Chapter 4
Grayson
As I lie in my bold, gold hotel room bed, my phone blows up with the team’s friend chat.
They’ve noticed my absence and relentlessly text until Austin replies to leave me alone, and they do.
I should be grateful there’s no need to offer any explanation.
It means I can wallow in my hotel bed for the foreseeable future.
Austin was so disgusted by what we did, he fled his own room.
The chat is silent, which means they switched to talking to each other in the player’s chat. The one I’m not a part of.
I reek of sex but don’t want to wash it off because our night together might not feel real.
Everything went from extraordinary to a shitshow within hours, and I can’t figure out what happened. One minute I was looking out for Austin, to ensure he didn’t have next-morning regret and only hours later, I was his next-morning regret.
I knew without a doubt, crossing the line and having sex with Austin would put our friendship at risk yet somehow last night, I convinced myself we were kismet.
My stupid dick gets hard as my fingers graze his bite mark on my shoulder. I’ve had enthusiastic bed partners, but Austin took it to the next level, and I fucking loved it.
Never in my wildest dreams would Austin and I end up in bed together and crave each other in such a primal way. At first, I purposely let him lead so I didn’t push him into anything new or uncomfortable.
Last night he was more than eager, almost possessed. The marks on my body are proof. He acted like he couldn’t get enough of me, as if my taste was his new obsession.
And today, it’s as if it never happened. He blatantly said it didn’t happen.
In the ultimate act of self-pity, I take a picture of my torso to preserve the evidence that I’m not crazy. Austin wanted me last night. At the very least, he wanted my body.
To have his complete attention was more intoxicating than any alcohol we’d consumed. I’ve always admired his loyalty and devotion as a friend, but knowing what he tastes like is turning my world upside down.
Our physical connection is what I’ve been searching for but never found. But maybe it’s one-sided.
We’d been drinking more than usual, but he was coherent and seemed capable of consent. He wasn’t uncoordinated, and his dick rose to the occasion. But maybe I took advantage of him.
I’m privy to Austin’s heart, and he’s never had a problem with my sexuality or our teammates’. When Lucky came out as bisexual, Austin asked him a few questions but didn’t judge Lucky’s later-in-life realization.
My reckless belief in a night of fate can’t ruin our friendship. I will bury my new attraction to him and never touch him again if we can keep our relationship.
My eyes shut with the memory of his grunts and groans. Shoving those feelings aside seems hopeless, but I’ll do anything for him. Deny myself everything, even cut my heart out to keep him with me.
My head pounds along with my heartbeat at the thought of living without him. He’s been central to my life since middle school. I can’t give that up. We have to figure out a way around last night.
I assumed he’d always be in my life as my friend but for the first time, I let myself wonder if it could be more. I can’t ignore the explosive chemistry, but if he can, it doesn’t mean a thing.
My stomach grumbles, and I decide to venture out of my room for food. This is Vegas, no one will question why I smell like a brothel. I’ll probably get some high-fives.
The Enforcers have reserved a room for brunch/lunch today, but Austin’s not there when I peek inside. Of the two of us, he’s the talker. I won’t pressure him to talk to me before he’s ready.
I nod to two of our equipment managers. None of the players are here, so I’ve timed this perfectly. The team leaves tonight for another away game in Nashville before we go home.
The voice in my head berates me, saying Austin has finally realized I’m holding him back and I’m not good enough for him. Today, it’s unusually loud. The voice is an old adversary with a worn-out soundtrack, yet it still rings with a kernel of truth.
That nugget plants itself and immediately sprouts roots.
I’ve been down this road before and should know better than to let this happen, especially since I went to a therapist after my hockey injury. My depression at the time caused lots of irrational thoughts.
I knew I should’ve been watching over Austin, and that did not include sticking my tongue down his throat.
He’d had too much to drink, and instead of waiting to talk about his frame of mind when he sobered up, I jumped him.
I fell asleep before checking on him.
In short, I took advantage of my best friend and forced him into a physical relationship.
I smack my forehead with my palm to shut the voice up. Some of those things might be true, and I won’t know until I talk to Austin, but I certainly didn’t force him into anything.
“Hey, man.” Jamal King gives me an up-nod, causing the beads at the end of his zigzag cornrows to click with his movements as he enters with Griff and Kenney.
King and Mason Griffin play second-line wingers together.
Austin was really worried about King when he joined the team.
He’s an introvert who has slowly come out of his shell, but Austin was concerned he was being treated differently.
As the only Black man on the team, he stands out, and Austin wants to include King but not pressure or bully him into situations King isn’t comfortable with.
As a fellow introvert, it’s a high-wire act to strike the right balance.
“Great job commandeering the brain today.” Griff snickers and picks up a plate.
