Page 25 of Studs Up
I was catastrophically stupid.
I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life. Kissing Nolan Reed was now secure in its place at the very top of the list.
There had to be some kind of backlash, and I waited for it. I waited for him to tell someone who would tell someone who would tell someone who would put it on the fucking internet.
But none of that came. The Google alerts I had put on my name were silent except for a few articles about the season opener and the three goals I scored in the following two games.
News of my sexuality in the Guardian corner of the internet was silent. Nothing.
What made it worse was how good the kiss was. The gentleness and his hold, his body warmth and wrapping around me, it was all so fucking good.
The memory mixed with my nightmares. Interchanging between the awful piercing eyes, soft sweet lips, strong arms, and firm body of Nolan Reed.
It made me hard, and I woke needing to stroke and cum before I could even get out of bed. By the time I got in the shower, the anxiety hit, and the palpitations took over. So fucking stupid.
A new layer of anxiety sealed itself around me. Reed was one more person who knew. One more person that could expose me, ruin me, destroy me. And I couldn’t sleep.
When I replayed my stupidity, I could have sworn he kissed me back. But that was foolish. There was no way he even entertained the idea, and that was my brain tricking me into thinking it would be alright.
It wouldn’t be. I couldn’t believe I had been so weak. But when he said, ‘You could be a goddam legend,’ I lost my fucking mind. He didn’t actually think that. He was just trying to get under my skin, and I knew that, but still, hearing those words from anyone meant something. No one had ever said anything like that to me before. No one had ever been in my corner before.
I hadn’t been in contact with my own family in five years. Pretty much after I came out, they cut me out.
My sexuality was the one thing I couldn’t change and the one thing that was going to destroy my life.
I had spent too many hours working on this to make such a slip up.
I couldn’t even look at myself in the mirror as I got ready for game day. The flush of embarrassment had been a constant mark on my skin.
Our opener at home was the best day of the year. I tried to shake the anxiety of my mistake and focus on the game. The fans being so loud and so excited helped. If Reed was going to fuck up my career, he would have done it already.
We were all lined up and waiting for the ref to start the game. I closed my eyes and dug deep for concentration.
The ref blew the whistle. It had been a long time since I’d been able to let go and enjoy the game. I felt like I could breathe for the first time, and the eyes that watched me were screaming for me, not judging me. It felt good.
But there was this lingering sense that he was watching. He couldn’t be here. It was impossible. The Guardian opener was earlier in the day. There was no way he’d be able to get to Portland unless he left the second the final whistle blew. Still, it felt like his eyes were there. And his voice. Pass the fucking ball. It was irritating that he kept telling me over and over, and he wasn’t even here.
I did, though. I didn’t drive to the goal. I dropped it back, and Alex sent it forward ahead of me, giving me a clear shot and all the time in the world.
Reed’s smug face flashed in my mind. If he really were watching, he’d be so fucking proud of himself. I hated it as much as I hated that I listened, and it worked.
We won off that goal. I thanked the fans, and they thanked me back.
…
A day off meant watering day. I pulled down all the plants that were ready for a good drink. The chore was a meditation. The plants in water came down first. The Flamingo flower, the bamboo, and the pothos cuttings all got their water changed and their bowls cleaned, refilled, and fertilized before they were put back.
The hanging plants came down next, and while they soaked in the sink and the bathtubs, I spritzed the air plants and checked the large plants hadn’t burst out of their pots. It had happened a few times on away trips. Coming home to an exploding plant wasn’t the best part of my day.
I was so lost in the ritual that I nearly leapt out of my skin when the phone buzzed. The number was unknown, and my heart pounded as the message flashed across the screen. It wasn’t the same text stream. It was a new one. They had a new number?
We need to talk,it said.
I couldn’t breathe. They wanted to talk.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I put the phone down and paced. I tried to breathe through it, but my heart was going too fast. My lungs couldn’t quite fill with air.
