Six #2
Miles laughed along with the crowd, a hint of awkwardness in the way he crossed his arms and shrugged. “I don’t know, I haven’t checked. But don’t worry, they haven’t abandoned me. I’m, uh, trying something new.”
“Well, hopefully there’ll be time for you to fill us in on what that is,” she said when Miles showed no intention of giving further details, “but for now, congratulations on making the second round. Miles Callahan, ladies and gentlemen!”
The crowd cheered, and as Miles thanked them for their support, someone handed him a marker to sign the camera lens.
It was a strange custom and I’d never understood why we did it – no match ever truly complete until the winner had signed the camera.
Some players wrote fun statements or drew pictures, while others just signed.
Miles had always been a signer, yet when he stepped close, he paused a moment, staring right into the camera.
Into me. A small smile flickered and he set the pen to the plexiglass.
Hope you were watching, he wrote, and walked away grinning.
“A message to his team, perhaps,” one of the commentators said as the feed lingered on Miles’s words.
That was the most sensible conclusion, and I turned off the TV like that might turn off all other ideas. I had a hundred better things to do than try to guess what was going through Miles Callahan’s head and it was time I started doing them.
As I pulled myself off the saggy couch, my phone buzzed.
Scrunchie
were you?
The words stared out from the screen as he had stared through the camera mere moments before, and I found myself grinning. Maybe, I wrote back.
Scrunchie
how’d i do?
A commanding performance
i meant the match
How do you know I didn’t?
because you have better eyes than the interviewer
well?
Don’t you have post match things to do?
i’m cooling down
it’s boring without someone to talk to
Oh, you need a pity friend again
yeah, i need a pity friend again
Are you going to pay me with more steak?
yesterday’s payment wasn’t good enough?
damn. should have taken off the towel
I imagined what he looked like naked and groaned, heat rising through me.
God, this was stupid. He’d only bought me dinner because he’d been lonely.
Had only kissed me because he’d gotten swept up in the moment.
The blowjob was harder to explain, yet some part of me still expected him to laugh and admit it had been an elaborate ruse to embarrass me – punishment for daring him to do without his team.
A familiar twinge of panic tightened beneath my sternum and I dropped my phone on the kitchen bench. No, the whole idea that Miles Callahan could be . . . what? Flirting with me? Was ridiculous. Somewhere along the way, I had misunderstood something, and any moment it would blow up in my face.
The panic swelled like a boulder compressing my chest. I needed to move, to shake it off, and started gathering my things as quickly as I could. Water. Shoes. Racquet bag. I wouldn’t need much else.
My phone buzzed again as I was changing my shirt and I dared to look down.
Scrunchie
mat?
you right there?
did i melt your brain?
I headed for the door, leaving my phone behind.
I WARMED UP. Drilled. Smashed baskets of balls shot from the ball machine.
Then drilled some more. Afternoon slipped into evening while other people came and went from the surrounding courts, and though I knew I ought to head back, I didn’t.
I set another basket at my feet instead and worked on my serve.
Once the basket was empty, I would finally have to stop and think, but until then I could focus on nothing but the motion, nothing but—
“Mat?”
“Fuck!” My heart slammed into my throat and I almost dropped my racquet as I spun. Miles stood watching, the gate to the court slowly swinging closed behind him. “Miles,” I said, pressing a hand to my chest. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“Seems like fair payback,” he returned, faintly scowling at me.
He was dressed in tennis gear like he’d come for a hit and just happened upon me, yet he’d brought no racquet and surely wasn’t in need of the court time. “Payback?” I said. “Why? What are you doing here?”
“What am I doing here? I came to find you!”
My stomach tightened and I turned away with a tense laugh. “Oh, you need a hitting partner?” I asked, grabbing a ball from the basket – focussing on my serve far easier than whatever this was.
“No? Mat, you just fucking disappeared, leaving your phone unlocked on the bench. I was worried.”
“Unlocked?” I glanced at the phone he was holding. It wasn’t his. “Fuck.” I met his scowl with one of my own. “Hope you had fun with that.”
“God, Mat, I didn’t go through it.” He thrust it into my hand with a disgusted snort. “I just messaged your friend Katie to ask if I should be worried. Seems she knows you pretty well.”
