Twenty-Eight #3
“Oh, uh, Mat, um . . .” He looked at his feet.
“I just wanted to thank you. You know. For coming out when you did. It, uh . . . meant a lot to me, because I’d always loved tennis, but wasn’t sure I should follow that dream, you know?
As a gay kid, I thought I was just meant to be into like . . . musical theatre or something.”
I huffed a laugh, glancing up into a pair of very earnest green eyes.
“Right, and while musical theatre is great and all, nothing beats tennis. And nothing beats being able to be yourself without people making assumptions.” Straightening up, I left my bag where it was and held out my hand. “What’s your name?”
“Alex,” he said, shaking it. “Alex Dordevic.”
“Nice to meet you, Alex. And you’re welcome. I don’t think what I did was special or unique, because being gay in sport shouldn’t be special or unique, but until the rest of the world agrees, I’m happy to keep proving the point over and over again by being The Gay Tennis Player.”
And I was, I realised as I said it. Because I’d chosen to be out and honest not only for myself but out of a sense of duty to the gay men who’d come before me, who’d come out despite the danger to force the world to accept their existence.
Compared to that, the occasional annoying press interview and bigot online who wanted me to stop talking about where I put my dick was nothing.
I was The Gay Tennis Player and I would go on being The Gay Tennis Player until no one cared anymore.
“Do you think there will be more?” Alex asked. “Gay players, I mean.”
I thought of Miles, forced to feign a relationship, to buy up exposing photos and put up with a team who sniggered behind his back.
He’d felt like a coward when I came out and he didn’t, but at least I’d been there holding space for him, proving it was possible when everyone else in his life kept him small and afraid.
One day he would come out, and when he did, he might change the sport even more than I had by proving I was no oddity.
I just hoped it wouldn’t be years away, the thought of having to hide that long one that always depressed me.
“Yeah, of course,” I said, soothing that worry with the knowledge that however long it took, our relationship was no less real for being private. “Besides, there already is, isn’t there? There’s you.”
“Oh!” An enormous smile spread across the young man’s face. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
I picked up my bag and patted his shoulder. “It was lovely to meet you. I look forward to following your career, Alex.”
Scrunchie
hey, the draw starts in half an hour, will you be back in time?
Yeah, on my way now
Some of these fluffy TV spots are truly ridiculous though
welcome to the traveling circus!
They asked about our friendship/rivalry after the US Open
No doubt hoping to have something ready to go if the draw shakes out that way again
yeah, they asked me too. vultures gonna vult
That’s not a word
it is now
WHEN I ARRIVED back at our hotel room, he was alone with the draw announcement running on his laptop.
They were still just killing time in preparation, and Miles barely let the door close before sweeping me up in his arms. “Hello, rival,” he purred and kissed me, sliding his hands up the back of my shirt.
“Rival?” I asked against his lips. “Is that what we are now?”
“Haven’t we always been?” he returned between kisses. “At least a little bit. Besides, the last rivals-to-lovers book I read was hot. Maybe you should growl at me more.”
“Growl? You know I can do better than that.” I slid a hand up his chest to grip both his necklaces, tightening the chains around his throat. “I will hold you down and tease your hole until you’re begging to be wrecked.”
Miles groaned and rolled his eyes back into his skull.
“But first,” I said, turning toward the laptop. “Tournament draw.”
“What? You can’t promise me that and then expect me to pay attention to the draw! Tennis is dead to me right now.”
Gripping the hem of my shirt, he tore it up over my head and tossed it away across the room, before lowering his lips to my collarbone.
While the draw announcer called out the top women’s seeds, he gently sucked a line of kisses along my sensitive skin as he had after our match in New York.
But this was a different us, and I let myself melt against him, delighting in the way his tongue trailed toward my throat.
I backed up slowly under his onslaught and my heels hit the end of the couch, only for him to push me off balance.
I fell over the arm and he followed, climbing atop me so heavily that he momentarily crushed the air from my lungs.
When I could breathe again, I turned to look at the laptop, only for him to press a hand to my cheek and force my gaze back to him.
“Maybe you should just focus on kissing me instead of looking at the draw,” he said. “It’s not going anywhere.”
“Neither are you!”
“Well, no,” he admitted. “But why don’t we say fuck you to that fear too for just a little while longer. So you can fuck me instead.”
I glanced over at the draw announcement, then back to find those dark eyes watching me. He wouldn’t be insulted if I said I wanted to see the draw, and it would only take a few minutes, yet I wanted so much for it not to matter that I reached out and closed the laptop with a snap.