Chapter 11 #2
“I just think, might be hard to feel that way about a guy, even a guy’s football skill, and then meet him and start uh . . .”
“Dad,” Cam said, his face flushing bright red. He was so glad they weren’t video chatting right now.
“You know what I mean. Would be hard to not feel some kind of way about it. So it’s okay if you do. You can tell me. Even if, uh, you can’t tell him.”
For a split second, Cam did consider telling his dad. Did consider spilling the half-baked feelings that were rumbling around inside of him. But Cam thought it would be worse if he said it all out loud. It might actually make them real.
For now, they were just amorphous floating maybes.
“No, it’s okay. I’m good.”
There was a long, pointed silence.
“Stop it, Dad.” Cam huffed with embarrassment. “I swear. It’s fine. I know how to do this. And it’s good.”
“As long as you think it’s good,” Shane said gently.
Cam rolled his eyes. He’d gotten way more than he’d expected, and from his vantage point, Dawson had acted without even really thinking about it. If Cam had asked for more, asked to stay even longer, he didn’t think Dawson would’ve turned him down. How could it be anything but good?
“It’s better than good. It’s great,” Cam confirmed.
“And you’re okay about the punt from yesterday’s game.”
“I think you need to get out more,” Cam declared. “Obsessing about my personal life. Probably rewatching every punt a hundred times.”
“Stop it,” Shane said, laughing. But he didn’t deny it, either.
“You’re still coming for Thanksgiving, right?”
His dad’s voice was soft over the phone. “Couldn’t stop me, bud.”
Dawson had never, not once, thought what dating Aidan Flynn might be like.
He was beginning to think this was what it was sort of like, but in a super fucked-up, polyamory sort of way. Like maybe what those stupid dating shows felt like when they got down to the last few contestants and the girls kept eyeing each other suspiciously from across the room.
He’d not really thought about it one way or the other when Aidan had suggested they grab sushi tonight.
He hadn’t considered whether Aidan would come alone or not. If he had, he might’ve said that Aidan would bring his boyfriend, Levi.
Not that he’d bring his good friend, once-teammate and now current-teammate, Mo Jeffries.
Mo and Dawson shot each other looks across the table like they were both thinking the same thing: wow, dude, this is so fucking awkward. Aidan’s got no matchmaking instincts at all.
Not that Dawson thought this was a setup or a date.
It wasn’t.
Just a weird fucked-up platonic date, because Aidan had decided in his head, where terrible ideas transformed into great ideas, that since Aidan and Mo were friends and Aidan and Dawson were friends, that Mo and Dawson should become friends.
While Dawson was neutral to meh on that particular idea, but he wasn’t against it, either. Mostly, he was against the awkward, stilted first-date small talk that Aidan had whipped out. Like he had a pocket full of notecards filed with conversational openings.
When Dawson saw Levi at practice tomorrow, he was going to ask if he was right.
Dawson interrupted Aidan’s in-depth analysis of the AFC North’s playoff hopes, dotted with a few dry, impersonal comments comparing his own play to those four quarterbacks. “Dude,” he said, “why didn’t you bring Levi?”
Aidan shot him a pseudo-hurt look. “Why would I do that? This is a friends kind of dinner.” He looked over at Mo, who only looked torn between amusement and resignation.
Dawson gave Morris Jeffries an appraising once-over.
He didn’t seem like a bad guy. It wasn’t his fault that Aidan had been in love with him.
Or that he hadn’t wanted to get all up in Aidan’s business.
Dawson didn’t want to either. Maybe Mo had also seen Aidan puke in a bush once.
They’d been playing together long enough it seemed like a possibility.
“I can do things without my boyfriend,” Aidan continued, complaining now. “I don’t know why you think I can’t. Or that I shouldn’t. We have nice, healthy boundaries, we’re so—”
“Trust me, we know what ‘nice, healthy boundaries’ you have,” Dawson retorted.
Aidan rolled his eyes. “For the hundredth time, we were not making out in that storage closet. Levi had something in his eye. I was just helping him out.”
“Being a real bro,” Mo said pointedly.
Maybe Dawson could like this guy more than he’d thought he might.
“A real bro would’ve gotten on his knees,” Dawson said.
Mo choked out a laugh, and Aidan looked torn between outrage and embarrassment.
“Do you ever take anything seriously?” Aidan hissed to Dawson.
Dawson picked up his green tea and wished that Aidan hadn’t guilted him into getting this instead of a nice sake. They had a good list here.
“Lots of things,” Dawson said. He’d taken Cam seriously last night. Had thought about it a dozen times today: Cam spread out on his bed, gorgeous and glowing, with Dawson’s marks all over him.
“You’re ridiculous,” Aidan said, shaking his head. He looked over at Mo, like can you believe this guy?
