Dutton wipes his brow with his middle finger. “Which means you’ve got the better part of a year to figure it out.”
“No, I don’t, dumbass,” Ollie returns. “I’m not talking about our one year anniversary. I’m talking about the three month one. It’s two days away, but it’s gotta be good. Month number one was awesome. We didn’t actually leave the house, but I got Fallon this—yeah, she’ll kill me if I run my mouth about that, so I’m going to stop talking now. And month number two was?—”
“I thought you said you were going to stop talking?” Dutton asks, and then ducks as Ollie whips a water bottle at him.
“I meant I should stop talking about furniture that doubles as a sex prop.Anyway,as I was saying, month number two was New Year’s, so I did the whole champagne and candles thing. It’s predictable, I know, but Fallon loves champagne. Especially when I—” Ollie pauses, clears his throat, and does a conversational u-turn. I’ve got to give the guy some credit. He knows he yaps too damn much, and he’s trying to do better. He just can’t help it, though. He was born to overshare.
“Hold up,” Mickey says, his face scrunched up like he’s trying to solve a complicated math problem. “You celebrate each month? I thought you were only supposed to do the years?”
“That’s nothin you gotta worry about, Mick,” Jenksy tosses in. “You need an actual girlfriend to celebrate any kind of anniversary, and you can’t out of the fucking friend zone, so?—”
I scoop up the plastic water bottle that dropped to the floor after it missed beaning Dutton in the head, and I smack Jenksy with it. That guy’s such a dick.
“Hell yes, I celebrate each month,” Ollie scoffs. “Fallon’s way too damn good for me, and I know it, so I want her to know exactly how much I adore her. It’s called a mature, adult relationship. Maybe some of you guys should try it sometime.”
Leo Santos raises his hand, like we’re in elementary school and Ollie’s the teacher. Now that would be a total shit show.
“Baby Santos, I changed your fucking diapers. How the hell do you have relationship advice to offer?” Ollie asks, his blond brows furrowing.
Leo scratches at his mop of curly hair. “I met you when I was in high school. You definitely did not change my diapers. Also, just call me Leo, and?—”
Ollie waves him off. “Not gonna happen, Baby Santos. But please, continue.”
The poor kid sighs because almost everybody in here only sees him as Pete Santos’s brother. That’s not a bad thing. Pete was captain of this team, and though Dutton and I only ever played against him, there’s no doubt he’s a solid guy. Still, it’s gotta suck being constantly associated with your brother instead of being known as just yourself. And when you figure in that Pete is one of those larger-than-life, everybody-loves-him types, and Leo’s much more reserved, well, that’s gotta suck twice as hard.
“I was going to tell you that it’s not an anniversary,” Leo says, settling onto the weight bench. “That’s the wrong word. It literally means ‘turning year’ in Latin because ‘annus’ means ‘year.’”
“Did he just sayanusmeansyear?” Jenksy asks, and three guys hold up their water bottles, ready to blast him.
“It’s ‘annus’, dumbass,” Leo mutters before turning back to Ollie. “You can say ‘lunaversary’ or ‘mensaversary’ because of the monthly moon cycles. People also say ‘monthsary’, even though that’s not technically a word. I mean, anything is a word if you say it and people understand you, so?—”
“That’s it, Baby Santos, we’re changing your name to Einstein.” Ollie declares, cutting him off.
Our freshman winger rubs his temples. “I prefer Leo.”
Ollie ignores that and starts throwing out date ideas so he can get some feedback and choose the best option. Some of theguys are still razzing him about being a total sap for his wife, and that makes my mind veer off in a bizarre direction.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not comparing my situation with Liza to Ollie’s marriage. Hell, Liza and I have only just entered the stage where we can be in the same room together without her wanting to kill me, and I’m completely aware that the only reason my life has been spared is that I’m the orgasm fairy. I know my place, but I also know that watching her unravel is a goddamned privilege. And it’s something I want to do again and again and again.
I clutch my side when Dutton elbows me in the ribs and that’s when I realize Ollie’s done crowdsourcing date ideas and everybody’s moved on with their workouts. Except me. I think I’ve been staring off into space like a cockstruck asshole, because that’s basically what I am. I give my head a mental shake to get myself back on track, and I follow Dutton to a weight bench so I can spot him.
The weight room is quiet for a while, except for the sound of the machines. It’s a steady hum and clang that we’re all used to, so it easily fades into the background as we each work through our assigned circuits. I’m counting down the minutes until I can meet up with Liza because I’m dying to know what else is on that list of hers for the study she’s doing.
Ollie Jablonski is the kind of guy who can’t stand silence for too long, so he starts up a conversation. I’m the same way, so I never mind. He often asks ridiculous questions, like if we’d rather bathe in cereal or swim in a pool filled with soup. But today, he has a very specific question, and it’s aimed at me.
“Hey, Gramps,” he says, using the moniker he proudly bestowed upon me the night I told the guys Hazel was expecting kittens. “When’s the kitty shower? You gotta give us time to shop. And you sure as shit better have human food, too.Obviously, as the mama-to-be, Hazel gets to set the menu, but none of the other guests eat cat food, so be considerate.”
The guys are staring at Ollie as though he’s suddenly started speaking in tongues, but I get where he’s coming from. I should be spoiling my girl in her hour of need, but all my time is consumed with school and hockey and placating my dad and trying in vain to stop fantasizing about Liza.
I’m a busy man.
“Jesus Christ,” our captain mutters. “I guess I have to do everything around here. But I do plan the best parties, so I’ll take it from here.” He takes a swig from his water bottle and grabs his phone, presumably so he can start ordering whatever you need when you’re throwing a cat a baby shower.
“Hey, Blue,” Mickey calls from access the room where he’s doing medicine ball squats with Deano. I cringe inwardly because this is a conversation I’ve been dreading.
“Dude, it’s fine,” I say, because when I first found out that my cat and his cat were…friendly, I was pissed. Mr. Tittles is half feral, for shit’s sake. But I can’t be pissed at Mickey because my cat likes bad boys. The heart wants what it wants. And I can’t even be pissed she’s expecting kittens because I thought she was spayed, so that’s on me.
“I just want you to know that Mr. Tittles is a stand up guy, okay?” he says, catching the ball with his fingertips before shooting it toward Deano.
