7. Tate
TATE
“Well, that was a disaster,” I exclaim, stomping into Vince’s hotel room.
We’d just finished a press conference that was meant to be all about how we won the premiership yesterday, but instead, it was all about our relationship.
“Uh, yeah,” Vince says, collapsing onto the couch and running his hands through his hair.
Like, I get it. It’s hot news and a shock to people, but I can’t help but feel like if Vince was a woman, we wouldn’t be gaining this much attention. Which is fucked. I knew the whole world wasn’t caught up with the times, but I mean, seriously? This is still what gay people are to the media?
“It really pisses me off,” I grumble, flopping down next to Vince.
Fuck, this whole day has been overwhelming.
But honestly, the world’s reaction to “our relationship” makes me kind of want to send a message.
To make a point. To, I don’t know, show the man, or whatever that saying is.
That whole press conference had been a mixture of homophobia and stereotypes.
One reporter actually asked me who the bottom was.
Like who the fuck thinks that it an appropriate question in a fucking sports press conference.
It didn’t help that I couldn’t get that kiss we shared out of my mind.
I’d never kissed a man before, and there were probably only a handful of women that I kissed before too, and none of them were really memorable.
That kiss with Vince? I could still feel the scratch of his stubble against my cheek, could feel the way his breath caused goosebumps on my skin,
“Maybe it’s a sign that we shouldn’t do… whatever this is,” Vince says, waving his hand between us, his eyes are firmly on the floor, clearly avoiding making eye contact with me. “Half the team wasn’t exactly okay with the thought of us being together.”
“Uh, I think the fuck not, mate,” I protest, turning to face him, a sense of dread filling me at not…
what? Being able to kiss him again? Shaking those thoughts off, I continue, “I get this whole thing is intense, but backing down is not the right move here. Fuck those press arseholes, and the team was more upset that they didn’t know about us secretly sneaking around than the actual thought of us being together.
This will just get even messier, and neither of us wants that, right? ”
“Uh, no, you’re right,” he groans, still avoiding my eyes.
“Vince,” I reach forward and cup his face, forcing him to actually look at me.
His soft skin heats my callused palm, and I quickly drop my hand, not sure what I am even doing anymore.
“We have a chance here to make a difference. To send a message and fuck up the world for all those pricks out there who think that we don’t deserve to be here just because of who we’re sleeping with. ”
“But we aren’t sleeping together,” Vince states, like that was the important part of that sentence. In an instant, images rush through my brain. Pictures of us kiss, touching, collapsing back onto a bed together.
Shit.
My cock is getting hard. Probably not the place for that right now. Coughing to clear my throat, I shift my legs to hide my runaway dick. I thought I was thought that stage of awkwardly popping boners—clearly not, if the tent forming in my pants has anything to say on the matter.
“Yeah, but they don’t know that, do they?
” My mouth clearly running away from me too when I add, “Besides, we said we’d ‘break up’ before the season starts.
I’m due back at training in like four weeks, then we break for Christmas, before the whole team resumes training in January.
Then preseason starts in March. That’s like…
four or five months that we are going to be fake dating. ”
“What’s your point, Tate?” Vince says. “I’m too hungover for this much math.”
I laugh nervously, unsure where my brain is going itself right now. “Well, just that… that’s a long time to go without… you know?”
Fuck. I can’t believe I’m the one suggesting this.
“Without what?” he grumbles.
“Uh, mutual orgasms?” I say, my voice rising in question.
Vince laughs, full on laughs at me. “Tate, I haven’t had a mutual orgasm, as you so nicely put it, in at least nine months. It’s not like another five months is going to kill me.”
“Nine months?” I ask, my eyes bulging. “How are you alive! It’s only been a month for me, and I am already struggling.”
“That says more about you than it does me, Tate,” Vince says sorrowfully, and it reminds me that for him there are real feelings involved here. And here I am, just shoving my sex life in his face.
“Shit, sorry mate. But, I mean… at least I could help you out with that now.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Well, now that I know you like, you know. I can help you out while we are, you know.”
Fuck, I sound like a stammering pubescent teen who can’t talk about sex.
“I really don’t think I do know, Tate,” he says, eyes wide and burning into mine. I can’t tell if he is hoping I proposition him, or if he is dreading it. I really hope it’s the former.
