Chapter Seven Rome
W E WON THE last games of our series with the Brawlers.
Hurray, but I couldn’t put Alex out of my mind after he left my house.
I laid awake, staring at the ceiling, as I replayed the moment he shifted to press himself into me on the couch.
He had fallen asleep by then and I kept a spare eye on him.
Then, he unexpectedly rolled, threw his hand across my chest, and nuzzled his face into the junction of my arm and chest as if it were his favorite pillow.
Boy, was I glad I had the blanket pulled over us.
And then that kiss. I wanted so, so much more but held back. I had to. I didn’t trust myself if I allowed my body to take what it wanted. I had to be in control. Mind over body.
He texted me congratulations after the last game and, once again, I broke my own protocol by texting back before bedtime.
I’m glad I did, since we had a daylong break before the next game in Canada on the seventh.
I promised I’d go on a shoot with him in the morning and we could have breakfast together before my flight to Ottawa in the evening.
Then it was a painstaking nine days of travel and games.
Ottawa, Annapolis, Allentown, then finally back home.
I wanted—I needed —to squeeze in as much time with Alex as I could.
Alex had been commissioned to take photos of the recently rebuilt portions of the Charles River Bike Path.
In the wee hours of the summer morning, I accompanied him on a long walk down the trail on the Cambridge side.
I saw the world through his lens for three hours.
His pace always slowed when his eye caught something.
He’d cock his head in a slight way, eyes narrowing.
An artist’s assessment of something with potential, I imagined.
He carried a backpack with him, sets of lenses inside, an extra camera, and enough batteries to power an electric vehicle.
Ten minutes in, I demanded he let me carry it for him.
Thankfully, the hour was early enough that we didn’t pass by a lot of people and those who were on the trail were either running or biking. I knew I wouldn’t be recognized.
We got back to Alex’s place around ten in the morning, both of us starved and thirsty.
He lived in an apartment building in North Cambridge, a stone’s throw from Davis Square.
He punched in a code to get into the building.
Up on the third and top floor of the building, Alex led us down a carpeted hallway and to a corner unit, 312.
I itched to urge him forward, to hurry up and unlock the door so I could peek into his life.
Twice now he had seen my place and it was unfair I had yet to see his.
Finally, he pushed inside. Bright light filtering down a hallway hit me first. A washer and dryer to my left, coat closet to my right.
A short hallway with wood floor stretched before me.
Alex led us down that where the apartment opened up to lofted ceilings, windows doubling in height with a slider leading out to a balcony.
I walked up to those windows and snickered—he had a view of a local, intramural baseball diamond.
Turning back around, I saw a set of stairs leading up to a lofted second floor, the hint of a bed corner just barely in sight.
Downstairs, a couch took up most of the living space with a computer desk against the wall.
Beneath the lofted overhang was his kitchen, a modest space of stainless steel appliances.
“Sheesh, you look like the Terminator,” Alex said as he set his backpack down beside his computer desk.
I blinked and cleared my throat. “Sorry. Just taking it in.”
“‘It’?” Alex questioned.
I gestured vaguely to the apartment. “Your space.” Innumerable pictures in frames covered every surface and most of the walls. Tasteful black-and-whites. Gorgeous portraits. Beautiful candids of sacred moments. A few frames were noticeably empty. I pointed to the loft. “Bedroom?”
He extracted his camera from the bag and plugged it into the computer. “Yes, but it’s messy. No admission today, slugger.”
His face flinched after he finished speaking. A nickname for me? I laughed to push the awkwardness out of the room. “Hey, wouldn’t dream of it. Could I get a glass of water?”
Alex cursed and set his camera down. “Shit, sorry. Bad host.” He walked to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water and then lobbed it at me. “Okay. I promised you breakfast. You pro athletes like as much protein as possible, right?”
I took a seat on a stool at the kitchen peninsula as Alex stood at the center of the room with his hands on his hips. He looked around as if he had never been in a kitchen before that moment.
“I’ll eat whatever you rustle up. I am a human garbage disposal.”
Alex exhaled through his nostrils and smiled. “Good. Because my culinary skills are less than ideal. But,” he said as he pulled open the fridge again, “I can make eggs. Scrambled?”
