Chapter 29
Ryan
It’s like right before a big game—not the kind I’m nervous about, but the one where I feel like we’re about to kill it.
Excitement mixed with the dopamine rush…
and this buzz. I never felt it outside of football until I started seeing Mart, and it’s really going now that he agreed to have a date night with me.
When we finish at the build, I swing by the store and grab some stuff for us to make chicken parmesan. By the time I get back to Dax’s place, Marty’s already showered up. I put the ingredients in the fridge before hopping in the shower, and once I’m done, I head into the kitchen in only my towel.
The apartment is a one-bedroom with an open-design kitchen, so I can see Mart in the living area, chilling on the couch, which we fold out into a bed at night.
As he reads a book, I think about how nice it is seeing him enjoy more leisure reading since school let out—not just with his head in a textbook to study.
As I approach him, he peeks up at me.
“Hey, honey,” I say before crouching down and giving him the kiss I’ve earned after a hard day’s work.
He rests his hand on my shoulder, and I grit my teeth at the sting of his touch, jerking back.
“Well, you weren’t wrong about my shoulders.
Put some lotion on after my shower. Hoping that will help. ”
“I should have applied more sunscreen sooner.”
“Not sure you can blame yourself for the fact that I wasn’t wearing enough sunscreen. And if you hadn’t been around, it probably would have been even worse.”
“I knew you shouldn’t have been shirtless on that roof.”
“Just ’cause you nailed me down doesn’t mean you can deprive everyone of the view.”
He issues his signature glare. “Deprive everyone of the view? Wow. Aren’t you obnoxious?”
“Clearly, you’re attracted to obnoxious.”
His lips curl upward. He can’t deny it any more than he can deny me. “I guess that is pretty damn clear,” he says.
And now we’re both smiling.
I give him another kiss. We enjoy each other’s tongues for a bit before I pry away, grabbing my duffel bag for some clothes, and as I’m pulling on a pair of jeans, he says, “Okay, so how are we doing this?”
“Not sure. I’m kind of a master chef from meal prepping for football, so I’ve never had to consider making it with anyone else.”
I’m about to put on a shirt when he says, “No, no. You should let your shoulders heal some.”
I see the panic in his expression—as if the mild irritation I might’ve felt when I threw my shirt back on would’ve been too much for a guy who’s been at the bottom of more than a few dogpiles on the field.
Although, that worry written all over his face gives me these little tingling sensations at the back of my neck.
“You can admit you want me shirtless when I’m cooking for you,” I joke.
He doesn’t fight his smile this time, and while he follows me into the kitchen, he says, “You know I can’t cook for shit, right?”
“Eh, I figured as much.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Relax. It’s only chicken parmesan. How hard can that be, on a scale of flaccid to what I know that thing can get?
” I pat his crotch, earning an eye roll.
“You should save those eye rolls for when we get started. Have a feeling there’ll be plenty.
So we have the main dish, and I got some stuff for a salad. ”
“And we’re making salad? Wow. You have some high expectations for me.”
We get to work. I start slicing up some onion, and Marty cuts up a garlic clove on the other side of the counter. I notice I’m cutting without much thought, but Marty’s precise with his chops.
“That’s really adorable, watching you cut those like you’re gonna get graded after.”
He sneaks me a look.
It’s such a little exchange between us, but it’s the kind of moment I live for with him. Just us being playful, giving hell, but now in a way that makes me feel like we’re the only two people in the world.
Next, we make the marinara, then sear the chicken in a pan. I direct him on how to brown it just right.
“It’s almost there,” I say, inspecting his work.
“I’m not doing too bad, am I?”
“Not even a little bad. You deserve a kiss for how well you’re doing it.”
He’s grinning ear to ear, and all I can think is what good boyfriend shit this date night is. It’s a moment that allows me to fully appreciate how much I enjoy having him in my life.
“Mom comes back from Europe next week, so I was gonna see if she and Dad wanted to get together.” I slide my hands around his waist and tug him close to my pelvis, rubbing my face against the side of his neck, kissing. “I was thinking that would be a good time to tell them about my new boyfriend.”
He turns to me, his expression too serious for my tastes. “You sure?”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t want you to feel rushed or like you have to because my parents know.”
“That’s not why I’m telling them. I want to bring my boyfriend around whenever the hell I feel like it.”
