Chapter 40
Thirty-Nine
Celebrity Skin
Ryan
I told Spence I wasn't going to hide. I meant it.
Doesn't mean I'm not nervous to leave the sanctuary of his condo and face the public.
I still haven't had a crash-out moment, and I'm not sure that I'm going to.
It's funny, the way our brains can play out worst case scenarios on an endless fucking loop, yet, most of the time, when that thing you've feared the most comes to be, it’s not nearly as catastrophic as you convinced yourself it would be.
Don’t get me wrong. Coming out is hard, whether you’re pushed out or not. And even though I was accidentally outed—by a cat—I know I’m privileged in a lot of ways. I have options others don’t. I see it every time I work with the kids at THRIVE.
Mostly, what I feel is free—like someone cut every string tethering me down, and suddenly I’m weightless, drifting somewhere above the clouds.
My father’s threats and ignorant posts don’t hold power over me anymore.
And while playing for Arizona has been, overall, a positive chapter of my life, the league still isn’t there yet.
As Carlton Smith, the only player to come out while actively playing will tell you, it all but starts the clock ticking to your final season, and he wasn’t a high-profile player.
I was ready for the next chapter of my life, anyway.
Team management was trying to get Anthony to talk me into keeping my contract, continuing PT through the season, and seeing if I would be field-ready by next season, but I reaffirmed to Anthony that I wanted out.
After this little incident, I'm guessing they'll negotiate the exit I want quickly. Ticket sales are king, after all.
Honestly? I just want to make a second career focused on cooking. I want to spend the rest of my time at THRIVE with the kids, visiting The Bettys, and staring at the man standing in front of me right now while we ride the elevator down to the parking garage.
Fuck, Spencer Stark knows how to wear clothes.
We’re just going to the grocery store, but he’s dressed like he stepped out of a luxury ad campaign.
Black designer jeans molded to those thick thighs, a pale blue cable-knit sweater that makes his eyes pop, and fancy loafers in the same shade.
And he smells incredible. Clean and expensive and distractingly good.
I want to lick him.
Meanwhile, I look like I jumped into a clearance bin and came out wearing the first things I could find.
Baggy sweats. Dingy runners. A giant hoodie that says I LOVE MY KITTY across the front—the greatest impulse purchase I’ve ever made after F-Bomb decided we were soulmates. My hat is pulled low enough to practically cover my eyes.
Spence looks up from his phone, which he's been madly typing into since he got home, and says, “What?” when he catches me staring at him.
I shrug, “Nothing. You look nice is all. Your butt in those jeans is going to give the bakery a run for its money, Perfect.”
He sighs like I’m exhausting, but then he casually pivots so he’s facing the elevator doors instead of me, giving me a perfect side profile of that lethal curve.
Most people wouldn’t catch it. But I know him now.
That tiny shift? That’s a mile of give for Spencer. And every single time he does, my stomach flips like a damn gymnast. Makes me instantly start thinking about how to draw a little more out of him.
The elevator dings and we briskly make our way to Spence's Merc S-Class. No one knows where Spence lives or that I'm here, but we're quick about it anyway. If anyone tries to follow us home from the market, we'll have to lose them before getting back.
Fuck. Now I'm nervous. I don’t want to make Spence's life a living hell. “Maybe we should just order groceries. What if people follow us back here?”
Spence fires up the engine and shoots me a look. “Let them try. Would you want to deal with a super pissed version of me?”
I cringe. “Fuck no.”
His smile meets his eyes, and I laugh because only he would find joy in that. “Then buckle-up, buttercup,” he commands, “Like you said. No hiding.” Then he looks me up and down. “Though, I kind of want to hide with whatever that is you're wearing.”
I pull down on the hem of my sweatshirt and pout, “Hey. I love my shirt.”
Spence throws the car in reverse, turns his head to look out the back window, and slides his right hand behind my headrest as he navigates out of the parking spot. God, that's such a sexy move. I squirm in my seat a little and his lips twitch. Fucker knows shit like that makes me horny.
We manage to park and get into the store and so far, so good. A few nods, a couple smiles. The usual. To be fair, it's the middle of the day on a Monday, not a big crowd.
There was one muscle bro that approached and gave me a fist bump and said, “Respect” then eyed me shamelessly. That pulled a loud rumble out of Spence.
“What are you going to make?” Spence asks as we head for the produce section.
“I'm thinking filets with a black garlic butter, handmade wild mushroom ravioli with brown butter sauce, and rainbow carrots.” Spence's eyes widen and I snap my fingers, “Ooh. I think I'll make a roasted shallot bordelaise sauce for the steaks too.”
“Damn,” he says. “You're making me hungry.” Then he licks his lips and I want to jump him right here in front of the potato bin. Everyone's seen us go at it anyway.
We make our way through the store grabbing the items we need.
