33. Chapter 33
Saint
Several camera lights point in my direction, making the lenses and journalists no more than a shadow around me. Microphones, recorders, and cellphones hover near me, and I smile.
My grin is powered by sunlight and winning. The stadium floodlights shine on me, throngs of people on the field celebrating the win. Lightning runs through my veins.
I'm a few steps away from the top of the world, and as high as I've ever been. I scored half the touchdowns that got us the win in the conference championship. It's been weeks of this thing with Ames, and we're going on strong.
I may not be a singer crooning to thirty thousand people, but I know a thing or two about craving adoring eyes. In moments like this, I'm closer than ever to seeing myself as a catch. A real one. The kind that Ames could gaze at with hopes of forever. The kind of Mister Right she deserves.
"This is the strongest the Strike has ever been." A reporter gets themselves heard above the noise. "After losing this game last year, what do you have to tell the fans? "
"We've worked hard this season to get here." I lick my bottom lip. "We'll give it all in the final game. Our fans will get what they deserve."
"The Strike has never made it past this point," another reporter says. "What does it feel like to be so close to your first big win?"
"It's everything I've wanted, since the first time I stepped foot on the field. I'm doing this for the team, the fans, for my family. The Strike means a lot, to a lot of us. Being here for those who support us is our why."
"You're in line for an MVP award. Do you think you'll get it?"
"I'll keep working real hard for it." I put on a big smile that I hope looks confident. "I want it. For myself and for the team. Aiming for it is partly how I'll show everyone how much the Strike means to me."
Including the GM, the owner, and Coach Clark. I'll show them all I want to stay, and why they should keep me.
I need to stay. The ring and trophies aside, my people are here. Including Ames. If I dare ask for a future with her, one where the love they write about is ours, I don't want to shoot myself in the foot by telling her I have to leave in the same breath.
Scary, the way I'm thinking about us like there's a future in the making.
"Your performance this season has been exceptional. Which skill are you most proud of?" someone else asks.
Deep somewhere in my mind, I know they mean on the field. Still, Ames takes precedence. She fills my mind, and it stops me in my tracks.
The things I want. The things we've done. Knowing her sounds now. The way she looks when I pull a third orgasm from her. The time I got six out of her. Yes, I keep track.
Giving her multiple climaxes may not be something others may consider my best skill, but it's certainly something I'm grateful for these days.
I don't know what my face shows, but the people surrounding me must get a feeling of what kind of thoughts clash in my mind.
A cheeky smile takes over my face, and I let it. I play the game with them .
"We know your fame, Santiago," the reporter says. "But don't get naughty on national television."
"I haven't been naughty." I raise my eyebrows in an innocent gesture. "But I can't say you're wrong to imply… you know."
They snicker.
"You don't have to worry." I grin harder. "I'll show you what I pack— game-wise. I promise you'll like what you see regardless."
They laugh this time, and I make my way to the showers.
In a little while, we'll come back to the field to receive the conference trophy. Afterwards, we'll get together in the hotel penthouse to celebrate. Somehow, I'm sure I'll continue to entwine the high of the win, with the high of my feelings for Ames.
If we win the biggest sports trophy in the country, maybe I'll get to stay… and have a fighting chance with Ames, too.
The team and half the coaches fill the presidential suite at the hotel. The space is grand, almost to the point of stuffy, with its ornate golden frames and heavy leather furniture. It's fine. It all fades to the background, when we're celebrating the Strike has won its first conference title.
The main suite is large, with several rooms no one occupies, a large bar, and an imposing dining table for twenty people.
Big people of mixed ethnicities and boisterous voices fill the space, drink, and make merry.
My closest friends and I, plus Rafael, sit on the couches.
It's a rare occurrence to have the quiet defensive tackle with us.
He's in the chat group, he's part of the group, but he lets himself fade into the background.
Quite the feat for a man nearly as big as Bear, but we don't push him.
We let him be. He's dealt with plenty already, and we're celebrating .
I sigh. It's a good moment. Hope and joy drift in the air like a gentle breeze of our own making.
"This is it," Damián says. "This is what we've worked for all these years."
"Now our first ring." Logan lifts his drink in a mock toast.
"The only thing missing today is those we love here with us," Bear says.
Damián and Logan agree. I hold back. It's a touchy subject.
