KNIGHT
Chapter Twenty-One
He’s different now. He’s even more different today than he was the first time I brought him out here, and he was pretty different then, too.
Don’t get me wrong. He’s still evasive as hell, he’d rather fuck than talk, and he’s still a sarcastic shit, but he’s also—sweet.
Like when we’re kissing or making out—even when we’re having sex, he’s tender and adoring and unguarded with whatever he’s feeling.
He wasn’t like that last summer. When we’re fucking, he’s doing it like he cherishes every second, every part of me.
It’s no wonder this has become a weekly thing, for me anyway.
He has yet to explain himself. I don’t know what we are or what we’ll become tomorrow when I head home, but every kiss gives me some faith that I won’t lose him completely again.
Like he wouldn’t, right? Whether that means what I’d love it to mean or not, it means something.
And it’s past time we talked about it.
We’ve both come twice. We’ve had beer, we’ve had ham sandwiches. We’re doing the whole guess the constellation thing we always do when we’re out here late enough, and so I bring it up finally. “You gonna forget all about me this summer, or what?”
Look, I’ve thought over and over about how I wanted to bring this up. I don’t want to freak him out. I don’t want to put any pressure on him, but I do want to introduce the topic and get him talking. That was the best line I could come up with.
“I don’t plan to,” he says. “But I guess we should talk.”
“Okay. You first.”
“I’m not sleeping with Chelsea anymore.”
That wasn’t what I expected him to say. “Meaning?”
He sighs heavily like I’m the one being stupid. “Meaning, she’s not my girlfriend anymore. Not that I’m saying we’re—I’m not implying anything with that, I’m just saying I prefer men, I guess.”
“Ah.” Yeah, it’s hard not to read anything into that. My heart is skipping along madly like the whole world is about to change in the best possible way, but my brain knows better.
“You know,” he says in the way that makes it sound like he thinks I should be the one explaining myself. “You’re the one who has all the risk. Why don’t you tell me what you’re gonna be thinking about this summer.”
I’m gonna be thinking about all the shit he’s never told me.
About who gave him the car, who pays for his tuition.
Who fucking hurt him. And whether they’re still doing it.
To a lesser extent, I’ll be thinking about who else is sticking their dick in his mouth all summer.
How many will there be? How do I not get jealous and pissed off about it?
I haven’t given him any shit about it because he’s implied that the money he makes from that will get him out from the other mess we don’t talk about, but I don’t like it.
I don’t have a problem with sex work on principle—I get that some people have fewer options and certain skill sets, and some even enjoy it, but it doesn’t mean I want him doing it.
As much as I’d love to be able to put my arm around him, walk through campus with him and say he’s mine, I can’t.
I’m also not broke, but I know him well enough to know he wouldn’t take money from me, and I don’t think I’d want to wonder if that’s why he was staying with me, either.
I’m lucky he’s kept these weekly hook-ups personal and not transactional. Even the first time. Especially the first time because that night sort of rocked my world. Most of all what I’ll be thinking about this summer, though is this. Him. I’ll miss him more than I want to admit.
“Outplaying Blake next year,” I say.
“You need to up your social media game. Way more gym pics and thirst traps.”
I laugh. “How the hell is that gonna help?”
“Distract him. Throw him off his game. You’re not getting any less hot, you know?”
“Thanks. You know, if you’d come home with me, we could hit the gym together. I’d get you into fighting shape, and we could crash at some sick houses.”
“That sounds…” He stops himself. “I wish I could.”
“I wish you could, too.”
“What else do you wish?” Sullivan asks.
“Honestly?” Because it’s now or never. “That I could stop wanting you the way I do.”
“You will eventually,” he says, like this was never a question. Like it’s not something that fucking tortures me. “You don’t want Blake anymore, do you?”
“Fuck no. But he’s an asshole.”
“I’m not much better.”
“Well, I still like you, and don’t say that shit about how I don’t really know you because I’m pretty sure I know you better than most people do at this point.”
“All right fine. I won’t say it, but only because you’re mostly right.”
“Are you gonna look for someone else?” I ask after a few seconds of silence. He shifts, and I can feel his eyes on me, so I turn to face him.
“Honestly, I need to focus on not flunking out. I have two classes to retake this summer—”
“What?” He never mentioned that to me.
“It’s not a big deal—”
“Are they classes I can help with?”
“History and rhetoric.”
“Fuck. Why didn’t you say anything?”
“It was too late. I was already failing too bad by the time we—reconnected or whatever.”
I prop myself on an elbow. “You can call me anytime. If you need help with an essay or—anything. You can call me.”
“I’m not incapable of passing,” he says. “I’ve just had a lot going on.”
I grimace, hating his secrets with a new level of intensity. “Listen to me, okay?”