“I don’t know, he’s kinda funny,” Mo said.
Aidan made a half-grimace, like Mo liking Dawson hadn’t been the whole point of this whole freaking exercise.
And if he hadn’t been here, out in a dim corner of this sushi restaurant, maybe he’d have found a reason to head down a few floors and see if Cam was up for a repeat already.
He’d seemed into it this morning. Had looked disappointed when his phone had rung, and Dawson had felt the echo of it too, deep down.
“So, Mo, how’s it been being back in Toronto?” Dawson said, deciding that if they were going to get through the next hour, he was going to need to make an effort. Otherwise, Aidan would probably whip out his notecards and make every single person at this table miserable, including himself.
“Wait a second,” Mo said, straightening. “How did you say it?”
He exchanged a knowing look with Aidan.
“What?” Dawson was confused.
“You said it like Toronto.” Mo said it normal. Exactly like Dawson had. Exactly like Dawson had expected it would be pronounced.
“And?”
Mo and Aidan exchanged another glance. “It’s not . . .well, it’s Toronto,” Aidan said, a little apologetically.
“That’s what I said,” Dawson said.
“No, you pronounced the t,” Aidan said, chuckling under his breath.
“Do you . . .not?”
“Not if you want to sound like you actually know what the fuck you’re talking about,” Mo said bluntly.
“Huh. Okay. So . . .Toronto?” Dawson slid the n right into the o, like the t didn’t exist.
Aidan gave him a supportive nod. “Yeah. Better.”
“Better,” Mo agreed. “And yeah, it’s good to be back. I never wanted to leave.”
Aidan pursed his lips together. Dawson remembered when Aidan had lost his mind, acting in a completely uncharacteristic way, and had held out on his own contract, threatening not to play until the Thunder had given Mo his own matching contract.
But they hadn’t and Mo had ended up going across the country instead, signing for tons of money with the Raiders.
“You shouldn’t have had to,” Aidan muttered under his breath. Probably still feeling some kind of way that his bid to keep his best friend around hadn’t panned out.
“We’ve talked about this, dude,” Mo said. “It was for the best, in the end.” His expression turned sly, teasing. “I bet Levi would agree with me.”
Aidan straight up blushed. Not something Dawson was used to yet. Maybe he’d never get used to it.
“Oh, that’s so damn cute,” Mo teased. “That’s probably why he didn’t bring Levi. He was worried he’d be bright fucking red the whole time.”
“No, he didn’t bring Levi ’cause he wants us to be friends,” Dawson said to Mo.
Aidan flushed even redder, but before he could refute the accusation, Mo said, “Yeah, that was pretty obvious.”
“It was not obvious,” Aidan argued.
“Dude, you came prepared with icebreakers,” Dawson said.
Mo laughed. “You told me he’d known you a long time. He does know you, Flynn.”
“Oh, I know him,” Dawson said.
“Is this going to be a whole thing now,” Aidan complained, like again, this hadn’t been his whole plan this whole fucking time. Of course, he probably hadn’t intended for Mo and Dawson to become friendly by ganging up on him.
“Oh yeah,” Mo said. “You knew him in college, yeah? At Michigan?”
“Yep,” Dawson said. “Met our freshman year. Dorm living, baby.”
“Daws,” Aidan tried to interrupt again, but that was not happening.
“Oh, I bet you’ve got some good stories.”
“Let me tell you about Halloween, sophomore year,” Dawson said, leaning forward.
Mo was already smiling, anticipating how bad it was going to be.
“I can’t believe you actually remember anything about that night. You were drunker than I was,” Aidan grumbled.
“And yet I was not the one who spend half an hour in a bush, puking my guts out,” Dawson said.
“Oh, man, you didn’t.” Mo laughed and smacked him on the shoulder. “Didn’t realize you were such a partier back then.”
“I wasn’t,” Aidan said at the same time that Dawson added, “Why do you think he puked for that long? He never partied. Too busy being a super responsible big bro.”
“Fair,” Mo said.
“Never drank tequila again,” Aidan muttered.
“Smart man,” Dawson said. “You can’t handle it.”
“Speaking of tequila,” Mo said, turning to Dawson. “Your rookie alright today?”
Dawson froze a little. Then forced himself to relax. Mo had no idea what he and Cam had done last night. He only knew that Cam had joined Trevor and Lane for a round of tequila shots. And then a second round—Dawson had been watching, so he’d seen Mo take one too.
“I’m sure he’s fine,” Dawson said, like he hadn’t been right there to witness every single bit of Cam’s morning after.
And he had been fine. Fine enough to wake up this morning and be totally into another round.
Then there’d been that look in his eyes after breakfast, like if his phone hadn’t rung, Cam would’ve been perfectly willing to go right back to bed.