“Sounds perfect.”
A stack of leatherbound photo albums lie on the counter pressed against the wall.
I helped myself to browsing as Alex pulled a dozen eggs from the fridge and got to work.
I was fairly certain he didn’t know how to operate the burners on his stovetop.
The expression of surprise on his face when he turned one of the nobs, waiting for the click-click-click before ignition, was the dead giveaway.
Despite his lack of skill in the kitchen, I didn’t see mounds of empty takeout containers, so at least he stayed tidy.
We made small talk during breakfast. Like last time, I quickly said a blessing and crossed myself and tried to ignore Alex’s curious stare.
A heaping pile of scrambled eggs and buttered toast only partially filled my belly, but I still complimented him on his efforts and would pick something up on the way home.
I had an eye on the time. I had a few things to finish before our nine-day absence from the area.
Hiroshi’s girls would be very upset with me if I didn’t squeeze in a game of Pool Toss before leaving.
Alex deftly won the argument of him doing the dishes instead of me.
I browsed through another album of his while waiting at the peninsula.
When he finished, he grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge for each of us, came out of the kitchen, and sat on the stool directly next to me.
He twisted the top of his bottle and took a swig like it was beer.
My eyes tracked his lips, the way he licked them when he finished his sip.
They glistened for a moment before drying.
I wanted to make them wet again. Wanted to press my body against his. Feel him move beneath me.
“Can we talk?” Alex asked.
Cold, frigid, freezing douse of water.
“Yeah, sure,” I said as nonchalantly as possible. I knew it. I moved too fast the other night.
He reached over and popped my baseball cap from my head and then mussed my hair a little. “I like when your hair is wavy,” he confessed.
I ran my fingers through my locks. I only kept it long enough to style on top but when I didn’t use product, the hair naturally formed into lazy curls. If he liked it like that, I would never put product in it again.
I held my cap in my hands and tried not to ring it. “What do you want to talk about?”
“You’ll be gone for, what, nine days? I was hoping to figure a few things out so I’m not sitting here wondering.”
I ran one hand along my thigh and cleared my throat. “Okay. What would you like to figure out?”
“Well, it took me a hot minute to figure out you were gay. Which, I shouldn’t be surprised about because apparently I have an affinity for the macho ones. But then I realized… you’re not out, are you? I mean, I know you’re not. There isn’t one article out there about that.”
“I guess it depends on what you mean by ‘out’ exactly.” Alex’s face contorted. He didn’t like that. “My family all knows. My closest friends. Some of my teammates. But the media? No, they don’t know.”
The contortion on his face partially lifted. “You’ve got a big family. You never worried that one of them would…?”
I shook my head, adamant. “Morettis don’t betray blood.”
Alex snickered. “Your cousin said something similar. Okay, so you’re out to family, but not to the public.”
I swallowed. This was uneasy territory. “Is that a problem?” Surely you understand why the media doesn’t know.
Alex took in a long breath and let it out in a short burst. “I was in a serious relationship before we met,” Alex said.
“I think you’ve probably already figured out how and why it ended.
” His eye. The black eye. “He was also in the professional sports world. He was, very much so, not out. Not even to family. It caused the majority of our problems.”
I felt my body deflate. Inwardly, I berated myself for putting all these silly eggs into one basket. I should have taken this all into consideration. It’s why so many failures to launch occurred in the past.
But Alex put out a hand and grabbed my knee. Squeezed. “My ex is an MMA fighter. Different world. Not yours. The pressure to stay in the closet in that industry…”
I nodded. I understood. “That’s a lot different from my situation. My family—”
“They know,” he finished for me. He patted my knee. “I think that’s wonderful, actually. It takes a lot of courage to come out to a big family like that. In fact, that’s a big, big factor for me.”
“And the media? The general public? That’s an issue for you, isn’t it?”
He pulled his hand away and braced his forearms against the edge of the counter, half turning to still look at me.
“Not necessarily. I understand why.” He must have seen relief play across my face.
He smiled, something kind and sympathetic.
“I do, Rome. I get it.” He nodded to himself.
“It’s something to work on. No, that’s not a detractor. ”