Matchup (Playing the Field #3)

Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

TAHEGIN ELLINGSWORTH

Robert Mathis is the best coach I could have asked for coming into the NFL. He catches a lot of hate for being a younger guy who only played five years in the professional league. The media blames some unknown injury for being a catalyst for his early retirement, but anyone who has ever sat in a practice with Mathis knows his passion is for coaching. He’s understanding and supportive and not so old that he’s forgotten just how hot we can get in our uniforms and pads during practice.

We’re all crammed in the midsized conference room at the hotel in Denver, and Coach is giving us the usual before-game-day speech. It’s the first of the season—even if it is only the preseason—so we’re all a little hyped more than usual. Mathis knows us so well he can sense our spiked adrenaline during his speech and wraps it up early. He ends with a smile, informing us that, as usual, the team has reserved the hotel restaurant for the night so we can eat without the public gawking at us.

I know some of the guys will order food delivery to their rooms, but Aleks and I almost always prefer to eat in the restaurant when the team makes an effort to reserve it for us. Once we’re dismissed, I follow my best friend and a few other guys across the lobby to the dining area.

The restaurant is dim, with mood lighting over nice, cloth-covered tables. A fully stocked bar is stationed on the far side, and much to my dismay, the guys in my group head right for it.

Gallon immediately orders a light beer, making Aleks cast him a disapproving look. “What?” he questions defensively. “Coach didn’t say anything about drinking tonight. He knows we’re full of preseason jitters. Have one.”

I balk as the others give in and agree to drink with him. Aleks, Tank, Blow, and Kit all settle on the barstools with their glasses of ale in front of them, perusing the pub menu without a second thought. Meanwhile, I gulp mouthfuls of spit as they toss back their beers. I try to focus on anything but the drinks in their hands. Sweat beads on my forehead and between my shoulder blades.

Frustration wells inside me. Years. It has been years, yet I still cannot control the way my brain instantly reacts when put in this position. It makes my blood heat—because how weak am I that someone else’s actions are disrupting my life in such a way? I don’t want that drink. I don’t . So why can’t I take my eyes off the amber liquid in their glasses? What the hell is wrong with me?

“Gin, look. They have vegan burgers.” Aleks’ voice is a reminder that I am with friends. In public. My mouth instinctively stretches into a picture-perfect smile 0.2 seconds before he spins on the barstool to face me. I’m the only one still standing from our group, but with the restaurant being flooded by the majority of our other teammates, I don’t look too out of place. Yet.

Aleks motions for me to take the seat beside him. With a deep, calming breath, I summon my signature carefree attitude and join my friends at the bar.

The bartender sidles my way, his hand already reaching for another pint glass. “What can I get ya?” he asks with a smile that says he knows exactly how attractive he is. And yeah, objectively, he is. Dark hair pulled back in a low bun, small gauges in his ear lobes, and tattoos on his hands, the ink disappearing into his sleeves.

“A glass!” Aleks whoops while slinging an arm over my shoulders. I shoot a worried glance at his already nearly empty beer. “Because you, Mr. Bartender, are a tall drink of?—”

“Water,” I interrupt my friend’s attempt at flirting with an apologetic look at the man just trying to do his job. “We’ll all take a very large glass of water each, please. Do you have sweet tea?”

He shoots a wink Aleks’ way, and I internally groan, knowing that will only encourage my friend. The bartender turns back to me—just to break my heart. “I have iced tea and sugar packets.”

My nose wrinkles at the suggestion, and I politely decline. Plain water is better than bitter tea with undissolved sugar circling the bottom.

We place our food orders, the guys choosing greasy burgers and wings while I gladly request a vegan burger.

“I didn’t know you’re vegan,” Tank says to me, leaning around Gal and Aleks to meet my eyes. He shovels a handful of bar fries into his mouth while waiting for my reply. “That’s neat,” he mumbles around the food.

“I’m not.” Picking up a single french fry, I place it in my mouth, chew, and swallow like a normal person before continuing. “I just prefer the taste if it’s an option. It’s better nutrition-wise, too. Less grease, high protein, and good fats.”

“Yeah, but”—Tank pulls a face—“it’s vegan .”

I chuckle to myself, taking the more than familiar criticism with good spirits, and the conversation moves on. It’s only been a month and a half since the walk-on tryouts where I first met Tank, but he has quickly become a staple in our group, fitting in a lot easier than Avery has. Training camp can be chaotic, with different groups coming in on different days at all hours, so even though I haven’t spent a lot of time with the guy due to our nearly opposing positions—he’s new, I’m a veteran; he’s an offensive tight end, I’m a defensive cornerback—I can tell he’s a chill, easygoing guy. Too bad he isn’t my roommate instead of Avery.

“You guys ready for the game tomorrow?” a tipsy Aleks hollers for no apparent reason. “We’re gonna kick some ass!”

“It’s just our first preseason game. We need to focus on us , not beating Denver,” I point out as the only entirely sober one.