My conversation with Katie sat open on the screen.
Katie Zhang
hey katie, this is miles callahan. sorry to be weird and message you like this, but mat left his phone unlocked on the bench in your apartment and disappeared
is this a mat thing or a worry about him thing?
Oh, hi Miles. Lovely to meet you
I think the answer is both? It’s very much a Mat thing, but also a worry about him thing
He only leaves his phone behind when he doesn’t want to look at it
right. any idea where i might find him?
Depends. If he’s angry, he’ll be at the gym
If it’s panic or something else, he’ll be at the court up the road
thanks
No worries
My cheeks heated and I thrust the phone back at him, before recalling it was my own damn phone and dropping it beside the basket. “I’m fine,” I said. “I just came to train and forgot my phone.”
Overhead, the court lights flickered on, preparing to do battle with the incoming night. It was still light enough not to need them, but the new shadows darkened Miles’s frown. “So it wasn’t something I said?” he asked.
“Of course not.” Thankfully, the words came out casual. “Why would you think so?”
“Because you left your phone open to our conversation. You know, the one you disappeared in the middle of.”
“Really, I’m fine.” I bounced the ball, preparing to serve. “How did you even get into my apartment anyway?”
“You’ve never learned how to open locks with a credit card? Surely, it’s a necessary skill for staying in shitty apartments, though I could have opened yours with a fucking tissue. They really should fix that door.”
I tossed up the ball and served, smashing it into the corner of the service box so hard it slammed into the back fence with a metallic ring. Eight balls remained in my basket, and determined to both finish what I’d started and avoid Miles as long as possible, I went on serving.
Knowing he was watching ought to have made me tense, but since nothing could be more embarrassing than making Miles Callahan worry enough to break into my apartment, I just loosened my shoulders and let the serves rip, one after another until the last ball banged into the fence.
When I turned, I found he hadn’t moved, though his scowl had faded into something more contemplative. “What?” I said. “Got some criticisms to offer?”
“Only that you should have had more balls ready to go.”
“I did the rest before you arrived.”
“Pity. That was hot.”
I snorted and strode past him to shove my racquet into my bag. “Right, sure.”
“You know what?” Miles said, folding his arms, his scowl even darker than before.
“Usually when I go after someone, giving them a brain-meltingly good blowjob and following it up with suggestive flirting tends to get me what I want. Why do you make no sense? How high are your standards that you would leave me on read after that?”
Each individual word he’d said made sense, yet put all together their meaning became unfathomable. “Going after me?”
Miles stared. I stared back. The distant sound of evening traffic filtered in across the park.
“You have got to be kidding,” he said eventually, and threw up his hands. “What else do you think is happening here?”
“I don’t fucking know, okay? You confuse the shit out of me. I don’t even know if you like men!”
At my raised voice, a woman walking her dog glanced over as she passed, because apparently the evening hadn’t been sufficiently horrifying already.
Worse still was the sight of Miles’s brows disappearing into the soft fall of his hair in the most flagrant expression of disbelief.
“Mat . . . we aren’t seriously having this conversation, are we?
Do you think I’m just immediately amazing at everything I do first try? ”
“What? No.”
“Oh, good. Then tell me, was that an amateur blowjob? Or the work of someone who has had a lot of practice?”
I went on staring at him, my cheeks reddening as what should have been immediately obvious finally clicked into place. That ignoring it had been an act of self-preservation didn’t make it any less embarrassing.
Clearly seeing he had gotten his point across, Miles added, “Do you know how long it takes to desensitise a gag reflex? You are not my ten-second gay panic. If I’m having one, I’ve been having it continually for quite some time now.”
“So . . . you’re gay?”
Miles folded his arms again, light fast draining from the pink-streaked sky behind him. “What do you think?”
“I don’t know, you might have some bi in you,” I said, deliberately repeating his words from that first night when, I realised, he’d probably been trying to figure out where things stood with me and Katie.
“Not a single iota I’m afraid,” he returned, throwing my own words back with a smile.
But while it was a relief to know he hadn’t been messing with me, I could manage no answering smile. “And this is how you choose to tell me?”
“I thought making you come in my throat was the only announcement you needed. I didn’t realise you were going to turn it into a crisis.”