Page 10 of Wedge

“So,” he says, not looking at me, focused on his zipper. “That guy. Does anyone ever say anything to him? Showering like that?”

“Nope.”

“Not even, like…” he waves a hand, “…a look?”

“Adrian.” I lean forward, elbows on my knees. “Guy’s been coming here for thirty years. Nobody’s thought about his body once in that whole time. That’s kind of the beauty of it. You get old and invisible, and it’s actually great.”

That gets a genuine laugh out of him, quick and surprised, like it escaped before he could stop it.

“Cool, so I just gotta wait forty years to be comfortable naked in a locker room.”

“Or,” I say, “You fake it till it’s true. Works almost as well.”

He pulls his shirt over his head. It’s his own, I notice, not one of Ben’s free polos. Guess he decided he didn’t want it after all, even though his shirt is ripe. I say nothing. Once it’s on, he finally looks more like himself again. Ink peeking out at his collar, plugs back in, that hawk smoothed down but unmistakably him underneath the clubhouse polish.

“Hungry?” I ask, standing, giving him the out to just move on instead of dwelling.

“Starving,” he says, and means it, and grabs his bag off the bench, easy like.

6

ADRIAN

Idon’t know why the old guy showering with the door open rattled me so bad. It’s been a decade since the incident with my foster brother in the shower, and I’ve talked it to death with my therapist. The old guy was oblivious to me, just as Stephen said. I made sure to lock my shower door, though.

This place is out of another universe. The shampoo and soap were from C.O. Bigelow and smelled slightly spicy, way better than the potent Irish Spring I usually use, and I can still smell it on my skin, warm and clean. The towels are plusher than anything I’ve ever touched. I’m almost tempted to steal one. Almost.

I felt like a wuss taking Stephen’s offer to wait, but the rush of relief was unbearable, and I caved the moment he offered.

The dining room has white tablecloths and windows taller than my apartment. Most folks are talking quietly until one guy bursts out a laugh. I smell garlic and fresh bread. We make our way past tables covered in food. Sliders, bowls of cut fruit. Whole bananas, apples, strawberries even, holy crap. An entire salad bar, including mac and cheese, a pasta bar with two sauce options, a pile of meatballs and grilled chicken ready to be covered in goodness. Soup with baskets of bread and rolls. And the dessert bar, dear god, I want to eat a little of everything.

I don’t know what to take first, so I pile one plate up, then take another and add more. I keep waiting for someone to tell me to put something back. Nobody does. Stephen chuckles at my plates and makes room on the table. There are pitchers of iced tea, lemonade, and water on the table, and he lifts the tea with a questioning look. I nod, and he fills a glass for me as I settle in.

He raises his glass of water, and we clink.

“To a fine Pride Tournament,” he toasts.

“Hell yeah,” I reply, then dig in.

We are quiet for a while as we consume food. I took way too much, but it’s so good. I keep trying to fit more into my stomach. Eventually, I have to concede defeat as I pick at a brownie. It is sublime, melty goodness, but I have no more room, so I pass it over to Stephen, who takes it with a pleased hum.

“Gonna have to hit the gym tonight,” he grimaces, patting his stomach. “Gettin’ fat in my old age.”

That was an obvious fishing attempt, but I give it to him.

“Please,” I say. “You are not fat. You’re like… personal trainer fit. Like a Marine recruitment poster. It’s annoying.”

He grins around a bite of brownie, entirely too pleased with himself. “Annoying, huh? Look who’s talking. You’ve got arms like you bench cars.”

I can’t help the proud grin but reply, “That’s different.”

“How’s that?”

“I don’t know. It just is.” I definitely don’t have a good answer for that, and he definitely knows it.

“Caddying’ll do that. A lot of walking, a lot of carrying. Lots of squatting.” He pats his stomach again, this time just for show. “Also, I was a Marine.”

I choke on my tea. “Shut up.”