Aleks ignores me to point at Kit. He’s such a lightweight he’s already swaying. Or . . . wait, is his glass fuller than it was earlier? The bartender must be secretly topping him off. “We’re gonna run the bean play, aren’t we, Baby Boy?”

“Hell, yeah!” Kit clinks his beer against Aleks’, and the two gulp greedily at the alcohol remaining in their glasses.

Tank lets out a belch before asking, “Why do you guys call it the bean play?”

I let out a loud, dramatic groan, tipping my head far back. “Don’t ask, man. It’s so crude?—”

“It’s great!” Aleks declares over my complaining. Kit, Gal, and Blow all voice their agreement. “Tell him,” my friend instructs, pointing first at Gallon, then Tank.

Gal rumbles a deep chuckle and gestures for Tank to lean in close. The other follow as well while I sit back with a resigned sigh. “Okay, so. It’s a flea flicker, right? But the joke is, instead of flicking a flea, we’re flicking a bean.” He mimes a quick gesture for that , and I wince, subtly checking around the room to ensure no one else witnessed him doing it.

Tank falls apart laughing. “Gal, if you’re doing it like that, you’re gonna be sleeping in the doghouse with the fleas.”

“That’s the Gal Technique!” he exclaims. “The ladies love it!”

“Ain’t no ladies lovin’ whatever that was,” I quip over the rim of my water glass.

“Oh yeah? Then how do you do it?”

I smirk and shrug one shoulder. “With my tongue, usually. Smooth circles. Alternating flicking my tongue over the tip.”

“Mm, that’s men, Gin,” Aleks interjects.

My smirk grows. “Them, too.”

God, if my momma heard me talking this way, she’d wash my mouth out with soap.

Raising my hands in a gesture of surrender, I say, “Okay, okay. We should stop before—” My eyes catch on Gallon, who has his tongue out and is trying my “technique” on the tip of his pinky finger. The others follow my gaze before we all burst into a round of guffaws so ridiculous we can’t even thank the waiter when our food is placed in front of us.

? ? ?

It’s thirty minutes before curfew when I reluctantly swipe my key card over the panel on the door of the hotel room assigned to Avery and me. I’m praying he’s off somewhere else—I wouldn’t even report him to Coach if he switched rooms with someone—but when I step inside, my eyes immediately find him sitting up in his bed, back leaning against the headboard.

Avery doesn’t look up from his phone when I walk in, so I take a second to study him. If it wasn’t for his foul attitude, he’d be quite the catch. Messy hair, just long enough to grasp, that toes the line between blond and brown, the locks soft and smooth. The baggy tank he’s wearing shows off his lean biceps, but it’s the smattering of freckles on his pale skin, the bit not sun-kissed from practicing in our team jersey, that has my eyes momentarily glued to his broad shoulders. Those freckles match the ones that dust across his high cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. I know because when we line up head-to-head in practice, I have a hard time focusing on anything else.

But then he scowls, and I remember those freckles belong to a man who went and got himself nicknamed Sour because of his attitude.

“Hey,” I greet softly, closing the door as quietly as possible so as not to disturb any neighboring rooms. “I didn’t see you downstairs. Did you get something to eat?”

He looks over at me in a way that, for some reason, makes me want to instinctively apologize for speaking. Without a word, he lifts one finger, not even bothering to remove his hand from his phone, to point in the general direction of the desk on the opposite side of the room. Below it is a trash can, and inside that, I can just barely see the plastic edge of a to-go bag.

“Oh, good. What’d you get? The burgers downstairs were pretty great?—”

“Do you plan to talk all night?” His voice is low, as it always is whenever he deigns to grace us with it. Gravel bites at his first few words, as if he hasn’t spoken in a long time before now, and his infliction is bitterly cold.

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him off for being an asshole, but the stress from earlier catches up to me. I barely have the energy to maintain my polite smile, much less return his rudeness. “No worries,” I whisper nearly inaudibly before raising my voice a bit. “Listen, I know it’s your first pro game tomorrow. The coaches room us like this—rookie and veteran—to help with any questions or concerns you might have. Even if it’s just that you forgot what time we’re meeting for breakfast. I want you to know I’m here.” When he side-eyes me, I raise my hands in a placating gesture. “I’m shutting up now. Good night.”

Avery says nothing as I grab my pajamas and toiletry bag and head to the bathroom, but I can feel his eyes on me. Not constantly, but flickering between his phone and me. I’d think he’s checking me out if I didn’t know any better. But I do. I’m not sure why he’s watching me, but it makes me feel like prey being stalked, like Hendrix is a jungle cat simply biding its time before pouncing.

Ridiculous. This is ridiculous. I am a grown man. There is no reason for me to be nervous about turning my back on a guy whose only personality trait is a scowl.

I shake my head to myself as I enter the bathroom. Tonight has just been a weird night. Changes to my usual routines always throw me off. I know that.

