I squeeze his hand. “I didn’t mean that. At all. I meant … last night, when I complained, I was just exhausted. I didn’t mean for you to do all this or for you to worry I’m unhappy.”
Jet flushes and glances away. “I know touring is hard, and I want to make sure you have fun.”
I wrap my arm around his shoulders. “I’m having so much fun, but this is a perfect break.”
A throat clears behind us. “Are you ready?” the receptionist asks.
We nod.
“Which room would you like to escape from?” She points to the options.
We look at each other and then back at her without an answer. It doesn’t matter because it’s not the actual activity we’re interested in.
She eyes us, our arms wrapped around each other, and then she smiles. “I think I know which one you’ll love.”
The room in question has a setup that doesn’t make much sense at all. There are random knickknacks, bookcases, an old desk, a giant globe, and a whole heap of incohesive furniture. It looks more like someone’s storage room than a planned mess.
The attendant explains how it works—that we get clues which lead to a key to get out of the room and we have two hours to do it.
As soon as the lock turns and shuts us in, a light on the desk flashes.
“Hey, question,” I say. “Wasn’t there a horror movie about this? If we don’t figure out the clues, we die?”
Jet looks horrified. “And you thought to bring that up now after getting locked in here?”
“A hockey player and a rock star using their brains to save their lives.”
“We’re fucked,” Jet says, and I laugh.
“Hey, not all hockey players are dumb.”
“Okay, Mr. Smart Guy. Where’s our first clue?”
“I’m guessing the flashing light on the desk.”
“Ooh, look who’s paying attention.”
I press it, but nothing happens. It’s just a light. “Okay, so there’s the light, but what do we do with it?”
“Not so easy now, huh?”
“You want to maybe help look?” I bite back.
Jet smiles. “Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea. It’s going to end in a fight. I can see it now.”
“Never. I’m cool under pressure. You’ve seen me on the ice.” I bend to look under the table to see if anything’s underneath the light.
“Umm … Sure.”
I stand straighter. “Wait, you have seen me play, haven’t you?”
He runs a hand through his shaggy hair. “Of course. There was that Stanley Cup game. I was there for that.”
“Hold up. That’s the only game you’ve watched? I’ve been stalking your career, and you’ve never once seen one of my games since the night we met?”
Jet becomes flustered. “Uh, maybe check the drawers. There might be a clue in there.” He rounds the table and reaches for the handle, but I close in on him and grab his wrist.
“You haven’t seen me play,” I say again.
“You say that as if it’s because I don’t care. I do care. I care too much.”
“What does that even mean?”
“It was hard enough hearing the gay brigade talk about you. I didn’t want to watch you. I had too many what-ifs flying around in my head. It wasn’t until what happened in Tampa that I finally accepted we would never happen, and then I didn’t want to watch your games because I was mad at you.”
“Jet—”
He turns to face me. “Don’t. It’s all water under the bridge or whatever, but yeah, that’s why I haven’t seen you play. We don’t need to get into it.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything. I was going to do this.” I cup his jaw and kiss him, soft and sweet.
I could do this for the full two hours. I could use this time to savor him while also convincing him this is happening. I’m here.
I’m here for him.
When I pull back, Jet lets out a cute whine.
“I’ll watch every single one of your games from now on. Just keep kissing me.”
Well, if he insists …
We go back at it until we’re breathing heavy and groping at each other.
I press Jet against the desk, and I’m about to push him down on his back when a voice echoes around the room.
You have one hour and forty-five minutes left.
I slump and pull back. “We better get to it. You check the drawers on that side.”
There’s nothing in them.
“What about the phone?” Jet points to a flashing light on the phone.
It’s flashing in time with the light on the desk.
I pick up the receiver and press the hold button where the light is.
“I’m a word that ends in ‘U-C-K’,” a recording says. “I’m needed when you get too hot.”
I repeat it to Jet.
“A fuck?” he asks. “Are we supposed to look for porn in here?” He looks around. “What kind of room did she put us in?”
Another clue is said in the phone, and I repeat it to Jet. “I often have a lot of guys inside me.”