decade my junior, yet still manage to have a better handle on relationships.
“Probably? I have a hard time believing she’s hanging around just for the orgasms at this point, man,” Randy offers.
We hit the showers. The locker room is empty, everyone else long gone. I think about what’s waiting at home for me—which is a whole lot of nothing—and how I’m going to be away soon and unable to see Charlene.
Typically after Charlene spends the night at my place, she’s scarce for a day or so, depending on how the night went and whether or not I got all up in her personal space like I did last night with the accidental spooning. I don’t like the space, but I also understand she sometimes needs it. Staying at my place makes her nervous. I’m not exactly sure why, but I sense it’s because she feels trapped, much like a firefly in a jar.
Whenever she comes to see away games, I expect at least one day of silence for each night we’ve slept in the same bed. It’s fucking torture, but I’m not the easiest person to be with, so I usually accept what she’s willing to give.
It’s a fine balance with Charlene, but with everything that’s going on, I don’t feel like toeing the line. Even if it makes her uncomfortable, I want to push, and honestly, it doesn’t even matter if I do, because I won’t be here for the fallout anyway. By the time I get back from the away games, she should be fine again.
I open my locker and find my boxer briefs. I look around and note that both Alex and Randy have their phones in their hands, and they’re awkwardly trying to text and get dressed at the same time.
I scroll through my alerts—there aren’t many since my people are all here, apart from Charlene. I freeze when I see that I have both texts and a voicemail from her. This has never happened before. Ever.
It’s been less than twelve hours since I left her in my bed. That she’s messaging me this soon afterwards is unheard of. I fig
ht the initial shot of panic that something bad has happened and check the message.
The one from this morning is an image of the living room post wheel of sex toys and requests that I listen to my voicemail. Another came an hour ago asking how practice went. I can’t decide if that’s a good or a bad thing because it’s so atypical.
“Dude, you okay?” Alex asks. “You look like you’re gonna puke.”
“Charlene messaged me.”
“Did something happen?”
“I don’t know.” I listen to the voicemail, relieved it’s just about Gertrude. I can handle that, but Charlene messaging hours after we’ve had a night together is . . . different. I can’t explain that without it being strange to Alex and Randy. Which makes me question how fucked up my own perception of relationships is, and whether I’ve been doing Charlene a disservice all this time.
I care for her. About her. I don’t want to be without her. But I have no idea if she feels the same way, and it’s setting me off balance. Like I’m riding the Tilt-a-Whirl after drinking a bottle of scotch.
I send her a response:
“Just go see her if you’re that worried,” Alex says when she hasn’t messaged back fifteen seconds later.
“Go see her?”
He makes a face, the same one he makes when one of our teammates makes a bad play. “Yeah. Like, if she said she needed you right now, you’d drop your shit and go, right?”
“Well, yeah.”
“So go.”
“But she hasn’t messaged me because she needs me.”
Alex exhales a slow breath. “Look, man, she’s not going to say it outright. Is she messaging and calling when she doesn’t usually message or call?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Then she’s asking you to be there when she needs you.”
“But she hasn’t asked me to be there for her at all,” I argue.
Alex rubs the space between his eyebrows. “Look, I get that maybe this isn’t familiar to you, but you can’t tell me you don’t know when Charlene is asking you to be like . . . on for her.” At my confused expression he shakes his head. “Do I even fucking know you?”
I scrub my hands over my face. “Look, I’m emotionally stunted. I don’t understand how this whole thing works. I want Charlene, and I don’t want to lose her. The possibility is actually my worst fucking nightmare. I didn’t grow up in a home with two parents who cared about me and whose entire existence was based on my success as a human being. You had that. I didn’t. I don’t know how to do this and be successful, and Charlene is just as fucked up as me, so any normalish perspective you can give, without judgement, would be really helpful right about now.”
“I don’t—“
I grab him by the shoulders. “Just tell me what the fuck to do!”
“Go to her house. Go see her. Make her happy, however you do that.”
“Make her happy?”
“Yeah, man, like, however that works for you, make her feel good.”
“You mean sexually, right?”
Alex frowns again. I don’t like that expression on his face. It makes me question things. “If that’s what works, then yes. But considering how long you’ve been together, I’d say it’s probably beyond just where your dick goes.”
“My dick goes in a lot of places.” I figure honesty is important here.
Alex scoffs. Maybe that was the wrong thing to say. “Can we think beyond your dick, Darren?”
“Of course. What would you like me to think in terms of?”
“Charlene. Think about her.”
“What about her, specifically?”
Alex stares at me and says nothing for a long time. “Other than your weird-ass sex life, what does she like? How do you show her you care about her and that she’s on your mind? What do you do for her?”
“I buy her things.”
“Such as?”
I consider that for a moment. “Usually clothes or lingerie. Sometimes I take her out for dinner, and there was that time I sent her to the spa with Violet. That was good. She liked that.”
“Aside from clothes and lingerie, is there anything else?”
“I bought her a chair.”
“Please don’t tell me it’s some kind of fucked-up sex chair.”
