The Winner Takes All (Complete Collection)

15. Night Walkers

15

NIGHT WALKERS

Beck

One hour and one Báhn mì later, I’m helping Portia refill bird feeders in the backyard.

“How long have you been a Renegades fan?” I ask as I pour millet onto the tiny porch of a mini bungalow. It looks like a yellow dollhouse.

She stares at the sky, thoughtful. “Since the womb, I’m sure.”

I laugh as we move to the next birdhouse—a white colonial. I hold up the bag of millet in question.

Portia shakes her head. “This home is just for nesting.”

“Have any birds done that?”

“Purple martins,” she says proudly. “They’re quite social. And this colonial has lots of bird apartments in it. My son Bryan made it for me.”

I look at the birdhouse in a new light. It’s intricate. “He’s a birdhouse architect,” I say as she guides me to a eucalyptus tree.

“He’s very talented. He’s a contractor in Los Angeles, restoring old homes. The birdhouses are a hobby,” she says, then she waggles a cylindrical red feeder hanging on a branch, checking its contents. “The hummingbird juice is all gone. I’ll have to make them some more.”

“Water and sugar, right?”

“Exactly!”

“I’ll do it,” I offer. I like being helpful. Plus, this passes the time. The busier I stay, the less I’ll think about Jason. If I can just make it through today without going crazy from lust, I’ll know I can withstand seeing him every Monday morning.

After she gives me the recipe—four parts water to one part sugar—I tell her I’ll meet her back here in thirty. Inside my place, I heat the concoction on the stove, so the sugar dissolves faster, then pour it into a large measuring cup when it cools off. Yup, these tasks are helping. I have a purpose that’s not him .

I head back outside and find Portia pruning the bushes at the yard’s edge. She sets down the shears and joins me at the eucalyptus tree as I refill the feeder.

“You’re becoming too helpful, Beck. I’ll have to offer another discount,” she says.

“And you already owe me two discounts for my wins. Here’s hoping it’s three after next Sunday. The team will be four and oh then.”

“The Tarot says it will be.” Her smile brightens, turning sort of... motherly. “I enjoyed your post-game interview last night. So did Bryan. He’s gay.”

Oh, boy. Here we go. Looks like this birdhouse talk was all a ruse.

“He’ll be in town for Thanksgiving,” she continues.

“Cool,” I say, bracing myself. I don’t want to be a dick and turn down her son in advance, but I loathe set-ups.

“Want to join us? Meet Bryan?”

Does her son even know she’s playing matchmaker? Well, that’s not my problem. I don’t like turning down turkey, though, so here goes nothing. “Thanksgiving sounds fun, but I’m not dating,” I say.

She sighs, defeated, but then smiles again. “It was worth a shot. And of course, you’re welcome on Turkey Day. We were talking about you on the phone last night and about your interview with Eva. We were excited for you, though, and for what it means.”

Even if I came out on TV for me, what I said does affect others. It matters to others. That’s still hard for me to get used to, but I’ll have to. “Thanks. I’m glad to hear that. Do you need me to help with anything else?” I ask, hoping she’ll have a chore list long enough to fill the day.

“No, you go rest. You have practice tomorrow,” she says.

That bout of busy work brought me to two-thirty in my Jason decompression. I retreat to my home, pick up a copy of the new Axel Huxley thriller I snagged at the bookshop around the corner, and curl up on my beanbag.

This story will have to do the heavy lifting for the afternoon. Good thing Huxley writes bonkers sex scenes. The hero in his last book injured his back during shower sex, so it’s not like I’m going to get turned on as I read his stories.

For a few hours, I do my best to get lost in the vigilante-for-hire’s crime investigations. By chapter ten, when the hero foils a plot to blow up an abandoned subway station in Dublin, I mostly stop thinking about Jason and how I feel so wound up around him. But when my phone buzzes, I’m hoping it’s him. I click on my texts and it’s my buddy Drew in LA. I try not to be bummed.

Drew: Dude! It’s getting weirder here at the Devil Sharks.

Beck: Uh oh. What’s going on?

