Page 145 of The Tryout

As he comes back into the entryway, I put my arms around him.

“I’ve got something for you.”

He leans into me, rubbing against my body.

“Oh yeah? I’ve got something for you, too.”

His smirk heats my blood, but I try not to get distracted. Letting go of his waist, I grab his hand and lead him to the bedroom.

“Not that. Well, also that. But I got you a present.”

He follows me into the bedroom, where he sees the bag sitting on the bed. A smile on his face, he turns toward me.

“Now, what could this be?”

“You’ll never know until you open it.”

Hooking a finger through the handles of the bag, he pulls it over to himself, peeking inside.

“Open it.”

As he pulls the tissue paper out, the smile on his face widens.

“You remembered!”

The smile goes all the way to his eyes, sparkling as they meet mine.

How could I forget?

As he pulls the underwear out of the bag, I think back to twenty-year-old Finn, to his first trip up here. And even more, to that version of Avery, who was so afraid of what he was feeling – the loneliness, the love, and, above all, the worry that he was feeling it all by himself.

Now, nearly three years later, I know that I wasn’t, that Finn was every bit as into me as I was into him. And I think we could have made it work, the long distance thing. But at the same time, I’m glad we didn’t have to. I wouldn’t trade a moment of what we’ve had for even one more day of hockey.

“You, uh, really went all out, huh?”

His cheeks are pink as he lays out the various pairs I’d purchased. Honestly, I’d been stocking up for a while, well before the Huskies officially started talking about his contract. There were some boring pairs – mostly Calvin Klein black boxer briefs, with some white briefs thrown in for good measure. The next layer held more colorful, fun stuff – the types of underwear that tended to fill my drawer. Bright colors, fun prints – things that were sexy, but not necessarily too much for a locker room.

The layer after that is where things started to get interesting. Jockstraps in a variety of cuts and colors, including a pair that left the front just as open as the back. Finn bites his bottom lip – I’d worn jocks almost every day of our vacation to Cabo during the All Star Break this year; I wonder if he remembers those days as fondly as I do.

He gets to the bottom of the bag, where there are a few boxes. As he pulls them onto the bedspread, I walk toward him.

“So…if you don’t like these, that’s fine. Or if you’d rather I take them, that’s fine, too. But they…they made me think of you.”

I’d been in San Francisco on a scouting trip, trying to help Jack decide whether or not a kid at Stanford had what it takes to be successful in the NHL. My dads had come up for the day to take me to dinner and I’d been walking through the Castro to meet them. I’d stumbled upon a little lingerie store, the sort of place so small you could miss it if you were looking the wrong way as you walked past. And I probably would have walked past, if it hadn’t been for the thong in the window the exact color of Finn’s eyes.

He’d been on a very long road trip, and I found myself drawn to it. Over the past few years, Finn had shown an affinity for soft, delicate fabrics. Not just my gray silk shirt or the high thread-count sheets we now had six sets of, but even satin ties I’d find him stroking softly when he was nervous at press conferences. And so I had taken a risk, buying not just the thong but two other delicate pieces as well.

As he takes the lid off the first, another jock but this time with straps in royal blue lace, I think his eyes are going to fall out of his head. As he goes to pick it up, he’s very careful, just a thumb and finger on the material. But I notice the thumb moving slightly, running over the lace.

“Are these…for me?”

His cheeks have gotten even pinker, and his pupils are dilated wide.

“If you want them to be.”

He lays them carefully on top of his pile, opening the next box. These are black, and look like a pair of trunks from the front, but the back is a series of intertwined straps, not quite a jock but not quite underwear, either. Finally, he opens the third box, the thong that had initially drawn my eye. It’s silk, and the way the light plays over the fabric makes it look almost like water.

Holding it in his hands, he walks over to me, kissing me gently while he holds it.