When Rosie sees us, she reacts in what can only be described as Kronk when he's disposing of Kuzco's newly-transformed llama body, in Emperor's New Groove. Completed with the oh so subtle tip-toeing and failed attempted at blending into the wall.
Quinton and I watch her, observing like the village onlookers. Except in this case, one of us is in a relationship with the FBI agent in-training. Which if we were in Emperor's New Groove, I'm think would've landed both parties in prison, due to its beastiality.
"What's with your girlfriend?" Quinton wonders, looking over at me with confusion. We both watch as she scurries down the hallway - dropping her file folder in the process, which forces her to make a pit stop to pick it up.
After doing so, she glances over her shoulder before finishing her rocket ship mission away from us.
"She's still trying to act like we're not dating, at work." I answer, condensing her misguided way of thinking into one simple sentence. For some reason, she thinks that because we're not tonguing each other down in the middle of the hallway, that people don't know. But I think everyone - including the stray cat that roams around my neighborhood, could tell we're together.
But that's what she wants - and I'm willing to go along with whatever kooky plan she's broiling up, as long as it means when we leave the rink, she's my girlfriend. And if it makes her feel better to live in denial, and think that people don't know about us - or that she's somehow more professional because she actively ignores her boyfriend, then so be it.
Okay, so maybe I am a little bitter about it.
"You're joking." Quinton says, displaying the same expression on his face as I wear when Rosie tells me not to kiss her in the parking lot. She claims it's due to wanting to maintain her professional image - but I like to tell myself that it's because my kissing amps her up so much, that one simple peck could lead to us making love in the parking lot.
"I wish I was." I tell him, ducking my head down to drink some water from the fountain. It looks like it's about ten years too old - and has rust growing at the bottom to prove it, but it's still easier than having to lug around a water bottle during a workout.
Plus, with the new arena being built, it seems like the owner is treating this place like the dumpster fire that it really is. A combination of dirt; grime; and crappy furnishings - which will no doubt be the opposite of what everyone's hoping the new rink will look like.
Quinton doesn't say anything - just pats me on the shoulder. "At least she's finally spending time with you in public." He points out, referencing the early days of our relationship, when Rosie wanted to spend all our time in my hotel room. And although he's not wrong - some things never change. (i.e., Rosie and I spending the majority of our time in the bedroom.)
"Yeah." I nod, watching as he leans down to take his own drink from the water fountain.
If I'm being honest, seeing a 6'5 hockey player trying to drink from a regular person sized water fountain is quite comical. At least, until I remember that we're basically the same height; and that I too, probably looked like the equivalent of a giant trying to use a potty. "You were saying about Makena?" I prompt, trying to steer the conversation back to what we were talking about before - and away from the defecations of a two year-old.
He nods, wiping a few water droplets off his face - ones that I wouldn't doubt if someone told me would be condemned by the FDA. "Yeah. We're having the first ultrasound tomorrow - so, we'll have to see how it goes." He explains, referring to his fiancé and girlfriend of almost two years.
They're currently trying for a baby, which is both ironic and painful for me. Mostly because I wish I could share my own experiences regarding pregnancy with him - more specifically, Rosie's. But they've been having a hard time getting pregnant - and the last thing I wanna do is rub our success in his face.
Like oh hey, you've been trying to have a baby for months - but my girlfriend and I got pregnant because the condom broke once; and oh yeah, we're aborting it. And I mean, it's not like this is some weird soap opera where Rosie can slide on in like some weird sales person and hand them our baby. Even if she wanted to, there's not a chance in hell that I would go for it.
Quinton and I begin heading back to the workout room - marking the end of any meaningful conversation, and the beginning of only ridiculous ones.
"What the hell took you bitches so long?" Kayden questions, his voice booming into the hallway, before we've even entered the room.
He's laying underneath a bench press, his face red and exasperated. Looking behind him, I can see the cause of his strenuous activity – Gabriel Reinhart. He's one of the two alternate captains on the team - and unlike Quinton and I, who've gotten used to Kayden's slacker attitude, still thinks that when Kayden comes to the gym with us, he's doing it to actually work out.
