“I’m the best.” That was where I wanted the focus to stay, on my game, not my sexuality. Coming out, if I had a career at all afterward, would change the focus. I would be the gay tight end. The gay football player. “Also, you’re a stalker.”
“Pfft. Like I don’t know you’ve been researching me over the last week.”
“You wish.”
“True.” He shrugged, and damn it, warmth spread through me again. Flirting with Weston was so natural, so normal, but I couldn’t let myself get comfortable with it. Really, I had no reason to keep talking to him at all.
“Good night, man,” I said, which made Weston frown again.
“Night.” I shifted, and he called out, “Hey, wait.”
“Yeah?” I asked, heart thudding for no reason.
“You’re free to call anytime—call, text, video chat. If it’s not safe, I won’t answer.”
Really? Thank you. Okay. All these thoughts swam around in my head, thoughts that needed to drift out to sea and get lost there. “Why wouldn’t it be safe? What’s wrong with two friends talking?”
There was a brief flash of what looked like hurt in his eyes before it did what my thoughts were supposed to do and disappeared. “Yeah, man. I guess you’re right. Have a good night.”
“Have a good night.” I disconnected the call, took my cock in hand, and relieved some of the pent-up tension that hearing Weston’s voice and seeing his face had created. It wasn’t enough.
It wouldn’t ever be enough, but somehow, it had to be.
Chapter Eight
Weston
My new friend—Anson’s choice, not mine—and I fell into the habit of talking a few times a week. He called me man and buddy and friend so often, it was hard to keep my eyes from rolling out of my head. I got it. He was drawing a line, making sure I knew he was straight. But sometimes…sometimes the way he looked at me or the way he said those words made me think maybe it wasn’t me he was trying to convince, but himself.
Anson was sexy as all hell, and if the situation were different, I’d definitely want him in my bed, but I didn’t have any illusions we were anything other than friends. He wasn’t ready for that with anyone, and I wasn’t looking for that kind of baggage. Well, the sex part would be fine if he wasn’t in the closet, but I didn’t want more than that. My life was full enough with my career, and honestly, I didn’t know if I wanted to sleep with only one person for an extended period of time. I wasn’t sure I was built that way, or why I was thinking about that when it came to Anson. The endgame here was to make sure he knew he wasn’t alone, to be a friend he could talk to.
September turned into October. He still never called me, but when I reached out, he always answered. It was mostly by text, but every now and again, I liked to shake things up with a phone or video call. I was getting to know his moods, having caught him after, before, or during random workouts. The guy exercised more than anyone I knew. And he flirted. Most of the time, I wasn’t sure he even realized he was doing it, but when he forgot himself, when he let loose, he gave in not only to flirting, but to letting himself admire me. I might have jacked off more than once to thoughts of him looking at me with appreciation and hunger in his eyes.
It was mid-October. His team was undefeated, something I knew because I suddenly paid a fuckton of attention to football, the bastard. Anson got a kick out of that— But why was I thinking about him in the middle of a black-tie event with a pretty man on my arm?
Fucking football players.
“This house is beautiful,” my date, Brandon, said.
“Isn’t it? The architecture really is incredible.” We were in the ballroom at the Chateau Bellevue, a historic mansion in San Francisco. Brandon and I sat at a table. He had his hand on my thigh. People danced, drank, and chatted all around us. Brandon and I got together from time to time. Neither of us was looking for anything serious. He was a local physician who did a lot of philanthropic work and was accustomed to events like this.
“You’re quiet tonight.” He glanced at me and smiled. Brandon looked a little like Shemar Moore, which had been the first thing about him to draw my attention. He didn’t quite have the body the actor did, but he was equally beautiful.
“Thinking about work.”
“Senator Calloway,” a voice sounded from my left before I could say much else. It was a local businessman I’d worked with on city projects in the past. Brandon and I stood and approached him.
“Kurt, it’s great to see you and your lovely wife again,” I said to them both. “This is my date, Dr. Brandon Crawford.”
The four of us spoke for a while. Kurt wanted to head up a new city cleanup project and asked for my opinion on a few things. Eventually, the conversation changed from my work to some of Brandon’s philanthropic causes. I felt my cell vibrate against my thigh and slipped it out of my pocket to see Bashful’s name on the screen. Anson was calling? He never called.
I said, “I’m sorry, but this is important. Please excuse me for a moment.”
“It’s fine. I’ll be around when you’re done,” Brandon replied, and I made my move to leave, walking through the ballroom as I answered Anson’s call.
“Hold on just a second,” I told him. I left the event space, went down the hallway, and to the door. There were gardens in the back, so I went that direction. Luckily, no one else was around, so I sat on a stone bench. “Hey, is everything okay?”
“Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?” he replied, but something was off about his voice.
“Well, first of all, you never call me.”
“Shit. Are you busy? I can let you go.”
“If I was busy, I wouldn’t have answered.” When he didn’t reply, I added, “Ooh, I get it. You just missed hearing my voice. It’s understandable. You’re not the first man to fall for it.”
He let out a soft chuckle, and I relaxed, not that I should have been wound up anyway. “You wish.”
This was where I typically said that yes, I did wish. “Sometimes I think you say that just to hear me agree with you. Does someone enjoy being praised?”
Anson scoffed. “Yeah right, man.”
I rolled my eyes. There he went with the man thing again. It wasn’t as if I never used it myself, but Anson used it with purpose. “How has your day been?”
“Not bad. Practice, and then I got a rubdown from the team massage therapist. My muscles have been really tight lately. Now I’m sore. He worked me out pretty good.”
Oh, the things I wanted to say, but I decided to be a good boy and hold back. I still couldn’t piece together how I knew, but something was up with Anson.
“Wow…” he said.
“What?”
“I thought I’d get a joke about that.”
Wasn’t that interesting. “Did you tell me that just to hear me tease with some kind of sexual innuendo? Because I can definitely talk about how tight you probably are and how much I could work you out.”
“God no. That’s not… I didn’t… Why would I…”