Tuesday Indies

Spencer was drunk. How he’d gotten drunk was, honestly, beyond him. He’d walked in the bar and had some drinks, but only because he’d been facing the worst week at work. Things were just getting better with Ivy, too. Staring at his phone in the toilet, he’d only been able to think of Ivy. Ivy’s face, the way she smiled when he used to be able to make her laugh, and Ivy’s number. So, he’d dialed it, and she’d actually picked up. Granted, it was from the bar’s landline, and that was okay. All he knew was that seeing her pull up outside of the bar made him feel far too good, like the kind of feeling he’d been chasing with the bottle ever since they broke up. “Ivy,” he said when he saw her standing before him. “Thank you for coming, seriously.” 

“Livvy, you’re home!” David launched himself over the back of the couch toward the front door as soon as he heard Olivia open the door. “I’ve been going absolutely mental since lunchtime. I about rang Peter just to chat. It’s miserable being all alone here. Even Rowan’s not been around today to keep me company.” Rubbing his hands together, he flinched as he heard the crashing down behind him. Turning to look over his shoulder at the collapsed pillow fort, complete with chairs from the dining area and blankets from all of their bedrooms, David shrugged it off and looked back to his sister. “Well, I was going to invite you into the fort but apparently it’s decided that it’s been a day.” 

“We seriously need to find you a hobby. Have you ever thought about taking up knitting? I feel like you couldn’t create nearly this much chaos with knitting.” Sitting backwards on the back of the couch, she flipped herself neatly over and into a sitting position, “Do you just sit around all day waiting for something to happen? Or for one of us to show up back home and entertain you? Also are you cooking tonight or am I, or are we just getting takeout?” 

The entire concept was something that, honestly, could only come from a hockey team. Three dudes sharing an apartment because they’d all played together, despite their age gaps. Technically, Ethan was only five years older than Dallas, but in hockey terms? That was something like a decade. Besides, they didn’t play together anymore. Ethan was, for all intents and purposes, retired after his car accident. Dallas hadn’t done much of a decent job of reaching out, but now that they were going to be living together, he knew he couldn’t ignore the guy forever. Besides, there was something fun about the way Ethan and Dallas got along. Everyone on the team whispered about Ethan being into guys, and Dallas, not one to judge someone for that, simply fueled the fire by flirting with him whenever he’d had a chance. 

He found himself alone in the apartment with Ethan after the man had gotten all his things moved in. Their third roommate, Dimitri, was visiting his fam ily in Yugoslavia or Russia or whichever bitterly cold place he’d come from. Raleigh was different from New York, where Dallas had grown up, but he wasn’t mad about it. “Looks nice,” he said after his shower, resting his shoulder against Ethan’s door and crossing his arms over his still bare chest. Standing in Ethan’s doorway in a towel was just cruel, really, but Dallas couldn’t resist welcoming the man with a bang. “I like the layout in here. Your bed looks comfy.”

This wasn’t the first time he’d roomed with teammates, he’d billeted from the time he was 14 and since then it was almost weirder not to stumble on piles of grungy gear and team-approved takeout boxes around every corner. Footsteps padded down the hallway, and Ethan didn’t bother to shift his gaze from the ceiling fan as a figure appeared in his peripheral vision. That said figure was significantly less clothed-looking than he’d anticipated was immaterial.

It wasn’t- it didn’t matter, that it had been Dallas who’d texted him asking if he was interested in a place, his aunts were great but he’d have moved in with anyone on the team to get a break from the smothering affection. It didn’t hurt that it’d been him, though, as many nights as they’d roomed together on the road or sat in companionable silence on the bus back from an airport. They were friends, he was a decent guy, and for the most part his apparently compulsive need to flirt was funny, rather than awkward. “Yup, good thing. Probably just gonna stay here for the next week or so.” Shifting up onto one elbow, he cocked an eyebrow, “It’s a nice apartment, but it’s not big enough for you to be getting lost on your way back to your room, where your clothes live, is it? Is there some secret labyrinth conspiring to make you think you live in a locker room?”