10. Elliot
10
ELLIOT
I don’t know why I thought texting Grady about kinks was a good idea, because now I can’t make myself walk into Carriage Park. It’s too easy to be bold over text, and I came so close to asking him to show me all the things I’ve been missing. But now I’m sitting in the parking lot, staring at the stadium and kind of wishing it would burst into flames.
“I can do this.”
My hand lands on the handle of my shitty Honda Civic, but the door doesn’t open. I stare at the empty parking lot through the window, wishing the pavement would crumble into the earth all around me so I would have an excuse not to go to work today.
“I can do this.”
The handle jiggles in my fingers, but I still don’t open the door. What if he makes fun of me? I know that he wouldn’t, because he’s Grady and he’s too fucking nice to do that, but my brain won’t let go of the thought that he might .
“I can’t fucking do this.”
Groaning, I lean back in my seat. What was I thinking ? That I could have conversations with Grady like I do with Scott? That I wouldn’t end up dreaming about Grady calling me a worthless little whore, and waking up covered in my own cum? That I could ever be normal around Matthew fucking Grady ?
I’m going to tell him I’m sick. I’m sick, and I can’t make it today.
Except, he needs me here. He’s trying to get back on the field by the postseason; that’s the whole reason he came to PT the same day he was cleared by his doctor. Grady’s career is on the line, and I’m out here panicking over a handful of texts.
“I can do this,” I repeat, adjusting my grip on the handle and forcing myself to open the door.
Once I’m inside the building, it feels like everything might be alright. There’s no one else here this early except for a handful of janitorial workers and a few coaching staff. I hardly see anyone on the way to my office and I have myself half convinced that Grady won’t even show up today.
That thought dies the moment I round the corner to the training staff offices. Grady is leaning against the wall next to my office door, sling in one hand and his phone in the other. I stop dead, unsure what to say or do. He hasn’t seen me yet, and I genuinely consider how shitty it would be if I ran away right now.
“Elliot,” Grady beams at me, pushing off the wall and slipping his phone into his pocket. “Good morning.”
“Uh, morning,” I mumble, digging my keys out of my bag so I don’t have to look at him. Grady moves to the side as I approach the door, but he’s still close enough that I can feel the heat coming off his body. It’s pure torture, and I fumble the keys more than once in my distraction.
“You good?”
Grady’s question follows the third time the keys slip from my grip, but the door is open now, and I use that as an excuse to put distance between us. “Yeah, fine.”
My bag thumps against the desk chair, and I spend several moments pretending to look for my tablet, even though it’s exactly where I always put it.
“Are you sure?”
Grady’s voice comes from right behind me, and I jump so hard my hip knocks against the desk. Spinning, I hold the tablet to my chest like a shield between us. “Yep. I’m great. Just didn’t sleep much.”
I don’t want to look at him, but he isn’t moving out of my immediate line of sight, so I end up staring at a spot on his chest near his right nipple.
“Elliot?” He waits for me to respond, but I don’t. I can’t. There aren’t any words left in my brain. “Elliot.”
His voice is harder the second time, the command behind the word sending shivers down my spine. I look up, hesitantly meeting his gaze. “Yes?”
“Are we okay?”
Nope, not even a little bit. I can’t be your friend. I can’t be near you without wanting things I have no right to want. I can’t breathe with how much I need you. “Yeah, of course.”
“Good, because I was up all night reading one of your books, and I have questions.”
The easy change in his demeanor as he steps away is enviable. I wish I could flip a switch inside my mind, and everything would return to normal. Or, not normal , since there’s never been a time when I wasn’t drooling over Matthew Grady, but maybe just different . “Which book?”
“The tattoo one.”
“Is that the one with the boyfriend’s ex boyfriends?”
“Yep.” A wicked smile plays across his features as he leans against the exam table. “I wasn’t ready for a foursome to be that hot.”
“Really? But you said you’ve had multiple partners before.” I hear the words. I hear them, yet I refuse to acknowledge that they came from my mouth. When the silence stretches for entirely too long, I add a mumbled, “Di-didn’t you?”
Smooth, Bennett.
“Yeah, but not like that ,” Grady waves vaguely in the air. I’m not sure if he’s comparing the book to his long history of foursomes or one specific instance but he looks vaguely starry-eyed either way. “It was way hotter than anything I’ve ever done.”
“Well, it is a book, so,” I clear my throat and point toward the door. “You ready?”
Grady follows me to the gym, and I try not to be hyper aware of his every move. It doesn’t work, but I still try. We set up in the far corner of the room, and immediately begin his stretching exercises.
I’m grateful for the routine and the clear lines of what we’re doing here. I might not be able to define the line between being his friend and being hopelessly in love with him, but I do know how to be his athletic trainer.
Except, Grady keeps trying to talk to me about things that are decidedly not trainer/player subjects.
“Are books like that always multiple dudes and one woman?”
“Uh, no. There’s a little bit of everything out there. Adjust your grip,” I tap his hand, trying to bring the focus back to the exercises.
“Are there a lot of romances with multiple partners? What are those called?”
I take a deep breath, watching as he completes the external rotation. “Why Choose, and yes, they come in just about every flavor you can imagine. Pause for five seconds this time.”
Grady nods to indicate he’s heard me, then immediately asks another question. “Are a lot of them bi?”
“What?”
“The Why Choose books. Are the guys always bi?”
“Not always,” I drag out the word, trying to decide how to explain the letter pairings in Why Choose romances. “Those books usually come with a label that’s Ms and Fs. The general, and I mean very general, rule is that all the Ms before the Fs are guys who play together. The Ms after are guys who don’t.” I attempt to distract him from my fumbling answer by tapping his bicep. “Slow down.”