Looking at myself in the mirror, I know the changes have only just begun. My affirmation notes are wrinkled in my toiletry bag, mocking me. I won’t be posting them on the mirror—can’t without my new roomie thinking I’m crazy. Aleks didn’t even give me the one he promised me, so what’s the point?

My frustration from earlier returns with a vengeance. Before I know it, my fist is balled inside my bag, and the three notes are crumbled beneath my fingers. I want to let it out—to scream, to punch the wall, to go back downstairs and ask for their strongest spirit. I?—

Knock, knock.

Knowing my composure is still a minute or two away from returning, I don’t make a move to leave the bathroom. The knocks came from the outer hotel room door, so I figure Avery can get his scowling ass out of bed to answer it.

I hear the sound of footsteps, a heavy door opening, and soft voices.

“Hey, man. How are you?” The first muffled voice belongs to Aleks, and I let out a relieved sigh. Has he followed through after all? “We missed you downstairs.”

“I ate in,” Avery offers in a clipped tone.

“Well, even if you order out, you’re always welcome to sit and eat with us.”

“Hmph.”

“Is Gin in there?”

“He’s in the?—”

I yank open the bathroom door with a full smile. “Here. I’m here. Hi.”

Aleks, appearing to be more sober than when I last saw him downstairs, holds out his hand, a neatly folded note between two fingers. “Did you think I forgot about you, my love?”

Rolling my eyes at the return of his antics, I sidestep Avery with as much distance as the small entryway can provide. “My lord, you did but make me wait for you ’til the candle burned low.” I don a horrible British accent in a mock of his earlier. “I thought it might yet reach curfew before you came.”

Avery takes two steps back, utter confusion clouding his face.

At least he isn’t scowling for once.

I try to snag the note from Aleks, but he holds steady. My eyebrow lifts inquisitively as I tug again to no avail.

“My love note require payment,” he declares, brogue. “Perhaps a kiss in exchange?”

At his words, my eyes drift to Avery, who seems to have once more veiled his emotions. Still, for some unknown reason, I don’t really want to go along with Aleks’ game in front of him. “Dude,” I hiss and give Aleks a meaningful look.

“I’m not letting go until I get a kiss.”

“I’m not kissing you,” I declare with finality.

“Come on,” my friend goads. “Do it for the ’gram.”

“I already did it for the ’gram.”

“Please.”

“No, dude.”

“You don’t love me.”

“Right now, I don’t even like you.”

“Giiiin.”

“No.”

“I want a good-night kiss.”

“And I—” I break off as a body darts past me.

Avery grabs Aleks’ T-shirt by the front material, pulls him close, and places a loud, sloppy one right on his mouth. With Aleks standing in complete shock, my new roommate rips the note from his hand before passing it to me. “Good night, Aleks,” he says, turning to walk further into our room. “Stop talking, Ellingsworth.”

If literal steam could come out of my ears, now is the time it would happen. Aleks gets a good-night kiss, and I get told to shut up? It was Aleks’ fault that I was even talking in the first place!

My friend bites his lip, stifling his laughter at the appalled look on my face. I flip him off in return, then let the door slam in his face.

Closed inside the bathroom once more, I finally change into my pajamas. I take a second to straighten out the three notes I’d crushed earlier, reading over each one.

We love you — Mom and Dad.

3 — Willow.

Take meds — Me.

There, there’s Aleks’: Flick a bean, flick a peen, you sexy bi-boy!

I laugh out loud, quickly cutting myself off as I hear how echoey the bathroom is. Still smiling to myself, I go through my nightly routine—washing my face, brushing my teeth, moisturizing my hair. When it comes time to take my nightly medication, I cast a nervous glance at the closed bathroom door. Will Avery be able to hear the rattle of the pill bottle? The echo in the all-tile room is ridiculous.

Turning the faucet back on, I use it to try and down out the sound of me sifting through the three bottles until I find the one I need.

One white pill. That’s all.

For tonight, at least.

I move at the pace of a snail, pulling the bottle out, uncapping it, carefully tipping it, and sliding one finger in to retrieve one pill. Replacing the cap and returning the bottle to my bag is just as difficult to keep quiet. Despite the running water, I fear Avery had to have heard all the noise.

My pulse is racing so fast I have to grasp the edge of the counter and take deep breaths to calm myself before I can take the single pill. I debate using one of the glasses set out on the counter, but would Avery wonder why I needed it?

Deciding not to risk having to explain myself, I cup my palm to fill it with water from the faucet and use that to take my medicine.

I’m still a nervous wreck as I enter the dark hotel room. Avery is beneath his sheets, his back to me. He appears to be asleep, but he also might be pretending so I won’t bother him.

Did he hear? Is he wondering what made those unmistakable sounds—what pills I took?

The worry is too much. I’d be less anxious not taking my pills than having to sneak them. I have been taking them religiously without fail, and I feel perfectly in control—save for today, but that couldn’t be helped. I’ve felt fine for a long time now.

Maybe in the morning, I’ll skip my dose. One time will be fine, I’m sure.