His lips curl into a smile.
“You know,” I go on, “it’s not gonna be as easy with holidays now that we’re a couple.
We’ll have to start sorting out when to take turns with each other’s parents, and then birthdays…
probably get on each other’s nerves because you’ll want to go on a family trip without me.
” I kiss his neck some more, and while I enjoy the scent of his cologne, he tilts his head, stretching his neck so I have more to cover.
“You keep doing that,” he says, “and I’m not gonna be able to spend many vacations away from you.”
“That’s the plan.”
He snickers. “And you know we have to finish this chicken at some point, right?”
“Give me a kiss, and I’ll let you go,” I say like it’s a stick-up.
He offers the kiss, and I grunt, prying free of him, when I detect a smell that isn’t his cologne.
And suddenly I realize we might have been kissing for a little too long.
I glance over at the chicken. “Uh-oh…”
So my great date-night idea goes south real fast, and despite attempting to save the chicken, we wind up with only a salad, which we enjoy before lying on the couch, rewatching Alien while we wait for pizza.
Mart uses my chest as a pillow, the way he usually does. He stirs before angling his head to look up at me. “Should have known I would mess up date night.”
But with my boyfriend pressed up against me, gazing up at me with that beautiful smirk across his lips, I know there’s nothing else I’d rather be doing right now. “It was actually a perfect date night.”
*
These past few weeks—staying with Mart at Dax’s and working with him on the build—have been amazing. And I’m having a great time down at the shop with Troy and my coworkers, working on cars and goofing off.
If I’d gone on to the NFL, this wouldn’t be my life.
I’d be too busy training, gearing up for the season.
Not goofing around, enjoying a carefree date night, and having lengthy fuck-and-cuddle sessions.
I’m sure other guys would trade it all for the NFL—hell, at one time, I would’ve done the same.
But today, this is right where I want to be.
Living a much more relaxed life with my guy.
My guy?
Something I never thought I’d be thinking. I never could have imagined I’d be so hung up on anyone, let alone a dude, but I’m totally fine with admitting he’s got me.
And I’ve got him.
Now I want to share this guy with my parents, who I have no doubt will be happy I’ve found someone who makes me as happy as he does.
My parents meet me halfway between Peachtree Springs and our hometown, at a restaurant where we’ve had brunch before.
As soon as I spot Mom, she’s already on her feet, hurrying to me.
She has a bounce in her step that takes me by surprise, and when she gets close, I catch the bronze tones in her usually fair complexion, how the highlights in her hair are a little lighter.
“Wow, someone got some sun in Europe,” I say as I draw her in for a hug.
“It was a great time to be in Lisbon. The beaches are absolutely incredible. Don’t worry, I have plenty of pictures to bore you with.”
“You won’t bore me,” I assure her.
As she pulls away, she wears a tooth-filled grin, and while I want her to be happy, I can’t help but know it’s because of the time she’s spent away from Dad.
“Come on. Sit down, champ,” Dad says as he tackles me for a hug. “Feels like it’s been forever. I’m fine with you walking away from the NFL, but I’m not fine with not seeing you for this long.”
He’s trying, I can tell, but I know he’s not fine.
Hard to blame him either. When he releases me, I observe how he looks completely different from Mom.
His eyes are red, like he’s on the verge of tears.
He looks as tired as he used to get when we’d be out training through the day or when he’d have to wake up before dawn after a busy day at work to haul me across town for a game.
We settle at our table on the restaurant balcony, overlooking the lake. It’s a gorgeous view, and Mom practically glows in the afternoon light while Dad looks like the life has been sucked right out of him.
I’m trying not to think too much about it, but the way he keeps eyeing her, it’s like he knows the woman he fell in love with all those years ago is getting away from him. And how can I blame her when I don’t think I’ve ever seen her looking this happy since I was a kid.
I ask Mom about her trip, and she displays some photos in her phone for me. From London, she shares Buckingham Palace, Westminster Abbey, and Big Ben. From Paris, the Eiffel Tower, Arc de Triomphe, and the Louvre. Then sites from Vienna, Rome, Barcelona, Lisbon.
“Wow, you didn’t get any rest the past month, did you?”
“You have no idea,” she says with a laugh. “And this is a gorgeous beach that’s about forty miles north of Lisbon.” She shows me another photo.