Don't get me wrong, Kayden trains hard during practice - but when it comes to going the extra mile, he isn't one of the few that would do it. Which is the main reason why he's not an alternate captain- well, that and the fact that he spends a bulk of his free time, putting his foot in his mouth.
"Poor Williams here almost passed out from benching fifty." Gabe muses, adding more weight onto the bar as my mop-headed best friend slides out from beneath. Unlike some of us (Kayden), Gabe is focused; determined; and has a good head on his shoulders. He's probably the most mature out of the four of us - already having a wife and kid at home.
Meanwhile, Kayden still gets mad at the MacDonald's employees when they give him a weird look for requesting a toy with his happy meal.
"So, is your girlfriend coming to the game tomorrow?" Gabe asks, waiting for someone to spot for him. Looking around the room, it seems like I'm the only viable candidate - seeing as Quinton's on his phone and Kayden still looks like he's at risk for passing out.
"Yeah, right after she makes me a poster and paints my number on her face." I respond, answering his sarcastic question with the same tone underneath.
I've asked Rosie to come to my games before, but she always comes up with some excuse - or gives me a speech about professionalism. It's not a topic that we haven't discussed; in fact, we've mauled through it deeply. But right now we're at a stale mate - with her waiting for some imaginary date of when she'll finally feel comfortable being seen at the rink as my girlfriend.
It's not like I'm expecting her to show up with a giant cardboard cut-out of my face - though, that would be pretty adorable. I just wish she would come to some of my games. And I'd be lying if I said that I haven't imagined her walking through the arena level doors, pretending to be shy when I lean in and kiss her.
All I get right now, is the stench of Kayden's B.O.
"I don't understand why she's even trying to hide it. I mean, you guys are practically fucking married." Kayden chimes in - like always, expressing his opinion proudly, even in times when it may not be sought. Like right now, when the dude that's never been in a relationship, is giving me advice about my girlfriend.
"Very true." Quinton remarks, granting me the solid of not mentioning Rosie's reaction in the hallway. "Just don't get married before Makena and I - otherwise I'll never hear the end of it from her. She's literally been spamming me with wedding planning emails; and I'm just like, I'm sitting right beside you, why the fuck are you sending me an email?" He recalls, earning a few laughs from the boys.
The way he's talking right now is a stark contrast of how he was speaking about her outside. Reconfirming the age-old belief that men have very little ability to actually talk about their true feelings - and problems they may be facing. I'm not talking about erectile dysfunction, because I'd rather not be hearing about one of my friend's inability to maintain a boner.
Plus, there are only two real solutions to that conundrum - Viagra, and no longer watching porn. Both of which are not answers that a twenty something year old wants to hear.
"That's why I choose to enjoy the single life: no women nagging the fuck out of you - and I still get laid on a regular basis." Kayden says, acting as if he's the first man who's ever advocated against being in a relationship. Though, based on the amount of time that he spends on Tinder, I would say he's been seeing the fire emoji for quite a long time.
"Right." Gabe snorts, finally having completed his set and lowered the bar down onto its awaiting rail. "That's why you're always texting us in the middle of the night... because you're happy not having a girlfriend." He says, once again earning the championship title of calling Kayden out on his shit.
Don't get me wrong, there are definitely benefits to being single: Never having to worry about waking up in the middle of the night, because someone else decided to steal the covers. Being able to do what you want, when you want – no questions asked.
You don't have anyone else's feelings to worry about; how they might feel if you like that girl's picture on Instagram, or didn't have time to empty the dishwasher because you were too busy playing video games in your boxers.
It's true that relationships come with a lot of give and take; the willingness to compromise, without keeping score. Some people even look at it like a Spotify Premium subscription – a commitment you only make for as long as it's convenient to you.
But for Rosie and I, I don't see it as an option; because I know I want to be with her for the rest of my life.