Chapter 15
HE'S SO PRETTY, IT MAKES ME WANT TO CRY
Elliot
The next two days pass by in one of those blurs that are difficult to describe.
Like when you get in your car and start driving—one minute, you’re pulling out onto the road and the next, you’re sitting in your driveway.
You know you drove home, but you have no memory of how you managed to do so safely because you weren’t paying attention.
I know I practiced, I know I played football. I know I kicked two field goals and I know I did post-game press with our special teams coordinator.
Or at least, my body did all of those things. My mind was back there in my bedroom, watching Alex through my phone and itching to reach out and touch him.
We haven’t had much time to catch up since Friday night, but I did shoot him a text this morning asking if I could come over to his place tonight so we could finally talk.
So here I am, thighs burning from the uphill trek to Alex’s front door, a take-out bag full of sushi in my hand, and I’m too damn chicken-shit to knock on the door.
Alex gave me the time I asked for to think, but I’m still unsure of my answer.
What am I supposed to say?
I can’t stop thinking about the noises you make when you come.
I want to kiss you so badly that my lips tingle constantly.
I need you to keep things casual between us because if you so much as look at me with a hint of hearts in your eyes, I will fall so head over heels in love with you and my life will be ruined.
None of those sound great, but standing out here in the cold is doing me no good.
Just as I lift my fist to knock, the door comes flying open and Alex is there on the other side.
“I’m sorry, dude, but you were giving me anxiety just standing out here like a sentient gargoyle. I couldn’t wait any longer.”
Fuck me, but he looks incredible. Bare feet, black basketball shorts that show off his muscled calves and leave little to the imagination in the groin department, a threadbare Boston Hockey tee fit snug against his chest and in his hair, one of those puffy pink headbands people use to hold their hair back while they do their makeup.
He’s so pretty, it makes me want to cry.
“How’d you know I was here?”
He reaches past the door frame and taps on a small, dark gray box I hadn’t noticed.
Ah, the doorbell camera. Duh.
“Stalker,” I mutter.
“You like it,” he sasses, grabbing me by the hand and dragging me into his apartment and straight into the living room.
This is the first time I’ve seen the inside of Alex’s place beyond the background views I get when we’ve FaceTimed, and I’m not surprised to see that it's just as wild and colorful as he is. It's clean but lived-in with blankets strewn about, an open package of cookies on the coffee table next to a handheld gaming console, a few paperback books, and what looks like three different abandoned yarn projects—some embroidery, crochet, and a bunch of stuffing. There’s a yellow couch, a zebra print rug, and a green accent chair that is so bright, I almost don’t notice Franny the fanny pack laying on the seat.
The TV mounted to the wall is on mute, but the screen shows one of those ambient, autumn afternoon scenes complete with falling leaves and a perfect golden hour sunset on a lake.
It smells like pumpkins and cinnamon and feels so perfectly Alex.
“I didn’t know you were a…crocheter? Knitter? Yarn person? You’ve got a lot of craft stuff here.”
He chuckles, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.
“Eh, that’s because I’m not great at it.
I’ve managed to crochet a couple of uneven scarves and that’s it.
Mostly, my projects are just a clusterfuck and I donate all of my jagged finished pieces to the local animal shelter to be used as blankets.
But crochet, knitting, embroidery—they’re all good for finger dexterity, which is good for hand strength, which keeps me good at my job.
Sorry you have to see my mess of abandoned fiber art work. ”
“I love your place, Goat. It feels so homey here. I never bothered decorating when I moved into my house and eventually, Mom got sick of looking at empty white walls any time she visited. She hired an interior designer who came in and whipped everything into shape. It all looks really nice, but now the place feels like the inside of an issue of Architectural Digest. But this? This feels like you.”
Alex tilts his head, looking me up and down until those cute little crinkles form by his eyes and his lips tip up into a smile.
“You’re nervous, aren’t you El?”
I huff out a laugh, running my hand over the back of my neck.
“How can you tell?”
“Because you sound like me, all rambly and messy. I know you didn’t come here to talk about interior design, and even if you did, I could barely hear you over the sound of that plastic bag in your hand because you’re shaking so much.