Drew: This team is like a reality TV show.

Was it? I didn’t notice that stuff. I write back.

Beck: I kind of flew under the radar when I was in LA.

Drew: Yeah, no shit. That’s your superpower.

Beck: And I highly recommend it.

Drew: Anyway, I’ll tell you more later. Team meeting!

I set my phone down, and return to the book for another round of narrow escapes and mind-boggling missions. In chapter fifteen, as Huxley commandeers a helicopter in Vienna, Carter texts. I jump on the possible lifeline.

Carter: Want to grab a bite to eat and check out my Tinder matches with me?

More than anything. I write back, stat.

Beck: You don’t waste a second.

Carter: I do not. I love dating.

Beck: Name the time and place, and I’ll be there .

Carter: There’s a hot pot I want to try. It’s near Japan Town, which is near you. Seven-thirty.

Dinner will put me closer to my goal of finishing this day without confessing to Jason what I want to do with him.

Beck: I’ll be there.

At seven-fifteen, I’m freshly showered and dressed in jeans and a black short-sleeve button-down. Since I like to walk, I head toward Japan Town on foot, using the time to catch up with my friend Rachel.

“Tell me, Beck. Are your DMs lit up with offers for sex and dates after last night?”

Laughing, I shake my head. “No, because I don’t have DMs.”

“Ah, that’s why you never got on social. So you wouldn’t get hit on,” she says.

“Yeah, I hate it when people find me attractive,” I deadpan as I turn the corner onto Webster Street.

“Speaking of,” she says, a leading tone to her words that borders on flirty.

But she’s not flirting with me. She’s flirting with information. Ever since we broke up nearly two years ago, staying good friends, she’s been asking me about my dating life. Rachel knew I was bi when we were together. She’s bi too.

“Speaking of what , Rach?” I love to toy with her.

“C’mon. You know what I want. Is there anyone in San Francisco? You hear all about my misadventures. I want to hear yours.”

“San Francisco is pretty cool so far. The cuisine is good, and my landlady is a sweetheart,” I tease.

I picture her stomping her foot. “That’s not what I mean. Have you met anyone you like as much as you liked me?”

Rachel does not lack in the confidence department. I suspect that’s why we stayed friends.

“Nope,” I say, but guilt wiggles through me over the lie.

I picture Jason and his deep blue eyes, his smile that’s both cocky and sweet, his confidence and his kindness.

Do I like him as much as her? While I don’t feel the same—Rachel and I were once in love—I am insanely attracted to Jason. Maybe more than I was to her. Maybe more than I’ve been to anyone. The pull toward him is unreal. It’s a storm whipping inside me, and I can’t break away from it.

I also can’t breathe a word of these forbidden fantasies to anyone. I didn’t tell her about my night with Jason last year. But I don’t like lying to Rachel, so I compromise. “There is this one guy, but I don’t think anything will come of it.”

“Why not?” She sounds devastated on my behalf.

“It’s distracting from football. We’ve won the first two games I played. I can’t deal with anything besides my job. This team is so good, it’s scary to lead it,” I say, and the weight of the responsibility presses down so hard on my shoulders I have to take a deep, calming breath.

“Are you doing okay with your anxiety?” she asks gently.

“Definitely. I do my meditation before every game. Before interviews too. I’m managing,” I say. It makes me feel good to give that truthful answer. Of all the things I’m proud of in my life, learning how to live with anxiety is one of them.

“Good, good,” she says, then I reach the Hot Pot Spot—talk about a rhyming name. “I should go. Bye, Rach.”

“Love you, Beck.”

“Ditto.”

Inside the restaurant, I find Carter, and we order. Quickly, the server sets up the broth on the burners on the table, and soon we cook vermicelli, potatoes, tofu, and fish.

After we power through the first course, Carter shows me his matches. “Swipe right or left?” He flashes me a pic of a brunette walking a chihuahua mix.

“That dog is cute. Swipe right, for sure,” I say, then take a bite of tofu.

Carter pulls a face.

“What?” I ask. “You don’t like my answer?”

“What I hear you saying is I didn’t look at her pic, I checked out the dog .”

