We end up at the arena halfway through the hockey game, and our team—the team that I suddenly pretend to care about—is losing, but that does little to dampen the fervor in the place. In fact, everyone just seems more excitable. The stands are full of fans from our town and the opposition. People are shouting and sloshing around drunkenly. It’s a messy, chilly uproar, and after an hour or so of watching our team lose and getting a numb ass, I find myself weaving between seats, down the stairs, my head spinning with beer, heading toward the bathrooms. There is a lineup of girls waiting, leaning up against the yellow-painted cinder block walls, scrolling through their phones. Guys totter in and out of their bathroom across the way, checking the girls out, talking to some of them. I can see just inside their bathroom to where the sinks and mirrors are and notice Aidan, inspecting his reflection. He is tall and thin, all angles and limbs. He tosses his floppy hair back, burps, and trots into the hallway.

“Stevie!” he shouts at me, and stumbles my way, his arms open. I don’t really want to hug him but don’t know how to avoid it, and this is exactly what most guys count on, from what I can tell. Before I know it, he’s enveloped me in a bear hug. My face is in his chest, and I breathe in his musky, soapy, boozy smell, blushing. He rocks me around, bumps us into the girl behind us, and apologizes, finally releasing me.

“Easy there, Stevie, stop mauling me.”

“Yeah okay, buddy,” I laugh, and he smiles and looks at me like he’s seeing me for the first time.

“Did you dress up for me, Stevie?” he says, gesturing to my sweater-and-jeans combo.

I look down at what I’m wearing. There is mustard on my shirt.

He laughs. “Ah, Stevie, Stevie …” He licks his thumb and leans into me, rubbing the mustard on my shirt, just inches above my left boob. I back away just as the line moves forward a little. The girl ahead of me goes through the doorway into the bathroom itself.

“Uh, unless you’re coming in here with me, I think we should part ways now,” I say, looking away.

“What? Oh! Right, right. See you later,” and he turns and rambles up the stairs like a big puppy, his long arms and legs seeming separate from the rest of his body. I watch him go, shaking my head.

“Stop looking at my ass, Stevie!” he yells behind him, laughing at himself.

After, I wander back toward the stands, but when I glance up at everyone I came with, I don’t really feel like going back and sitting with them. I make my way to the concession stand and get in line. I recognize the tall figure in front of me and tap him on the shoulder.