” He grabs the offending take out bag from my hand and places a warm hand on my chest, gently nudging me towards the couch.
“Go sit down. I’ll take care of the food, and then we’ll talk. ”
He disappears through an open doorway while I plop on to the ridiculously soft couch, dropping my elbows to my knees and burying my face into my hands. I can hear the rustle of the sushi being put away in the refrigerator, then feel the dip of the cushion as Alex settles in next to me.
“It’s okay, you know,” he says quietly, his knee brushing up against mine.
“What’s okay?”
“If you don’t want to do this. If you’re going to say we made a mistake the other night and we should just be friends.
I’ll understand. It’s not fair of me to ask you to be my good luck charm and my gay sex guru all at once.
Let’s forget I ever said anything, okay?
You don’t even have to send me exes and ohs before my games anymore.
I’ll swallow down the superstition and we can go back to being buddies. ”
Lifting my head from my hands, I look at Alex, take in the soft sadness in his face, the glow of the ambient low lighting reflecting in his amber eyes, the patchy stubble on his chin that makes me want to rub my lips all over him.
Every time I look at Alex, the overwhelming realization slaps me upside the head once more.
I am in so over my head with this man.
“Baby,” I reach out and cup his cheek, rubbing the pad of my thumb over his mostly smooth skin.
“I don’t want to forget about anything. I’m sorry if my being nervous is making you feel uncertain, but I’ve thought about you—about us—a lot, and I want to do this.
I want to be your good luck charm and your—what did you call it?
Your gay sex guru? I’m just…overwhelmed with how much I want you right now. ”
Not a lie—my dick has been weeping for days every time I think of Alex, his tight body, his sweet smile, the way he cried out when he came all over himself for me on the phone.
But not the truth, either. I am overwhelmed with how much I want him, but it's more than just my dick. I’m like a seventeen year old with an all consuming crush again.
Except unlike when I was an actual seventeen year old, this time I’m old enough to know that this is going to hurt like hell when it's over. And yet, I can’t stop myself from taking this leap. I don’t even want to try.
“But,” I say, needing to put up some kind of wall around my heart. Even if it feels like it's made of toothpicks and wads of chewed bubblegum fighting for their lives to keep it together. “We need to have some rules.”
“Rules. I can follow the rules.” Alex bobs his head like a chihuahua on a dashboard, and I want to scream for how fucking adorable he is.
“This is just for the season. Your season, or until I stop being your good luck charm. I don’t want to become something you hate because we couldn’t keep it in our pants and suddenly I’m the big gray cloud that ruined your career.”
“That would never happen because I could never hate you, but I get your point. I can agree to that.”
“Should we keep this a secret? I mean, I know you’re not out. Not that you need to come out, or if you’re just curious or whatever—”
“Not just curious. I’m definitely bi, or pan, or somewhere to the right of “straight” on the scale.
And no, no secrets. I don’t think we need to go blabbing on socials or anything like that.
The public doesn’t need to know about our situation.
I don’t want the fans to find out about the whole superstition side of things and then turn on you and the Redwoods if I start playing like shit and losing games.
But I don’t mind if you talk to your friends or your mom about us.
I’m not ashamed of this season of life I’ve found myself in. ”
I blow out a low whistle.
“That’s deep, man. I don’t know if that’s the beauty of discovering facets of your sexuality later in life or what, but when I was ten and knew for sure that I was gay, you couldn’t have pried that information out of me with the jaws of life.”
Alex just shrugs, a laid back grin spreading across his face.
“You were a kid. I’m an adult, and I’m confident to a fault.”
I don’t know that I’d say to a fault, but he’s certainly confident. And fuck me, but that confidence is the sexiest thing about him. He’s so damn sure of himself, it’s intoxicating.
Alex leans into the palm of my hand, nuzzling against me until his lips meet my skin. He kisses my hand, soft and repetitive, and I swear I could live right here in this moment for the rest of my life and die a happy man.
“El?” he murmurs against my palm.
“Yeah, Goat?”
“Can we please make out now?”
RIP me, I am never going to survive this.
“Give me those lips, Alex. I’m fucking dying for them.”