There he is, in his big ass pickup truck, fresh shaven and his blond hair cut short against his head. “Did you get a makeover today, pretty boy?” I tease, using the term he has called me.
“A haircut doesn’t classify as a makeover, and you’re the pretty boy, pretty boy,” Crush counters. “Anyway, Alison took Brooklyn to her parents for the weekend. What a bitch.” In his complaint, it sounds like Alison, but I don’t quite understand their custody agreement.
“Um, was today your day to have her?” I question.
“No, but I’ll take her if I can. And I wanted her. She does this shit just because she’s Alison. Plus, if either one of us takes her out of the city, we’re supposed to tell the other. This is just Al being Al.”
Whenever this man hurts, I physically hurt. “Shit, I’m so sorry, man, but think of it this way. Now you get to hang out with me. I’m not as cute as Brooklyn, but I’m pretty.”
Pulling out of my neighborhood, he turns to me. “Yeah, and not cocky at all, bro, but thanks for the laugh. I needed that.”
He’s jamming to his beloved country music, a tune I don’t know because it’s not my thing. I grew up four hours from Nashville. Then there’s Crush, the old country boy at heart, who grew up in Seattle. “This is Banks Weston. He’s the next big thing. He came out last year. And his lyrics are deep,” Crush explains.
“If I didn’t know any better, Crush, I’d say you were trying to fix me up?” I’m teasing him, but with the tic in his jaw, it’s clear he’s not feeling it. I instantly change the subject, not wanting to lose the momentum of basically picking up where we left off. “You know, we should have been switched at birth. I don’t understand how a boy from Seattle can listen to this country crap.”
His eyes are fixed on the road, but his smile is broad. I’ve missed him, but because I’m a guy, I don’t verbalize this. His gaze darts over to me for a second, then goes back to the road.
“Whatcha looking at, dude?” he asks.
“Nothing, I’m looking out your side of the window.” It’s not believable, but as men, we don’t dig deep into our emotions, and we keep them to ourselves. But through it all, I can enjoy his profile because in the five days he’s been back in my life, I’ve realized my feelings for him have only intensified through the years.
The party is large. We emerge from Dallas’s house onto the back deck. But when I say his back deck, I mean, his own little mini city. His pool isn’t a pool, but a small water park, and there are three different kitchen areas, all with unique food options written on chalkboards outside each place. Under a large covered patio are several picnic tables as if it’s a shelter at a park.
The landscaping is immaculate with the edging done around the patios, and the plants and flowers only add to the aesthetics of the entire environment.
“Hell, man, I think I need to renegotiate my contract if this is what Dallas’s digs look like.”
“Yeah, the man is as cheap as they come unless he wants something, and this was his vision from the beginning. He’s recently added onto it, and who knows what he’ll do next year. But I’ve often wondered why he does these meat-loaded barbecues because he’s a strict vegan.”
My eyes fall on the kids running around, and a couple of lifeguards are on duty. “Yeah, he does his parties up right. And because we’re in training, no alcohol. The guy is a stickler for his body,” Crush explains.
I woke up a little worn down after drinking so much beer, amidst the overhaul of our bodies during the first week of training camp.
“Yeah, man, it’s nice, and no asshole is forcing beer down my throat here.” I redden at my words because hell, I want him to force something else down my throat. There’s no denying it.
“I think you were a willing party in it all,” he continues. “And we need to repeat it tonight. A couple of beers, for old times’ sake. We have a lot of catching up to do.”
Before I can comment with a hell no, Dallas approaches. “Ah, look at the two of you. Y’all have kissed and made up! How very sweet.”
“Man, you’re an asshole,” Crush retorts when someone calls his name. “I’ll be back. Try not to corrupt the new player, Phillips!” he yells behind him and disappears into the crowd of people.
“I had a feeling he’d come around. I mean, he’s a jackass but not unreasonable.” This is Dallas’s expert explanation.
I don’t want to think of his ass, and now it’s all I do as I catch sight of it. “Yeah, man, I was the one to mess up, and what can I say, he punished me. I deserved it. Now, hopefully, things will go back to normal,” I concede.
“If you don’t mind me asking, was it because of your sexual orientation?” He looks down, and his face flushes. I know what he’s asking in his demeanor. I understand it. Oh, fuck, do I understand this.
“Does anyone know?” I respond.
His gaze cuts to mine, and I have my answer. “Man,” I whisper, “mum’s the word with me, I swear.” And then I remember the question. “And no, Crush didn’t have anything against me being gay. More like I had a complex over kissing him. I thought he was disgusted. And I’d been the one who walked away.”
I had no intention of sharing this with anyone, yet he opened up, so I showed him it is a two-way street.
“It’s just...” Dallas begins.
“Man, you don’t have to explain, but if you ever need an ear, you know where to find me.”
He’s about to reply when someone calls out for him. “We’ll talk later,” Dallas says, as he excuses himself.
It’s nice to know I’m not alone on the team, and though Dallas Phillips is one pretty boy, he’s not my type. As the large wide shoulders of my best friend appear out of nowhere and he empties the space between us, I’m staring straight at the type of man I want in my life.
A couple of hours pass, when my phone rings, and it pulls a smile at my lips when I see the person who’s on the other end. I stand from the table where I’d been chatting with some of the offensive linemen. “Sorry, guys, gotta take this.” Several make crude but funny comments about it being a booty call. And they aren’t too far off base.
“Garrison,” I answer as soon as I’m out of earshot.
“Ry, hey, hon. Something came up at the last minute, and I had to fly to Nashville to cover a story.” There aren’t many pro teams here. “Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. Nothing with football. Our normal anchor just had a new baby, and I jumped at the chance. I’m off the clock until tomorrow. I was wondering…”
Garrison and I will never be more than anything casual, but we happen to be good friends, too.
The idea of losing myself in someone tonight as my eyes catch Crush, laughing his loud as fuck chuckle, appeals to me. As I had explained to Crush, I think of my words of the all too familiar saying—if you can’t be with the one you love, love the one you’re with.
“Fuck, yeah, I’d love to see you. I’m at a teammate's house for a party, and I drove here with someone. Let me order an Uber.”