“What?” I cough out my response to this much-needed distraction. The tasteless food is hard to get down.
“You and Ace aren’t twinning, and he looks like hell, so it’s fair to assume you got the brain today.” He turns to Kenney. “You know we joke about them sharing a brain, right?”
“No, but it makes sense,” Kenney says seriously. “Did you call or text so you wouldn’t dress the same?” he asks me.
“You better hope I’ve got the brain if you get hurt.” I stand and a server takes my plate with the scraps left on it.
“Dude, do not jinx us like that!” Griff slams his plate in horror.
My laugh sounds stilted and too loud.
When I get back to my room, I text Austin.
Me: FYI- I got the brain today
Austin: Says who?
Me: Griff
Me: He’s telling tales to Kenney
Austin: *angry face emoji* taking a nap
If last night hadn’t happened, we’d be spending the day complaining about getting old and playing video games.
But since last night happened and his text reads like he wants to be alone, I go to my room to do the same.
He needs his solitude to recharge, and I respect that as part of his personality.
Today, his need to be alone comes off as personal, and I should get over that.
I ignore the emptiness of solitude. When I lie down, his phantom touches and crisp scent, which remind me of the ice rink and the holidays, linger as if they’re real.
Loneliness grips me as tight as a lover as I force thoughts of Austin away.
I’ve never had butterflies about seeing my best friend. Actually, what’s happening feels more like bees than pretty butterflies. My strategy is simple: get on the plane first, sit in my regular seat, and close my eyes. Austin can either sit with me like normal or choose another seat.
Only Austin gets on the plane first, and his carry-on is sitting in my seat. I guess I have my answer. But as I’m walking down the aisle, one of the rookies stows Austin’s bag in the overhead compartment for him.
Now I’m unsure what to do. Taking another seat will draw more attention than sitting next to him and ignoring our issue. I slide into my seat.
“Two days in a row,” Benz says as he sits next to Griff. I catch him staring longingly at Leo with the other coaches.
“For what?” Austin asks.
“Not dressing the same. I kinda miss it.” Benz heaves a big sigh, and Griff elbows him.
Austin side-eyes me and I shrug. No matter how much I dreamed about his hands on me when I took a nap, I’m not projecting my desire onto him.
We don’t talk until after takeoff, and no one else is paying attention. He turns as much as he can in his seat to face me.
“There aren’t enough words to tell you how sorry I am for hurting you.” His sorrowful blue eyes beg for forgiveness.
“I don’t need you to be sorry. I’m trying to understand what happened.” Our heads are inches apart so no one can hear us. His scent of spicy cloves and vanilla shampoo makes it hard to think.
What hurt the most was him pointing at the bed and declaring that the night we spent together didn’t happen. He dismissed the best sex of my life, as if he could will it away.
“I don’t know.” His eyes cloud with confusion. “All I know is that I hurt you, and I never want to do that again.”
It’s great that he’s taking responsibility for his behavior, but that doesn’t give me any clarity about us as more than friends.
“You know you can talk to me. You’re not alone in this. I’m here for you to help figure out what upset you.” My intention is to offer advice and comfort, but he turns red and his lips pinch together.
“I already said I’m upset about hurting you.”
“Yes, but you should consider how you feel about what happened.” With the way he’s looking at me, I’m sure we’re having two entirely different conversations. It’s strange to be on a completely different wavelength. Usually, he’s easy to read, and his thoughts broadcast straight to me.
“I don’t matter when I hurt you.” He turns to face forward, and my hope fades that continuing the conversation will be productive.
“As long as we stay friends, that’s all that matters.” It sounds simple, but the armrest between us could be a steel wall. My best friend might as well be a stranger with the way he’s leaning away from me.
“Friends forever.” He forces a smile that’s detached and unconcerned.
My muscles seize as if I’m about to be attacked, and I painstakingly relax. The voice in my head doesn’t believe him, and I can’t convince myself it’s being a lying bastard.
I rationalize that he needs time to figure out what last night means for him, and then he can deal with what it means for us. I gotta calm my ass down.
If I was smart, I’d take my own advice and think about my wants.
But suddenly yearning after my straight best friend isn’t good for either of us.
Dwelling on how my body is attuned to his every move isn’t beneficial.
There’s a huge possibility that if I examine what I want between us, I’ll never be able to settle and go back to being his friend.
He’s not as straight as either of us thought, but that doesn’t mean he will want to change how he presents himself to the world.
His square jaw is tight, and his blond eyebrows scrunch over his blue eyes so it looks like he doesn’t have an upper lid. I don’t want to stresses him out.
For all I know, I could’ve been a one-night experiment gone wrong.
He wouldn’t do that.
At least Tinny would not, but I’m here with Ace, the hockey player.
Maybe they don’t want the same things.