“So, the one I read, is that a MMMF?”
I try to stifle my laughter, but I’m starting to enjoy his curiosity now that it’s not centered around my personal preferences. “Yes, it is.”
“Is there a special name for what they did in the woods?”
“All that stuff has a name,” I mutter the words under my breath, trying to focus on Grady’s form during the final set of rotations. My traitorous mind is focusing on Grady’s form in an entirely unhelpful way. “Can you get your arm higher, or does that hurt?”
He carefully raises his arm higher, and I check for any signs of discomfort. “You didn’t answer me.”
“About what?”
“The woods.”
“If I remember correctly, it’s a primal kink.”
“I liked that,” he says matter-of-factly. “I hadn’t heard of that before, and I think I’d like to try it with someone.”
“You…” My brain stops functioning before I can come up with a way to end that sentence.
“Is that how you find other books? You just search for that stuff?”
I blame Grady’s primal kink revelation for the fact that the only response I can come up with is, “What stuff?”
“ MMMF and primal kink , and things like that?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“So, have you read everything that comes up when you search for degradation?”
I nearly choke at the reminder Grady now knows this about me. He’s the only person I’ve ever told that I might be interested in exploring degradation, and now he’s just casually bringing it up in the gym. Granted, we’re completely alone in here, but still . “It isn’t that simple.”
“Why not?”
“Well, I’m not going to like all the other things in books with…that.” I’m not sure why I can’t say the word “ degradation ” out loud, but there is zero fucking chance it’s coming out of my mouth. However, to my unending dismay, the words I am able to say are, “The books I gravitate toward in that category tend to be about possessive men. Stalkers, mafia bosses?—”
The band snaps out of Grady’s hand, slapping against the pole at his side. He curses, but I barely hear it over my own panic.
“Are you alright?” I reach for his arm, carefully pulling his hand out of the way to look at the damage. A welt is forming on his forearm where the strap snapped against his skin, but it isn’t bleeding. “What happened?”
“Nothing, I just,” he huffs, glaring at the band where it’s now lying on the ground. “I let go.”
“Did your muscles give out?”
“No,” he sighs, rubbing his free hand across his eyes. “I did it on purpose.”
“On purpose? Why?” I look up when he doesn’t answer and become painfully aware of how close we’re standing. He bends to assess the damage on his arm, and our faces are suddenly only inches apart.
“I’m not sure.”
It sounds like a lie, but I don’t know why he would lie about something like that unless he’s trying to cover up the fact that it wasn’t on purpose.
“Grady, if your muscles gave out?—”
“They didn’t.”
“It’s okay. We can lighten the exercise load.”
“They didn’t give out, Elliot.”
“Then why?—”
“You deserve to be possessed.”
“What?” I try to place how that sentence fits into the conversation that we’re having, but I come up empty.
Grady groans, a pained look pulling his eyebrows together. “Not like by a ghost or whatever, but just...if you want a possessive man then that’s what you deserve.”
“I don’t understand,” I admit, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. The movement brushes our legs together, and Grady’s pained expression deepens into a scowl.
“Fuck, I’m saying this all wrong,” he closes his eyes, taking a deep breath before he continues. “You’ve had a lot of guys treat you like shit, and I want you to know that there are men out there who won’t treat you like that. You’re gonna find someone who will understand your desire to be degraded in the bedroom without treating you like shit in public. I know you didn’t ask my opinion, and this is a line I shouldn’t be crossing when we’re barely even friends, but I want you to know that there is a guy out there who can do that for you. Someone will give you all the things you want and need, and not be an asshole about it.”
The stilted cadence of his speech makes me think there are things he isn’t saying—things that I desperately want him to say. “You think I don’t know that?”
Grady’s arm bumps against my chest where it’s still held between us. “No, but I think you could use the reminder.”
“Are you that kind of man, Grady?” I hear myself ask the question, the words hanging in the air between us. Surprise registers on Grady’s face, but there’s something behind it that I can’t get past. If I’m going to be bold, then I need to be bold. I need to ask for what I want. I need to be as specific as possible. I need to make the first move.
Grady’s lips are as soft as I always imagined. His mouth is warm against mine, a perfect fit that lends credit to all my dirtiest fantasies. Except there’s one marked difference between this moment and all the times I imagined kissing Matthew fucking Grady: his lips aren’t moving.
He isn’t kissing me back.
“Fuck,” I reel back, panic flooding my chest at what I’ve just done. Grady looks at me with wide eyes, and I feel heat spread across my face as embarrassment digs in its claws. “Shit, shit, I’m sorry.”
“No.” His voice cracks on the word, and I feel a fresh wave of mortification wash over me. I can’t stand here and listen to him tell me that it’s okay, that I didn’t do anything wrong, that I didn’t just assault him at work .
“Fuck!” I grab my tablet off the bench, more out of instinct than actual desire to use the fucking thing. My vision blurs as tears pool in my eyes, and I spin away from him so he doesn’t see how this is really affecting me. My blood heats, the pound of my heart against my ribs nearly distracting from the intense arousal spiking in my gut. This is the worst possible time for this to happen. I will not, will fucking not , get turned on by Grady rejecting me.
“Elliot, I?—”
On second thought, I can’t stand here at all. My feet are moving faster than I thought possible with all my blood rushing south, and I hear the gym door slam behind me over the sound of Grady shouting my name. I can’t stop, though. I have to put space between us.
I run until I can’t run anymore.