“There are fucked-up sex chairs?” Randy asks, reminding me this conversation isn’t private. Jesus, I’m offering up an awful lot of personal details to these guys in the name of making sure my relationship with Charlene doesn’t get messed up.
“No. Well, yes, there are fucked-up sex chairs, but I didn’t buy one of those for Charlene. I bought her a chair to read in. And a blanket for when she gets cold.”
“Which I bet is pretty often if she’s only allowed to wander around your place naked, eh?” Randy says.
“She doesn’t need my permission to put on or take off clothes.” I turn back to Alex, because Randy’s commentary is unhelpful. “Should I buy her something else along those lines—maybe a footstool, or a pillow, or a side table for her tea? That could be good, right? It’ll show her I’m thinking about her for reasons that don’t pertain to sex.”
Randy shakes his head. “Or you could just buy her some fucking flowers.”
“Chocolate is always nice, or candy,” Alex adds. “Unless she’s feeling bad about her body; then chocolate is a bad idea.”
“Charlene never feels bad about her body.”
“Not that she’s mentioned to you,” Alex grumbles and slams his locker closed. “What’s her favorite color?”
“I like her in purple.”
“No, dickweed, not your favorite color on her, her favorite color. What color does she like the most?”
When she’s the one picking the lingerie for the evening, she tends to go for dark and dangerous, even though she’s anything but. “Black or silver, I guess.”
“Jesus Christ, Westinghouse, if there was a boyfriend test, you’d be failing like a motherfucker,” Randy laughs.
“Why?”
“Because you and Charlene have been together for two years, and you don’t even know what her favorite color is. Think about the clothes she wears when you’re with her—the color of her purse, her favorite mug, her goddamn fucking shoes,” Alex snaps.
“Oh. Yellow?”
“Why are you asking me? Is it or isn’t it yellow?” Alex asks.
“I think it’s yellow. Or maybe it’s peach. I could ask her.” I pull up her contact on my phone, but Alex smacks my hand.
“For fuck’s sake, don’t ask her.” Alex angrily thumb-types a message on his own phone.
“Are you asking Charlene?”
He gives me a look. “No, I’m asking my wife because she’s your girlfriend’s best friend, and girls know this kind of stuff about each other.”
“Oh. Right. That makes sense. What’s Violet’s favorite color?”
“Red, most of the time.” His phone buzzes. “Yellow is the correct answer for Charlene, so what you need to do is buy her some yellow flowers.” He thumb-types another question as he speaks, and Violet answers right away. “She also likes mint and chocolate-covered candied ginger, so I’d get her some of that, too. Then go over to your girlfriend’s house and make sure she’s okay. All of your friends saw her naked yesterday, surrounded by a bunch of whacked-out sex toys. She might need some emotional support that extends beyond last night.”
“I can do that. I can buy her flowers and chocolate and provide her with emotional support if she needs it.”
Alex rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t know whether to pat you on the back or punch you in the face.”
I’m not sure which I deserve more at the moment.
DARREN
I drop Alex off at his place. Before he gets out, he programs a flower shop into my GPS. “You don’t have to get all yellow flowers.”
“What?”
“The flowers—when you buy them for Charlene, they don’t all have to be yellow. And, stay away from yellow roses. They
mean friendship.”
“How do you know this?”
“Google.”
“Maybe you should come with me.”
Alex claps me on the shoulder. “You can buy flowers for your girlfriend, Darren. Just tell the sales girl what you’re looking for, and she’ll be able to help you out.”
“So tell her my girlfriend’s favorite color is yellow?”
“And that you want to convey you like her for more than her ability to be a jizz depository.” I’m not sure what my expression must be, but he tacks on. “Don’t say that last part to the sales girl.”
“I’m relationship-stunted, not a social idiot.”
“Just making sure. There’s a Godiva store down the street. You’ll be able to get everything you need. And under no circumstances are you to stop at a lingerie store.”
“But—”
“No buts. Do not buy her something you plan to take off her body. You need to show Charlene that you think about her beyond just sex.”
“But I’d like to have sex with her tonight. We have away games.”
Alex punches me in the shoulder. “Christ, Darren, how the hell have we been friends this long and I had no idea you were this relationship challenged?”
I roll my shoulder. “Because I’ve never had an actual girlfriend before Charlene.”
“How is that even possible?”
“I don’t know. Usually there’s an NDA and lot of rules.”
“Because of the freaky sex shit?”
“No, because I’m trying to protect myself and them from all the media bullshit.”
“Did Charlene sign an NDA?”
“No. She promised we would keep our sex life private.” I wanted to date her more than I needed an NDA.
“Look, I don’t care what your sex life looks like. I mean, thanks to Charlene I’ve gained Area 51 access. It’s limited, but more than Violet would probably allow otherwise.”
“You have what?”
Alex waves me off. “Never mind. I’m just saying, as long as it’s consensual and everyone’s enjoying themselves, I don’t give a shit what you two do. But if you want to take this relationship to the next level, and I’m pretty sure you do, then you need to make it clear it’s not limited to orgasms. So let Charlene initiate.”
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