“Actually,” she said, “we do community dinners once a month. It’s every first Sunday of the month. Nothing fancy, but a chance for everyone to get together and share a meal. We’d love to have you join us sometime.”
“That sounds really nice,” Nils said. “Thank you.”
As we walked back to the parking lot, I was reluctant for the day to end. Eight hours had passed without me noticing, filled with easy conversation and comfortable work and the kind of partnership that felt natural in a way I wasn’t used to.
“That was fun,” I said as we reached our cars.
“It was. Thank you for being a good work partner.”
“See you Monday.”
“See you Monday, Adan.”
As I drove home, I kept thinking about the day—not so much the work we’d done, but the conversations we’d had, the easy way we’d moved around each other. I’d enjoyed spending time with Nils in a way that was new to me. There was something about being around him that made me feel more like myself, more relaxed and genuine than I usually felt with people outside my immediate circle.
It was a good feeling. A really good feeling.
And for some reason, that thought made me warm and tight inside at the same time.
8
NILS
The arena was quiet at six-thirty in the morning, exactly the way I liked it. I put my bag in the locker room, this time bringing my skates and a pair of reserve skates I seldom wore. When he’d been so clearly interested in trying out my skates, I hadn’t even hesitated in offering. I hadn’t lied when I’d told him I would do anything to help him get better. Lending out my skates seemed a minor thing in that perspective.
I pulled my coaching notes from my bag and reviewed today’s plan. Core strength and balance training. Essential skills for the kind of corner battles Adan excelled at, and areas where improved stability could make him even more effective against larger defensemen. And with him using my skates for the first time, it would hopefully help him adjust to those quickly and see if they would work for him.
The exercises would require hands-on instruction—adjusting posture, correcting positioning, ensuring proper form—but that was standard coaching protocol.
Nothing I hadn’t done hundreds of times before, and yet with Adan, it felt anything but routine. It never did.
Switching into a professional mode with him was a challenge. It had been a challenge from day one, but with every encounter, it had become harder. Especially now that we had developed a more personal relationship. First that long talk on the bus ride home, then him stopping by when I’d been sick, and then we’d spent a whole day together at the Queer Youth Center over the weekend.
It had become harder and harder to switch back into professional mode. How could I see him as just another student when he was anything but?
I didn’t dream about other students.
I didn’t look forward to seeing other students.
I didn’t have trouble looking away when it came to other students.
I didn’t loan my expensive skates to other students.
No, that was all Adan. Only Adan, with his cocky grin and his gorgeous eyes and that perfect, sculpted body.Herregud, I was in so much trouble with him.
I shook off the thought. Adan would arrive in a few minutes, and I needed to set up the training area for today’s exercises. Balance boards, resistance bands, core stability equipment: all the tools necessary for building the foundation that would make him even more dominant in physical battles.
The equipment room smelled like rubber and metal, familiar scents that usually centered me in the present moment. But as I gathered the gear we’d need, my thoughts wandered to the way Adan had smiled as we’d chatted while painting, the way he’d looked at me so earnestly as he’d talked about his plans for the future, how his whole face had lit up when he’d raved about his mom’s cooking.
Professional admiration, I reminded myself. That was what I needed to focus on. I was proud of his progress, pleased with the results of our work together. The fact that I paid way too much attention to the way he moved, the expressions that crossed his face, the sound of his laugh when he made a particularly good play—I needed to ignore that. Move past that. Yes, I was attracted to him, but if I ignored it, it would go away. Right?
And the last thing I wanted was for him to pick up on it, so I had to fight harder to hide my feelings, to pretend he was just another student. Even if he was anything but.
The arena doors opened with their usual echo, and I heard the familiar sound of Adan’s gear bag hitting the floor near the bench. Right on time, as always.
“Morning, Coach,” he called out, using the title that still felt strange coming from someone only seven years younger than me. “You ready to torture me?”
“Good morning, Adan. And yes, I have some particularly diabolical exercises planned for today.”
