Page 20 of The Lockdown Mann

I laugh and wish I knew what he looked like so I could picture his frazzled face. Is he shy in real life? He seems a little unsure of himself sometimes. Not completely, though. The guy can be cocky and sarcastic, but the next moment he’s the complete opposite.

Me: We’re just talking. At least for now. I was giving you shit.

The thing is, there’s a part of me that does want to meet him, that wants to see if we have the same kind of chemistry in person that we do messaging, but I’m also enjoying this. I like having someone I can just talk to who doesn’t know me as Desmond Jackson.

OnTheBeach27: I knew that.

Smiling, I walk over to the couch and sit down.

Me: Sure you did. But to answer your question, not much. I start a new job on Monday, and to be honest, I’m nervous about it.

It takes me a moment to realize I admitted that to him, but it’s so much easier to say stuff like that when the other person can’t look you in the eye, when they don’t have a picture in their head of who you are. It’s easier to just be.

OnTheBeach27: You don’t seem like the kind of guy who would be nervous about anything.

OnTheBeach27: Shit. That feels like an insensitive thing to say. I didn’t mean it.

Me: Eh. With most things, I’m not, and even people who know me in my everyday life would agree with you. It’s not something I would admit to most people.

But I’m admitting it to him…this random man online that I don’t know.

OnTheBeach27: Thanks, man. For sharing it with me. I appreciate that. I get it. It’s hard sometimes, showing people that side of ourselves.

It is. Especially as men—as men in the toxic world of sports like me. It’s one of the reasons I respected Hunter so much from the start: that he was determined to begin his career being authentically himself, and why in college, I made sure everyone knew I had his back.

Me: You got that right.

OnTheBeach27: You’ll be great, though.

Me: Tell me more…

He replies with a laughing face emoji.

Me: Oh, you think I’m joking? I’m for real. I love compliments. Tell me how good I am.

OnTheBeach27: I don’t know you.

Me: Well, I just shared something with you that I wouldn’t have told anyone else, so I think you know me.

I’m flirting with him, but I’m being real too. The anonymity of this makes it so easy to talk to him. But is it just that, or is it something about him? I’m not even sure.

OnTheBeach27: Yeah, I feel like I do. It’s fucking weird.

I laugh.

Me: No shit.

OnTheBeach27: For real, though, you’ll be great. You seem like the kind of guy who would be good at anything, and while it’s annoying—or should be more annoying than it is—people can’t help but support you regardless because you’re the guy people want to root for.

I stare at my phone, read the message twice, then three times, the words digging themselves deeper inside of me each time.

I’ve gotten a lot of compliments in my life—about my looks, my game, and who knows what else—but none of them felt like that, so real and pure, and it’s from someone who has never even laid eyes on me. Someone who doesn’t even know my name. I don’t know how to feel about that.

OnTheBeach27: You still there? Did I make things weird?

It’s been over five minutes since he sent the message, but I’m just sitting here staring at it.

Me: I’m here. You didn’t make things weird. Thank you, though. That means a lot to me.