“I guess I figured… well,” I clear my throat, fighting the urge to get up and pace around like a mad man.
I meet his eyes and try again, “Well, we’re doing this whole thing so the media think we are together, it’s not like either of us can go out and hook up with someone else.
Can you imagine the headlines if they thought that we couldn’t be happily monogamous? ”
“I know,” Vince groans, running his hands through his hair again.
It reminds me of the amount of times I watched him as he had done that while standing on the side line during a match that was tense or going poorly.
“If that press conference is any indication, it won’t go well.
At all. They’ve already got a forest and a jerry-can, the last thing we need to give them is a match. ”
“That’s my point. We can’t give them any reason to point the finger at us.
So that will mean lots of public dates and appearances.
Hamming it up for the camera and giving them the illusion that we are madly in love.
” A part of me wants to ask him about the feelings he has admitted to, but there has been enough going on today, and I think he has spent enough time being vulnerable.
I guess that means it’s time for me to be the open one.
Taking a deep breath to settle the butterflies that I feel floating around my belly, I avert my eyes.
He has to know what’s coming, it’s not like I have been subtle, but apparently I still need to say the actual words.
“And I think a good way to portray that is to um… method act.”
Vince just stares at me. Deer in headlights. Face strangely blank of emotion. I have no idea what he is thinking now, which is kind of important. He was okay with the kiss before, wasn’t he?
Shit, what if I am a bad kisser?
Maybe he doesn’t want to kiss me again.
Why does sadness jolt through me at that? Like this time yesterday, I had never even considered Vince as more than a Coach… more than a friend of sorts. And now I am suggesting we what…
“Wh-what do you mean by that?” Vince stammers out, pulling me out of my tumbleweed of thoughts.
“Well, we kissed earlier, and that wasn’t bad—right?” I ask, now needing him to tell me.
“Um. No. It wasn’t bad,” Vince all but mumbles, averting his gaze from mine again.
Fuck. Why did he say it like that? What is that tone? It wasn’t bad? That doesn’t mean it was good… holy shit, what is my brain doing.
“I guess I mean more stuff like that,” I blurt out.
“We need to be natural in public, and not be caught unawares or anything. So, um, practice is what I am suggesting.” And suddenly, I love that train of thought.
“We’re players, so maybe we need to treat this relationship a bit like a game play,” I continue.
“A game play?” Vince repeats.
“Yep. When we have to post online or go out in public, that’s like when we are out on the field. And behind closed doors is when we practice.”
“I need you to tell me what ‘practice’ means to you, Tate,” Vince says seriously, meeting my eyes.
How is it that the course of one day can change how much something as small as eye contact means?
“Well, kissing, handholding, maybe cuddling?” I suggest.
“I guess that is all stuff we should do, too, uh,” he clears his throat, causing my eyes to drop and watch as his Adam’s apple bobs with his swallow.
“And um, if we can’t go anywhere else for mutual orgasms for the next few months, I’d um… I’d be okay with doing that together… too…”
“You can’t be serious,” Vince says, staring at me.
I can’t tell if that is a good or a bad response.
“Is that not something that you want?” I ask, not knowing how else to reply.
“I don’t want your pity. This is not a ‘if we were the last two people on earth’ situation,” Vince exclaims, standing up and stepping away from me. “This is real life, and real people here. It’s going to be like a month, maybe two. You can survive being chaste in that time, Tate.”
“That’s not—” I say, standing up with him, but he cuts me off.
“Look, it’s been a long day, and we have to fly home tomorrow. I need a shower, I need to eat, and I need to sleep. Maybe you should just go back to your room, and we can talk about this more later.”
I want to say no. I want to tell him that I don’t want to leave, and that I wasn’t just saying that we should fuck cause we can’t fuck other people… but that is what I said, isn’t it.
“Okay, maybe you're right and sometime apart to process will be good to… reframe it all for us.”
“Sure, Tate. Whatever. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Vince says, practically herding me to the door.
The door closes behind me before I find the words to reply, and I am left in a deserted hallway, mind absolutely whirling as I make my way back to my hotel room, trying to make sense of everything that has happened in the last twenty-four hours.