4. My To-Do List Just Got Shorter
4
MY TO-DO LIST JUST GOT SHORTER
Beck
I arrive at the gym and swipe my card. The place is packed, teeming with fitness warriors attacking StairMasters and spinning fast on bikes. Making my way past the rows of cardio equipment, I hunt for Carter like I’d search for him on the field. Fair skin, trim beard, hands like oven mitts.
There he is, at the back of the gym, working out with some guys who look familiar. I’ve just started toward them when a voice I last heard in my fantasies calls out: “Cafferty.”
I shiver.
I fucking shiver.
I turn around to face him. I’m battered by the unfairness of my reaction to Jason McKay. It’s instant and unmistakable like I’ve been zapped with electricity.
Crack. Pop. Sizzle.
He’s as handsome as ever, those blue eyes the color of a clear sky. They laser in on me, and in a heartbeat... my chest heats up.
Don’t think about that night.
And maybe while you’re at it, don’t think about how good he looks, all that determination in his gaze, the sheen of sweat at the neck of his shirt, the curve of his lips.
And that dimple. That stupid, fucking, adorable dimple. I could stare dopily at him for my whole workout.
But I won’t.
I snap back to this moment, not on memories and not on foolish wishes. “Hey, McKay,” I say, but that sounded weird. The rhythm of those words. “It rhymes. Hey, McKay. ”
Talk much?
That’s not what I wanted to say either. Why is this so hard with him? Oh, right. Attraction this strong trips me up. Thanks, lust.
“That it does,” Jason says, then holds out a hand. “Congrats on the trade, man. Exciting stuff.”
I take his hand and pump, doing my damnedest to erase other images of his hands. On my chest, my face, my cock.
My cheeks burn. “So, this is your gym?”
He glances around and nods. “Yup. My turf,” he says, then flashes a grin. “Of all the gin joints in San Francisco.”
I recover quickly. “They serve liquor here? Who knew it was a full-service gym.”
“Oh yeah, this place has everything. Full bar, driving range, and facials,” he says with a wink. “What more could you want?”
To talk like this.
Except banter with Jason isn’t on my to-do list. And while now probably isn’t the time for sorries, it might be my only chance.
But Jason speaks first. “So, listen?—”
“Do you have a second to talk?” I ask because I’m going first.
He startles but recovers quickly. “Yeah, sure.”
One speedy look around says I spoke too soon. Jason’s teammates are here. So are mine. Fans probably too. We’re standing by the water fountain, near a row of treadmills, ten feet from the weights. This was a mistake. This is not where I can explain what happened that night a year ago.
But I called this meeting. “There must be a quiet spot somewhere,” I say softly.
Jason coolly nods toward the hallway that must lead to the lockers. He’s so smooth with everything. I bet this sort of thing is routine to him. He’s Mister Easygoing, moving through life, chatting casually with guys he once hooked up with like it’s no big deal.
But whatever his story is, I need to say my piece, for myself.
I follow him. There are small exercise rooms on each side of the hall for personal training sessions, with mats and balance balls. Jason gestures to an empty one and opens the door. At least it’s nice and quiet in here, even if it does feel like a fishbowl, with anyone passing by able to look in.
I speak before I lose the nerve. “I wanted to explain what went down after the game last year,” I say.
Jason shakes his head, offering me a warm smile that spreads to those blue eyes. “Like I said, we’re all good. There’s no need.”
But there is a need. I need to tell him. “I want to clear the air. About the...” I don’t want to presume he’s even thought twice about what happened. “The situation. My situation,” I say to jog his memory.
Jason smiles again. Shakes his head again. “Seriously. We’re all good.”
He sounds so genuine, so real. Like he did that night when he gave me media tips. When we laughed and talked and teased.
I scrub a hand across the back of my neck, buying some time.
Jason, though, is so good at off-the-cuff. “Listen, I don’t know you well, and that’s cool. But if you need someone to talk to, or someone to turn to for advice about being an athlete and being bi, I’m happy to put you in touch with some good people.”
What?
My head spins.
“What do you mean, exactly?” I ask carefully. Is he offering to connect me with other queer folks? Why the hell does he think I need that?
“You gotta do you, Cafferty. Whatever works for you, but if you need support or advice or anything, at any point in your journey, just know that I’m out, Nate is out, and a bunch of baseball players on both the Cougars and the Dragons are. And there’s a great LGBTQ Alliance in town. We’re all here if you need anything.”
Whoa. My brain is ping-ponging, trying to follow this unexpected conversation.
My journey?
He doesn’t know my journey. He doesn’t know who I am. I’m not in the closet. My football buddies from Los Angeles, like Drew and ángel, know I’m bi. My agent knows. Most of my former teammates knew. And so did my last girlfriend, Rachel.
I’m just not on fucking social media. That’s all.
“I appreciate that, but I want to...” Clear the air dies on my tongue as Jason points to the clock on the wall.
“I need to hit the treadmill, and then I have a date at my place with a very special guy. See you later. And best of luck this season.” Then he gives me that crooked smile that melts my heart and balls. “And I can’t wait to destroy you on the field.”
On that throwdown, he leaves, strutting down the hallway like that was easy for him. Reeling off advice. Grinning casually. Taking off to work out and get ready for his date .
What a lucky guy to have a date with Jason McKay.
I didn’t get to say my piece, but the window has closed.
I leave and find Carter on a treadmill. When my teammate spots me walking toward him, he holds out his hands in a what gives? then tugs out his earbuds. “Where did you disappear to with McKay?”
My face burns again. My stomach flips.
Not only did I gain zero resolution, but now I’m also hot and bothered. In just a few minutes, he turned me on and shut me down.
That man has too much of an effect on me. I’ve got to get it together. I put on my poker face as I claim the machine next to Carter, slapping my towel on the bar. “We were just trading trash talk. You know how it goes.”
He offers a fist for knocking. “Excellent. You’re already trying to psych out the city’s other QB. You’re gonna fit in here just fine, Caff.”
That’s what I’m here to do. To slide into this well-oiled machine of a team and take them to the postseason once more.
As I run, I cross apologize to Jason off my to-do list. I tried. He said we’re good. That’s all that matters.
But as I run, I feel weirdly unfulfilled.
Like I didn’t close the loop.
And I hate incomplete passes.