Chapter 28
CHAPTER
TWENTY-EIGHT
Florian
My parents and Annika join me for the doctor’s appointment.
Dr. Davis smiles when he sees me. “I’m glad to see you back so soon!”
“I remembered everything,” I say.
He beams. “That’s excellent.” He hesitates. “Are we waiting for anyone?”
He means Mateo.
“My boyfriend is at work.” I stumble over the words, and my cheeks heat, because I am telling a lie.
Dr. Davis only nods, like he really believes Mateo is my boyfriend, which I suppose is the point.
“I’m seeing him tonight!” I blurt.
A line appears in the center of Dr. Davis’s forehead. That was too much information.
Dummkopf.
My parents are smiling, like I’m adorable.
I wish Mateo were here.
I wish he were beside me, holding my hand.
But I can’t ask him to take a day off to do that.
Oh, God.
He already took days off to look after me.
Were those vacation days? Everyone knows that Americans have hardly any vacation days.
Did he spend them on me when he could be lounging around his apartment or traveling back to Puerto Rico to sun himself with his extended family or look at fall leaves in New Hampshire or whatever else is more fulfilling than telling a brain-damaged athlete whom he feels sorry for that he’s impressive for remembering where the remote control is while doing spontaneous improv with his sister?
What must Gina think? My skin burns.
“Are you okay?” Dr. Davis asks.
He looks worried, which isn’t good.
I inhale. The whole point of this is to be medically cleared so that I am on the path to playing again in six weeks. My job depends on it. My very excellent job that I very much want to keep and that gives me proximity to Mateo.
Not that that should be a factor.
I force myself to meet Dr. Davis’s concerned eyes. “I am fine, yes.”
“Okay. Good.” Dr. Davis launches into an explanation of head trauma, before he has me do some tests. Apparently, my case is very unusual.
I go from fluorescent room to fluorescent room, the cheap vinyl tiles perfect for unexpected bodily fluid occurrences, as machines beep around me.
I hate it.
I want to be back at work.
I miss Mateo.
I should have touched him last night, I know I should have.
And he was hard. I saw it when he was kneeling between my legs.
I saw how his erection jutted out, how his trousers didn’t quite hide it.
I was focusing on it when I came. Imagining a me who would insist that he unzip his trousers and then do all the fancy hand things that he was doing that made me feel so incredible. Maybe I would put it in my mouth.
Oh, God. I want to put it in my mouth so badly.
And Mateo’s cock would be perfect for that. Not too big. Not choking me. I could just lie next to him and suck him and—oh God, that would be so amazing.
But then I came and then he was apologizing to me—which, well, didn’t make sense, and then he was bouncing around and cleaning me, and when I checked his trousers again the erection was gone.
I missed my chance.
But he made me feel so good, and I don’t think I could have made him feel as good. And he needed to go home to his sister and…
Well, then I was alone in my empty apartment missing a man who has already given me so much.
A nurse gives me a strange look, and I realize she asked me something.
“I am sorry,” I apologize. “Please repeat the question.”
I make my accent extra thick, so she thinks my English is weak and not that I am still very brain damaged.
At least I will see Mateo tonight.
Mateo is pacing in front of the restaurant when we arrive. He sends me a relieved smile when he sees us.
“Ah, impressing the Germans with your timeliness.” Papa shoots me a glance. “Excellent boyfriend.”
“I know.” My voice goes up in a manner that doesn’t exactly say twenty-four-year-old professional athlete well out of puberty. I hurry toward Mateo.
His throat tightens like he’s nervous.
Maybe he regrets that last night I was completely naked and he was doing exceedingly intimate things to me. Maybe he’ll think I expect those things all the time, that I won’t take it as the incredible gift it was.
I stop in front of him. “Hi, Mateo.”
“Hi, Florian.” His voice is hoarse, and I remember that I never asked him about the pharmacy.
What kind of fake boyfriend am I? That was completely on my list of things to ask him about yesterday, and then I get distracted by my memory returning.
“Hi, everyone,” Mateo says, turning to my family.
His voice trembles.
He seems nervous, which is all wrong. I want to take his hand in mine, but maybe that’s exactly what he does not want. All I want to do is to see him happy.
“Let’s go inside,” I say.
The restaurant is as nice as it was when Mateo and I were here last time, even though I feel silly for thinking that it was the place where we had our first date.
I glance at Mateo. Maybe he felt silly inventing meals of what we ate together.
It occurs to me that if we were actually dating, that restaurant would still be the place of our first date.
But that’s not correct, because Mateo and I are not dating. I am not that person to Mateo.
I give my name to the host, then we’re ushered to a large table.
This time I don’t sit across from Mateo, wondering at the beauty of his skin and cheekbones as they flicker under the golden candlelight.
This time I sit right beside him, and his salty scent, a testament to his day of physical labor untangling the knots and pains of athletes pretending they’re not in pain, wafts around me.
I want to pull him firmly against me, but that is something for real boyfriends, not fake ones.
The waiter brings tables for Annika and Mama’s purses, and they look suitably impressed.
“Thank you for coming,” I tell Mateo when the others are busy looking at the menu.
“It was nothing!” Mateo says too quickly in a manner that says maybe it was something after all.
“You are very kind,” I tell him, and his shoulders relax somewhat.
Mateo gives everyone massages, but who is supposed to massage him?
“How was the doctor?” he asks.
“I am cleared to play in six weeks if I continue to progress.”
“I’m so happy for you,” Mateo says.
He shifts his attention to the menu. I’m pretty sure that he’s eyeing the price list, which is ridiculous. I am here to pay.
I lean in close to him. “Order whatever you want.”
“But—”
“You liked the oyster appetizer last time,” I say. “Shall we get that again?”
He glances around, probably to make sure that my family is sufficiently engaged in the food selection process of the evening. “I, uh, might have been over the top with my choices. Oysters are romantic.”
“And they taste good.”
“So good.” His gaze dips to my lips, and then he looks away hastily, his cheeks pinker than before.
“Should we get the cheese fondue again too?” I ask.
“You don’t want something else?”
“No.” I shake my head. “It was perfect. Why would I want something else?”
He grins. “Okay. I liked that.”
I laugh. “I know you liked it. I heard you moan. You don’t always moan when you’re eating.”
He chuckles beside me, and my heart does some sort of fluttery thing.
Sometimes Mateo is strange. I’m glad I’m not the only one.
“Florian is so much less tense after your massage,” Mama tells Mateo. “It worked!”
I stiffen.
Mateo’s cheeks redden further. “G-good.”
“Mateo and I are going to order oysters,” I say. “Then we’re going to share a cheese fondue.”
“That is very romantic,” Annika says.
Maybe Mateo was right. Maybe that is too over the top.
“It tastes good,” I say.
The waiter comes to take our orders, and then Mateo is being once again grilled by my family.
My family who have recovered from their jet lag.
My family who pay attention to details.
He squirms beside me, and his leg bounces, and I put my hand on it uncertainly. I’m unsure if my presence will make everything worse, but when he smiles and beams up at me, I know I made the right choice.