I'm grabbing the last item on my list, heavy cream, when the sweetest looking old lady approaches with her cart as we stand in front of the dairy case.
I brace myself. This could go a number of ways ranging from she has no idea who I am to Spence getting arrested for geriatric assault.
“Excuse me, young man?”
I breathe a sigh of relief. I don't think she knows who I am. Maybe she needs me to reach something.
“I would like to give you something,” she says as she opens one of the refrigerated doors and reaches inside. Orrr I'm about to be slut shamed in public by a blue hair.
“What's that?” I ask, lacing my voice with sweetness. But I'm not sure she heard me because her head is buried in the cooler. Wow she's really digging in there. I'm about to offer her help when she backs up, lets the door shut and then drops an entire armful of whipped cream cans in our cart.
I just stand there, jaw dropped. This feisty little woman shrugs and does a jazzy little dance and says, “You boys need to stock up. I can't wait for the next episode.” then she tilts her glasses down her nose and says, “I will definitely be watching.”
I bark the loudest laugh and Spence groans.
“Omigod, I love you so much. What is your name?”
“I'm Rose,” she says on a giggle.
“I want to hug you. Can I hug you?”
“You better,” she says. I lean down and give her a gentle squeeze and whisper in her ear, “You just made my day better. Thank you.”
She rubs my back and says, “Give 'em hell,” and then she's off as quickly as she appears.
I turn back to Spence and the look on his face nearly levels me. It's full of a warmth I'm not sure I've seen from him before. I shift on my feet, not knowing what to do with that, and say, “C'mon. Let's put these cans back and go pay.”
Spence looks down into the cart then back to my face and says, “The cans stay in the cart.”
I lean closer and drop my voice. “We need to leave right now.” Then I barrel past him, whipped cream cans clanking the whole way.
This wasn't so bad. I'm sure we'll have plenty of blowback to deal with, but I was able to go to the market unscathed.
As we stand in line though, a woman gets in line behind us.
She looks like she fell out of an ‘80s hair band music video, except the leopard print mini skirt and tank top are about two sizes too small, her belly hanging over the top of the skirt.
Blonde hair teased to the sky. After a minute she recognizes me.
She gives me a look of disgust and I ignore her.
The person in front of us finishes checking out and the cashier starts scanning our items as Spence unloads them onto the belt.
Meanwhile, Hagatha continues to leer at me.
Then she sees all the cans of whipped cream going on the belt and scoffs in disgust. I turn and look her dead in the eyes and she says, “You should be ashamed of yourself with this gay shit.
You've ruined your legacy. I'm making my kids burn their jerseys and posters. You disgust me.”
It hits hard and fast. My stomach turns sour and I can't speak. Suddenly, our cart is flung forward, and Spence is face to face with this pleasant member of society.
“Sweetie,” Spence starts. “If that skirt climbs any higher, you're going to slip a lip.”
She gasps but Spence isn't done. “Then this lovely cashier is going to have to make you place it on the scale to weigh for deli meat.”
It's taking everything in me not to laugh.
But he keeps going. “Then it'll be a whole thing with you arguing the price of roast beef.
People will record on their phones. You'll be the one that goes viral, which, honestly, would do us a huge favor. So, unless you want to be the story, I suggest you mind your own business and take your trashy ass to another checkout lane.”
She just stares at Spence, then makes a disgusted noise and wheels her cart to a couple lanes over.
We turn back so we can pay for our groceries and get the hell out. The cashier is scanning the last item, but her shoulders are shaking as she tries to conceal a laugh. Spence pulls out his card and taps it to the machine, and the cashier leans forward and whispers, “That was amazing.”
Spence just nods and gives her a half smile. I can tell he's steamed. I'm just trying not to burst out laughing.
We get to the car, and Spence starts throwing bags in the back and I'm just staring at him. He slams the trunk lid and says, “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“No one's ever stood up for me like that. Ever.”
He shrugs, “It's nothing.”
“It's not nothing.”
He shifts on his feet and says, “Ryan—”
“You liiiiike me,” I singsong, cutting him off.
Spence tilts his head to the sky, “Oh fuck off.”
I do a little dance. “Spencer Stark liiiiikes me.”
“Get in the car jackass.”
I give him my cheesiest grin and say, “Yeah, we better go before you push a toddler to the ground defending my honor. Because you liiiiike me.”
“I'm leaving you here,” he grumbles.
I scurry to open the passenger side because he definitely would lock the door and drive off. Being careful with my leg, I ease myself in and shut the door. Spence is just staring out the windshield. I grip his thigh and gently, more seriously say, “Thank you.”
Spence turns to me and grips my chin. God, he loves doing that. I think he just likes dipping his thumb in my chin dimple. Then he rubs his thumb over my lips and says, “Nobody fucks with my pretty boy.”
Help. Me.