"And those we don't love, but could have fun with, right?" Dom adds my way.
He's asking for complicity. I would have given it freely in the past. Dom and I have been the playboys in the group for years.
They don't know I'm the furthest from a serial casual dater I've ever been.
I sip from my beer. The hoppy liquid and its million bubbles are all I have to drown the voice in my head. The one telling me I don't need to label it as a relationship for it to exist. That it's real, and I'm deeper in it than I thought, nevermind my fears about it.
Whether I crush and burn, it doesn't change what I already feel.
Music of all sorts plays loud in the background.
A new song comes on, and I pretend it's exactly what I need to quiet the mind.
It's smooth and romantic, despite the faster beat someone added to it.
Like a remix of a love song you might dance to at the club, and move to slowly at night, once the melody and you and someone special are stripped down to the basics.
I would make lov— I would seduce Ames to this song, in its original form.
Or so I think, until a word gets pronounced in an unexpected way. The voice sounds familiar and yet…
I frown.
Logan stares at me with a similar gesture. "Evie played this for me, I think. Do you recognize it?"
The lyrics are easy to follow.
Persistence through the years Tenderness at these keys Love, dry your tears We're settled It's settled
"Fuck," I mutter.
"Is that what I think it is?" Bear asks.
A dance remix of Aidan's ballad. The one he wrote for Ames.
Disgust washes over my torso, cold and sticky as if I'd spilled my drink.
"Change that!" I yell to Amir, an edge rusher currently leading the music selection.
"It's a good song!" He screams back.
"I don't want to hear it," I insist. "That singer is an asshole."
"Change it, Amir." Dom complains. "We're celebrating, but not with that song."
"Fine!" Amir complains, but skips the song to something I don't recognize.
"That was a downer," Damián says.
"Is he still acting like a vulture?" Logan sips from his drink.
Disdain pools in my stomach, condensing into a sickening feeling. I put my beer on a nearby table and cross my arms.
The corners of my lips turn down. "Not for a while. Not since Ames told him to get lost at the club."
"And how are you acting around her, these days?" Logan asks.
I rub my left temple and mostly ignore his question, though I steal a glance.
He raises a challenging eyebrow. "I'm only returning the favor. Remember the interventions you put me through last year?"
"And what makes you think I need an intervention?" I ask.
I reach back for my beer, mostly to have something to do with my hands.
"You have all the signs." His tone is wise, like he's an expert at these things now. "Even if you haven't admitted to anything. "
"Is there something to admit?" Dom asks, a worried wrinkle on his brow. "Am I the only one who's going to be single now?"
Bear frowns. "I’m single, too."
"Except you and Pen—" Damián starts, but Bear does a good impression of his nickname and interrupts.
He grows three sizes, his powerful wall-like shoulders turning to iron. "Don't suggest we are in love."
"Look, I get it." Damián makes a placating gesture with his hands. "I spent a lot of time trying not to dwell on my feelings for Nat when we were friends. Not that you're doing the same or just pretending you're not in love—"
He adds the last bit quickly, once Leon's chin drops and his eyes turn menacing. The scar that splits his top lip looks dangerous in its halo of black, thick beard.
"I'm not pretending anything," Bear says. "Pen and I are friends. That's what I'm making clear."
"Fair," Damián says. "All I'm trying to explain is that you two seem like an item and it's easy to forget you're friends."
"Well, don't." Leon growls. "I don't."
"Message received," Dom adds. "You're single, too. Good. I don't want to be the only one choosing the unattached life."
"We're getting distracted." Logan frowns. "This is an intervention for Saint."
"I have to insist," I say. "There's no need for an intervention. I'm giving off no signs."
From the sound Logan makes, and the gestures everyone else gets on their face, I'm wrong.
"Are you going to deny you have feelings for Ames?" Logan challenges.
I grind my teeth and put the damn beer away again. I can't deny it. As much as I've tried, I know I'm in the middle of feeling a lot for her. I may go to great lengths to avoid labeling it, but denying it out loud seems like a betrayal. A disrespect of what we have.
But does that mean I'm ready to talk about love ?
What a risky thought. The question I have not let myself ask comes closer. I'm prey to its hunger.
Should I try what I've never dared? Should I try for a relationship with Ames?