He runs his hands through his hair, holding his breath for longer than is expected, only to let it out slowly. “I wouldn’t say that.” Somehow, the idea of him attracted to another does something within me, brewing a wave of possessiveness I don’t know what to do with. “Here’s the thing,” Crush continues, “no one’s really ever captured my heart. Even Alison, I knew it was a mistake to marry her. I never could give her my whole heart, and maybe that’s why she looked for it elsewhere.”
I quiet him immediately when my hand connects with his arm, and it seems so natural. “Don’t blame yourself. Regardless of what was going on in your marriage, it’s never an excuse to cheat. If she wasn’t happy, she could have gone a dozen other routes.”
I won’t let him blame himself for the grenade she had detonated in their marriage.
“Yeah, I understand what you’re saying. I just knew I never loved her. But I’d never do anything differently because of Brooklyn. But what I want, I’m not sure I’ll ever find. I need a bond so deep, being with said person causes this fucked-up world to almost make sense. If I’m going to commit again, it’ll be a connection so intense that I ache for their next touch as though they were the reason I was put on this earth.”
I chuckle at his statement because he’s captured everything I, too, want, but the only problem is he’s the person I want it with. And then a thought occurs to me, at the pronouns he uses, they and their. “Um, are you looking for some sort of fun ménage?”
He wrinkles his forehead—his telltale sign he’s confused. “Um, what?”
“You say they, so I’m wondering if you have plans to capture two women and not just one. And if that’s the case, I say more power to you,” I tease, but he quiets instantly at my joke. “Man, I was kidding. I just found it odd you said they and not her.”
I give him a slug to the arm to bring him out of his mind and back to this world.
“Oh, I didn’t realize I’d phrased it that way. But I’m not planning a ménage a trois. I’m not against it.” He laughs. “But could you imagine Alison? She’d shit her expensive undies I still seem to pay for and never let me see Brooklyn again. But I thought you might be up for it?”
“Yeah, not against being sandwiched between two hotties, but unlike you, my ménage fantasy consists of cock, not pussy.”
He’s silent again at my words for a split second, then changes his tune quickly when he chuckles at my joke. “Okay, pretty boy, ready for me to whip your ass in water sports?” Crush challenges.
I can handle seeing his tight ass in his swimming trunks, and when he stands and turns, I take a little gander at his fine ass. I can’t wait to see it better after he changes. Yep, I need to get fucked, then maybe I’ll stop imagining every single part of his body.
I don’t know the how or the why, but we end up on the couch after he kicked my ass at volleyball in the pool. We’re watching Bad Boys, starting with the first one. It’s not what I’d pick, but then again, I can’t get out of my own head. And how I want my best friend as much as I had in college. I need my head in his lap and his hands in my hair. It’s been thirty minutes, and Martin Lawrence and Will Smith are not holding my attention. But his fingers tap on his knee as he sits only half a foot from me just as he had last night at his house.
“Crush,” I say just loud enough over all the f-bombs in the film, “you okay?” My words cause him to freeze.
“Yeah, pretty boy.” But with the tightness in his jaw, I want to call bullshit on his answer. I push up, moving to the front of the couch to look straight at him.
“I sort of think you’re not.” I lower my voice at the end, and this catches his attention.
He moves his gaze to me, finally. “Um, no, I’m good, seriously.”
Lord knows I’ve loved him longer than I care to admit, and where I thought the time and distance would extinguish these emotions, it’s only intensified them. “Christopher, there’s no reason to be nervous. And if I were to wager a guess, I’d say that’s what you are with me in the present.”
He pushes off the couch, standing in front of my body, just a couple of inches taller than my six-foot-two frame. “Nah, pretty boy, I just have a lot on my mind. Sorry I’ve been a stick in the mud.” I think he’s going to excuse himself for the night, but he continues to stand in front of me, less than six inches from my lips.
We stay in this position for thirty seconds, and I swear he’s looking at my mouth. Am I this infatuated with him that I’ve concocted this near fantasy?
“Crush, buddy, what are we doing, standing like this?”
My words break his stare on my lips, and he twists around, then grabs his shoes and his keys. He doesn’t take the time to slip them on, and at the door, he simply says, “I better get home. I’ll chat with you later, okay?”
I can’t get much else out when I nod, mumbling, “Sure, see you later.” And when he shuts the door, I continue to war with myself. Am I reading way too much into this just because my body wants him? Am I wrong? Could Christopher Colton want me, too?
10
Crush
The sun hasn’t risen when I wake to the inner struggles that aren’t allowing me to sleep. These inner struggles are about Ryder and what his gaze does to my body. This isn’t new. I had to admit that when he left, there had been unresolved feelings. Had I wanted to go down this route just months before the draft? Had I wanted to take that chance on my future? I’ve always felt fluid with my sexuality, I’ve not been with a guy, but the kiss years ago, I swear I can still sense the stroke of his tongue with mine.
Now, six years later, everything has changed. I’ve proved my value to my game and my team. Ryder has paved a path for others in sports coming out after him. And everything he’s done is done with the most grace. Just the idea of him wakes my entire body.
I glance at my phone and see it’s not quite five a.m. yet. I won’t continue to lie here, only to dream of the future that I could have with Ryder. The media has been hard on him, but there has been an outpouring of support coming out of the closet in such a manly world we play in.
Could I do this? Let the world see my true feelings for a man I think I’ve always loved? The better question is—would it affect my time with Brooklyn? I know the answer to this already. It wouldn’t be the fact that I’d admit to my sexuality, but for the love I’ve always held for Ryder. Alison hates him more than anyone in this world. Maybe she sensed it, and it continued to fuel the fire between my ex and best friend.
I know I need to work off some of this steam, and being the weekend doesn’t mean we stop training. Our coach wants our body to rest one day per week but leaves it up to us as to how we’ll train on the other one.
There’s no use in showering just to sweat by myself in the weight room. I dress in a pair of athletic shorts I had washed yesterday and a team T-shirt. I throw a change of shorts, boxers, and a shirt in another duffel bag of mine since I left my favorite one at Ry’s last night in my mad dash to get away from him.