One month later… Rocky
One month later…
Rocky
Funny what some time, being cleared by the FCC, and a little 'fake' dating can do to a guy.
The past four weeks have been a whirlwind of serious meetings with the upper echelons of MoM management and lawyers, alongside strategically planned public outings with Decker designed to attract media buzz, followed by the most private, most intimate, most divine sexual experiences I've ever had.
The dickslip incident is firmly in the past—well, as in the past as it can be. I've put it behind me, even if new memes and GIFs seem to pop up every few days, and I'm still fielding inquiries from porn studios looking to capitalize on my exposure and cast me in a scene.
What matters most is that I, and MoM, have been cleared by the FCC, and I'm back competing again.
There's some uncertainty about how my six-week absence from the tournament will impact my rankings since nothing like this has ever happened in MoM's history, but that's a secondary concern for me.
If I have to work my ass off to win every single round until the finale to claw my way back up the leaderboard, then that's what I'll do.
I feel invincible, like I can do anything. And it's all because of one person.
My 'fake' boyfriend.
My fake boyfriend who I want to make my real boyfriend more than I've wanted anything in my life. I thought I had drive and determination when it came to bodybuilding, but my need to turn what Decker and I have into something real eclipses even that.
He seems to be on board…for the most part. His objections about needing to keep things professional have dwindled away, but there's still something holding him back. I don't know if it's something to do with me, or whether it's his own stuff.
Uncertainty like this would normally bother me, but with Decker it doesn't. We're communicating well, and I trust that when the time is right, and he feels safe with me and strong enough within himself, he'll bring it up.
Whatever it is.
"That went well," he says as we step into my condo.
We've just returned from having a drink at Catch LA in WeHo, a buzzy rooftop celeb hangout, and a magnet for paparazzi waiting out front.
"You've done an amazing job rehabbing my image," I say, toeing off my shoes and dumping my wallet and keys into the mid-century timber tray atop the entry console.
"Getting cleared by the FCC helps," he replies, humble as always.
"I wasn't only referring to that." I close the distance separating us, loving how being close to him feels so natural. I comb my fingers through his soft, blond curls. "I was reading some comments on Instagram."
"Never a good idea."
I smile. "I agree. But I was waiting around and kinda bored. Anyway, people seem to be digging us."
His hand finds its way to my chest. "You don't say."
"We're very believable as a couple apparently. Any thoughts on why that might be? I'm eager to hear your professional opinion."
He rests his forearms against my shoulders and opens his mouth as if to say something, but nothing comes out. The shine in his eyes dims, and he moves away from me.
I follow him into the living room. "Hey, what just happened?"
He strides over to the window and looks out. I stay by the coffee table, sensing he might want some space. A heavy silence falls over the room, but I don't push, giving him time to work through whatever is going on with him.
"I was going to answer your question with something like: because despite starting off as a fake relationship, it feels real to me."
"It feels real to me, too," I say quietly, hoping to reassure him without pulling the focus onto me. This moment is about him.
He lets out a shaky breath. "But I can't be with you, Rocky. Not for real, anyway. Not until…" He collapses onto the couch like he's got the weight of the world on his shoulders.
I take the armchair closest to him. "Until what?"
He studies the grain of the oak coffee table, takes in my bookcase, filled with more trinkets from my travels than books, then the rug, then, finally, me. "Until I'm completely honest with you. I—I come with a lot of baggage."
Keeping my eyes locked on his, I lean back into the chair.
I wondered when this would come up. When Decker came on as my PR savior, I knew the surname Carlson rang a bell, I just didn't remember why.
So I did some research online, and there it all was, his pro-footballer father's numerous cheating scandals and his mother's suicide, playing out in front of the entire world like some sick real-life soap opera.
"I assume you know about me? About my family?" he hedges.
"I do."
"I think the reason I've never been in a serious relationship with anyone is because of what happened."
"With your dad?"
"Yeah. Him marrying my mom's sister may have made for great tabloid fodder, but it destroyed so many lives."
"I'm sorry about your mom."
Tears fill his eyes. "Thank you," he replies so softly I barely hear him.
I get off the armchair and move onto the couch, not as close to him as I want to be, but within touching distance if he decides to reach out. "You can talk to me if you want to. I'm here. Let it out."
Tears fall, and he nods. "It messed me up so badly," he admits. "I was only six, and I didn't understand why we had to move, why helicopters kept flying over our new house, why strange men were always at our front gate, why Mom was so sad all the time."
His crying overwhelms his words, and I can't keep away from him any longer. I shuffle closer and tap the tops of my thighs.
He hesitates for a second but then climbs on. I cradle him in my arms and hold him close.
"I can't even begin to imagine what a nightmare that was."
"It was worse after Mom died. She found out about Dad's affair with her sister.
That's what pushed her over the edge, why she killed herself.
And then my sisters and I had to move in with Dad and the woman who hurt Mom so badly.
I hated them both so much. I locked myself in my room and just read and read and read. "
I relate to that part. My bedroom was my safe space, and crocheting was my escape, a way to drown out the horrible things people said and did to me at school.
I caress his back with long, steady strokes. "What about your sisters?"
"They were having a hard time, too, but they're a few years older than me.
I was so lucky to have them. Only they knew what I was going through.
Every boy should have older sisters," he says, a brave smile poking through his tears.
"They may give you hell, but there's no one more fiercely loyal and protective than an older sister. And I've been blessed with two."
"I'm glad you had them. I had Mallory, and I know for a fact I wouldn't be where I am today if it weren't for her."
Decker wipes his tears away. "I'm glad you had her, too."
It feels like we've crossed a threshold and stepped into a new reality. If Decker's saying he never had a relationship because he's never trusted anyone enough to let them in this close, now that he's opened up to me, what does this mean for us? Do we have a future?
If I can use my words in the bedroom, I sure as hell am going to use them now.
"So what does this mean?" I ask, brushing my fingers along his jaw.
"It means…" He huffs out a breath, averting his gaze. After a few moments, he turns back and says, "It means the reason everyone is eating up what we're serving is because we have something real. I like you."
I smile, gently nudging his chin back to meet my gaze. "I like you, too."
"I never planned this."
"Me, either. Believe me," I say, casting my mind back to the reason that brought us into each other's orbits in the first place.
"But I'd like to see where this goes. For real."
"You have no idea how long I've waited for you to say that."
He pulls back, quirking a dark-blond brow. "We've known each other for less than two months."
"Exactly. That's a long time to wait."
He tilts his head. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"
"Depends. If what you think I'm saying is that I've been captivated by you and unable to get you out of my head since our very first meeting, then yeah."
He's shaking his head, exasperated and lost for words.
So when words fail…
I bracket his face with both hands and yank him in for a hard, hungry, urgent kiss.