I grin like an asshole. “Yup. Swipe right for the cute dog.”

He shakes his head in mock annoyance, then shows me the rest of his matches, but he’s half-hearted when he reaches the end. “I dunno. I might be old-fashioned, but I kind of want to have a date that’s just a date, not a hookup. And Tinder is such a hookup factory. Call me crazy, but I want more than sex.”

Mmm. I catapult back to this morning in the car.

Jason’s hand on mine felt like sex. His hand . Everything he does turns me on, and I don’t know what to do with this feeling that I’m vibrating every second of the day.

“But what about you, bro?” Carter asks. I return to the present as he fires more questions at me. “You want to get out there? I write awesome profiles if you decide to get on the apps. I can help you find Mister or Mrs. Right like that.” He snaps his fingers.

“Thanks. I’ll think about it for sure,” I say, but I won’t.

Dating is distracting. Friendship is not, though, so I focus on this moment, chatting about baseball for the rest of the meal.

Another hour logged. I’m almost done with this day.

When we leave Hot Pot Spot, Carter points his key fob at his Audi, parked outside the restaurant. “Need a ride home?”

I shake my head. “Nah, I like to walk.”

“Take a hat, then. In case someone spots you.”

“Really?” I haven’t been recognized yet. Except... by Portia. And by a Lyft driver the other day. Fine, he has a point. “Do you keep spare Renegades hats with you?”

“I’m not giving you a team cap. I have a stash of Seductive caps. My aftershave sponsor,” he says, then opens the trunk, grabs a purple ballcap, and wings it my way.

I catch it one-handed, then pop it on my head with a flip. Not to be shown up, Carter snags a hat, performs the same trick, then hops into his car and takes off.

I check the time. It’s nearly nine. I made it through a day when all I wanted was to confess my fantasies to Jason.

Maybe I need a trophy for resistance.

Except . . . I still want to tell him.

Is he out on a date? The idea horrifies me.

Is he home alone? The thought thrills me.

As I cover the first two blocks on Post Street, I fiddle with my phone, picturing Jason at his house. On his couch. Thinking about me too.

My chest absolutely aches.

“Fuck,” I mutter. I’m failing miserably at making it through the day.

I glance around at my surroundings, trying to get my bearings, to root myself in the present. I pass Hotel Kabuki. I reach Bush Street. I stop at the light. I hit the crosswalk sign.

But do I want to cross or turn around?

My heart beats faster. I can go home, shut the door, and lock myself in for the evening.

Instead, I walk on, click open my text messages, and write to Jason.

Beck: I didn’t get a car today.

It’s a conversation starter, that’s all, and the second I send it, I’m scared he won’t write back. But he responds in less than a minute.

Jason: Good to hear from you too, Mister Random Message. If you didn’t get a car, what did you do today after the photo shoot?

Tried to resist telling you everything.

Beck: Helped my landlady with her bird feeders.

Jason: Who’s the nice guy now?

Beck: I told you how I feel about nice.

Jason: Yes, in your usual roundabout way.

Beck: I can be direct.

Jason: Can you?

Beck: Do you want me to be?

Jason: Sure. Try me.

Fear climbs the stairs in my chest. The fear that he’ll reject me. I type out the question I most want to ask and hit send.

Beck: What are you doing now?

His response is instant. And it makes my bones hum.

Jason: Hanging out at my house with Taco. Doing a word game.

Beck: You do word games?

Jason: This surprises you?

Beck: I thought you’d be watching a show.

Jason: You spying on me?

Beck: NO!

Jason: Damn. I was looking out my window, thinking the broody guy walking by was you.

My breath catches. I stop in my tracks at a street corner, chest heaving with possibility. Thinking or hoping? is what I want to write. Instead, I reply with...

Beck: It’s not me.

Jason: Too bad . . .

Desire shoves my nerves to the back of the line. I walk, and I walk, and I walk. Ten minutes later, I turn onto his block, powered by adrenaline.

I finally reply.

Beck: Actually, it is me now.

Then I walk up his steps and knock on his door.