He drops his gaze but doesn’t say anything. “You are so talented. Far too talented to let this opportunity—however the fuck you got here—go to waste. If you need help with anything—anything,” I say with special emphasis, “I can do that for you.”
“I know you can,” he whispers.
“Not just can, I would.”
He nods. “I can’t let you. You’re way too talented to get messed up with me.”
I sigh heavily. He doesn’t know that for himself because he’s never seen me play, and after the bowl game loss, I’m not so sure anymore, either. “What would make you feel better? What makes this work?”
“Work? Like whether we can be together or not?” His gaze is confused. “Nothing.”
“Would you want to be?” I ask, because we’ve never really talked about that either.
“Since it’s not an option—”
“If it were—”
“It’s not, Knight. And there’s no point acting like it could be. I feel like wishing for it is just gonna hurt even more when it can’t work out.”
“I’m gonna take that as a yes, you would. It’ll help me sleep better at night.”
He huffs. “Will it?”
“It’s better than you not wanting me.”
“Are you sure? Because if I thought there was an actual possibility of being with you, that’d tear me the fuck up.”
My breath whooshes out of me. That sounded a hell of a lot like a confession.
It also makes me instantly realize he’s right.
It’s a hundred times worse knowing he wants to be with me.
That he would be if he could be. If my life allowed it.
It means I have an actual choice between him and fucking football.
“Fuck,” I bite out, rolling back over to face the sky.
“See?”
“Fuck you,” I say without much heat.
“So, I guess we should just be friends.”
“Oh my God,” I moan up at the stars—at whatever god might be there watching this mess we’ve made of each other.
He pats my abs in a gesture I think is supposed to be comforting. “We had fun, though, right?”
“You’re breaking up with me, and we’re not even together.”
“I’m letting you down easy.”
“Right, except it feels more like I’m the one letting you down.”
“Well…I wasn’t gonna say it, but…”
I groan. “This fucking sucks.”
“We should take a class together next year,” he suggests.
“How the fuck would that help?” I ask bitterly.
“It’d give us a reason to be friends.”
“I can’t keep my fucking hands off you, Sullivan.”
“Well…noted, and I struggle with that, too, but we’ve got all summer to get used to it, and you’ve got the season. I need to lock in on school anyway. You know what you need? You need a girlfriend.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Now I’m actually getting annoyed.
“It’s not that hard to have sex with a woman. I promise. And some of them really do give decent blow jobs.”
“I don’t want to hear this.”
“Well, you have to do something. If you’re gonna be friends with me, you need someone to hang out with. Chelsea’s available. She thinks you’re hot.”
“Chelsea runs a sex business.”
“Right, well, I’m sure there’s someone just as cool who’d want to be with you.”
“I don’t want a girlfriend, and I don’t want to be your friend.”
“Ouch. Now you’re just pouting. If you can’t have it all, you have to learn to compromise.”
“Like you are?”
“Yeah. Exactly like I am.” He takes his hand off my stomach. “See. Not touching you. Hands off.”
“Get your knee off my dick, and I’ll actually believe you.”
Instead, he drapes himself across me, his head on my chest, and his arm wrapped around me. “Friends hug.”
Mindlessly, I rub his back, wishing I could focus enough to memorize the way he feels, but I’m too split between the possible futures.
One potentially with him, and the other with no one.
It should be a no-brainer, but there are also no guarantees with Sullivan Scott at all, or any man who could keep my secret.
In the end, it does come down to trust. It comes down to me, what I can control.
If I make it through the next two years without a major injury, I will get drafted.
I can’t control which team or where I’ll be, but the NFL is a sure thing if I stay focused.
“Do you think I’m being stupid?” I ask.
He sighs. “No. I think as far as the world has come in terms of accepting queer people, it’s also come a really long way in making men even more toxic.
I’d rather you be successful and safe than living your truth and putting a fucking target on your back.
You don’t need to be the spokesperson for the LGBTQ+ community when all you wanna do is play football. ”
“That’s not all I want to do. I would like to make this easier for kids like me. Eventually.”
“You’re not gonna want to hear this, but in case you’re wondering at all, I’m not worth it.”
“You’re not gonna wanna hear this, either, but that’s bullshit. Also, I don’t want to argue with you tonight.”
“I’m gonna look for a girl for you this summer.”
“Please don’t.”
“I don’t want you to be all alone.”
“Believe it or not, I’m used to it.”
“I think we can do it,” he says. “I think we can be friends.”
“As long as I have a girlfriend, and we’re in a class together?”
“I mean—that would help.”
I run my hand over his hair a few times and map out Andromeda in the sky. “I’ll think about it.”
“We can practice just like this,” he says.
And so we do.
He leaves around two in the morning without a kiss goodbye, only a hug that lasts a very, very long time.