Us (Him, #2)

by Sarina Bowen

Vancouver is a beautiful city, but I can’t wait to leave it.

“It’s, like, hypnotizing almost. It says, ‘Yowza. I fucking dare you to look away’.”

Okay. Maybe I’m a teeny, tiny bit pissed.

Fuck off, conscience. I’m having a pity party, here.

thought I’d seen a lot of amazing young players, but the Canadians grow champions in their gardens apparently.

West Bumfuck? Sounds like my kind of place.

Lucky? I’m about ten seconds from committing a murder. Except I know that giant body wouldn’t fit into the hallway chute that feeds our building’s trash compactor.

Why are there still so many bigoted jerks in this world? And why aren’t we shipping them all to Antarctica?” A chuckle pops out. “Because we’re nicer than they are.”

Swear to God I hear a sucking sound when he pries her off his chest.

He’s probably over there wondering whether he’d be more likely to encounter a seventeen-foot velociraptor on a beach or in the mountains.

I’m jealous of the fingers, the camera and the bed.

Blake shudders so hard they can probably measure it on the Richter Scale.

so I guess I’m the one who needs to act like the adult.

Now please call Mr. Donovan back before I give in to the urge to look into the cost of a contract killer.” I snicker. Okay. Maybe Nurse Death isn’t all bad.

The thing is, though? My college teammates had eventually taken my sexuality in stride. I’d thought it was too easy back then too, and as I stand here waiting for my current team to judge me, I realize what a cynical bastard I’ve become. Maybe there’s more tolerance in this world than I thought. Is that possible? Are my homophobic parents the exception to a rule that’s slowly evolving?

“Oh that? I just made that shit up on the fly because you needed it, sweetie.”

They drew blood so many times that I had a dream about vampires in scrubs.

Wes gives me a smartass grin over his shoulder, the same one he’s been giving me since we were fourteen. “Rules are for breaking. There’s no lock on the door, but whatever.”

Don’t mind me, I’m just having a fucking breakdown.

It’s not about sex, though. It’s comfort kissing.

He’s reminding me that life isn’t always such a drag, and I’m grateful for the message.

“What the hell is a chiweiler?”

“What kind of nurse are you?” “The kind who plays hockey!”

I’ve got two teammates on either side of me. Staring at me. Not in a pornographic, check-out-his-dick way, though honestly, I’d prefer leering to their looks of deep concern.

I’m, like, the worst queer dude ever. Somebody pass me the manual.