15. Fox
I walk outof Grey”s condo the next morning, and I do not want to leave. But I have a contract and a fucking teammate with me that has one, too.
I never unpacked anything from my bag, and I showered at Grey”s sometime around two this morning, stealing athletic shorts and a tee-shirt from his closet. I call up to the room and let Jonesy know to grab my bag and meet me in the lobby.
Five minutes later, he walks off the elevator with both our bags in hand and a smile on his face.
”What”s the look for?” I ask.
”You”re not the only one that got laid last night,” he answers, waggling his eyebrows.
A laugh escapes before I can stop it, and he shrugs. I shake my head at him as we make our way towards the rental. I asked the valet to keep it at the curb since I knew we”d be right back out.
Tipping the valet and tossing our bags into the backseat, I slide behind the wheel and plug in the airport on the on-board navigation system. Jonesy sits quietly on the way there, and I chalk it up to his wild night.
Then we get to the airport, return the car, bypass security – one of my favorite perks of being a celebrity – and while we wait to board, he finally turns to me and says, ”How did you know you were gay?”
I slowly shift my body to look at him straight on and ask, ”What did you just say?”
”How did you know you were gay?”
”How? Or when?”
”I don”t know. Either. Both.”
”I think I knew how the same way you knew you were straight. Because when boys around me pulled girls” pigtails, I sat and stared at the boys playing kickball on the playground. Because when I took my first shower in a locker room after baseball practice my first year on junior-varsity, it was so damn hard to avert my eyes when all the juniors and seniors walked around in their jock straps. As far as when, I think I”ve inherently always had the understanding that I wasn”t attracted to girls. Even before I knew what attraction really was.”
”Interesting,” he says cryptically.
”What”s interesting is your reason for asking that question.” I elbow him and squint at his innocent look he only wears when he is the absolute furthest from innocent.
”No reason,” he says, never making eye contact.
”You”re an awful liar, Jonesy. And I”ll get the truth out of you, one way or another.”
”Probably so. Just not today, okay?”
I stare a moment longer, trying to decipher what he means, finally nodding and dropping the subject. I grab my phone and scroll social media, wondering if anyone posted anything about the game. More specifically, Jonesy or me being at the game.
Surprisingly, there”s not a single thing on my feeds. Granted it”s still ass-crack-of-dawn early – barely four in the morning. But that”s a good sign.
We board a half an hour later, and we”re in the air before the sun peeks over the horizon. The whole flight, all I can think about is how we”re gonna make this thing work – me and Grey. I told him we can do it, so now I have to actually figure it out, and that”s gonna take a little ingenuity and a whole lot of elbow grease.
It”s the first week of June, and we have six weeks or so until the All-Star break, then another two until the trade deadline. The Revolution would be stupid not to offer Grey the second-base position when Farrell retires in the fall, but utility players getting starting positions doesn”t happen nearly enough because they”re too valuable. They can cover too much real estate to slot them into a starting position, so they often get overlooked.
I”m hopeful, but I”m also realistic. I”m sure he is, too.
Too caught up in my thoughts and lost in planning the next several months, the announcement about our descent comes earlier than I expect. I nudge Jones beside me, rousing him from his nap and shove the napkin I doodled on for the last hour into my pocket.
We touch down and I switch my phone from airplane mode to a slew of texts, voicemails, missed calls, and notifications.
”Umm, Fox?” I hear beside me.
I turn to at Jonesy, and the look on his face tells me something”s up.
”I think your secret”s out,” he says, turning his phone around so I can see it.
Pictures of Grey and me talking at the game last night fill the screen, and I shrug. ”Okay, so they know we”re together. It”s not the end of the world.”
”Just... keep scrolling.”
I grab his phone and swipe my thumb across the glass, my disbelief growing at how far back they go.
Greyson and me at the bar, the first time we had a drink back in his hometown.
Me, walking into Grey”s building – both times.
Me, slapping Grey”s ass at the game a couple months ago.
And then, the piece de resistance, if you will... Grey and me standing in his bedroom, staring at each other, completely naked. Censored and redacted for journalism, of course, but anyone can see we”re naked.
This picture is from last night. During a moment of complete and utter intimacy between two people who have every fucking right to be together, different teams be damned.
Because that”s the headline here, shocking as it is.
REVOLUTION WILDCATS SHARING SECRETS??
Our sexual orientations have both been public for too long for that to be the focus of the article, but for the first time in my life, I wish for my gayness to be a reason there”s a headline. Not me – or him for that matter – being accused of cheating.
Fuck.
Before I look at a single notification or text, I call our team manager, Tim Brown. He answers on the first ring.
”What the actual fuck, Fox?”
”Coach, I”ve played for you for a long time. Can you give me half an hour to get to the stadium? I”ll tell you whatever you want to know.”
He huffs into the phone. ”I swear to god, son. If it were anybody else?—”
”But it”s not. It”s me. Me.”
”Get your ass here, now.”
”We just landed. I”m heading straight there.”
”We?” he asks, incredulous.
I realize then, none of the pictures showed my teammate in the seat beside me.
”Jonesy hitched a ride.”
”What the fuck, Fox?!” he yells, and I wince.
I look at Jones and mouth ”Sorry”. He rolls his eyes and stands up to grab our carry-ons from the overhead bin.
After I hang up, he says, ”Guess I”m going with you, huh?”
”Didn”t mean to hang you with me,” I say.
”Eh. No biggie. Nothing in the rules that says we can”t watch a fucking baseball game, man.”
”Maybe not, but us being there certainly raises some red flags.”