Chapter 17 #4
“No, trust me, I can believe you did your research,” Gabe teases. “But I can’t believe you remembered how much I love Olmedo. I told you that, what, when were, like, fifteen?”
“The first time we met,” Leo says, nodding. “At BP. You told me how much he meant to you because he was Peruvian and he played for the US and he was so successful.”
Gabe still looks like he can’t compute, mouth parted slightly, eyes narrowed.
“I know you haven’t had the season you wanted since you came out,” Leo says, taking advantage of Gabe’s current inability to speak. “Maybe you haven’t won as much as you had hoped. But you still mean so much to people, just being on court, as you.”
Part of Leo wants to bolt for the door, the part that’s still getting accustomed to being this unguarded in front of Gabe.
But he stays put, following the path of each dark wave on Gabe’s head to distract himself from how exposed he feels.
How does this man still look this good under fluorescent lighting?
“You—” Gabe appears to be searching for the words.
“Should stop talking now? Yes, I agree.”
“—are not what I expected, Leonardo.”
They kiss some more. And some more. And some more.
“What if I, you know,” Gabe trails off, his eyes trailing down.
“Here?” Leo asks, eyes widening, a bit scandalized.
“Here,” Gabe says, leaning in closer as two of his fingers latch onto the belt loops on Leo’s jeans. “No one’s here this late. And you heard Archie. It’s closing soon anyway. We can be quick. If you’re up for it.”
Leo looks at the door, biting his lip, tapping his foot. “Okay, when I think about how all the stuffy straight British people would collapse if they knew what was going on in their Gentlemen Members’ Dressing Room,” Leo says, turning a pinkie up, “that’s too good.”
“I doubt we’re the first,” Gabe says. “I’m sure Archie knows all the tea.”
“Do you think so?” Leo says. His eyes scan the room as he ponders this room’s past. “Wow, yeah, I mean, that would make sense, because historically, if you think back to—”
“We don’t have time,” Gabe spits out, putting a hand up.
“Right, sorry,” Leo says, snapping himself out of it. His mouth contorts into a mischievous half-smile. “Okay, yes, I’m in. This is probably the hottest and baddest thing I’ve ever done.”
“I … believe that,” Gabe says, smirking. He kneels down, and unzips Leo’s jeans.
A small yelp pops out of Leo as Gabe wraps his mouth around him.
Walking down a winding street lined with brick townhouses, Leo is pulling the sleeves of his sweater over his hands.
There’s this moment when he looks at Gabe before he’s about to tell him something that still sends a bolt of electricity down his spine.
He sees Gabe’s face and his brain can’t cope with the fact that this is the face of someone Leo can now laugh with, gaze at, confide in.
The moment remains such a thrill that he grips at the wool of his sweater to steady himself.
“I hope tonight makes up for me missing your birthday, even a little,” Leo says, eyes fixed on Gabe as he passes under a streetlamp. Gabe’s birthday was April 10, the early days of their post-kiss silence.
“Eh, it was all right,” Gabe teases, staring down the street.
There’s a pub a bit farther down. Some folks are clinking pints at picnic tables on the sidewalk, under the lit-up sign that reads: THE EARL SPENCER.
All the local spots will be packed with Wimby lovers over the fortnight.
“My mom got me a gold Saint Michael pendant to wear during my matches. So, you know, tough to top that.”
“I take it you’re not at church every Sunday, then?” Leo asks. “Also, insert joke here about me not being tough to top.”
“Gonna go ahead and move right along to your question,” Gabe says, nudging Leo’s shoulder with his own.
“I did go to church a lot growing up. My parents still do. My mom knows I don’t anymore, but I think she feels like it’s her duty to at least try and keep me close to God.
She means well. Like, she prays that I’m safe while I travel and that I stay true to who I am.
And I know plenty of people who are praying that I don’t stay true to who I am, so. ”
Leo wants to grab his hand but hesitates.
“Wait so, your dad’s dad was a plumber?” Gabe asks. “That’s what Archie said, right?”
“Yeah, he was. My grandma stayed home with my dad and the other kids. There were five of them. They didn’t have much money at all.
But my grandpa was a huge tennis fan and would take my dad, the oldest of the kids, to the public courts nearby.
He practiced every day, played in some local tournaments, and he caught the eye of a coach who thought he could be a big talent, and he offered to fund him. The rest is, well, you know.”
“Damn. That’s wild,” Gabe says. “Your grandpa must’ve been so proud of him.”
“Oh, yeah. He died before I was born, but he did get to see my dad play in the US Open final. He was, to quote my grandma, ‘weeping like a willow.’ He was so proud of him.”
Leo glances over and Gabe’s just there, walking beside him, looking on in wonder. The little bolt of electricity strikes again.
“She moved in with my parents and me. I don’t think she liked living alone, and she wanted to help out how she could.
They were paying for all these new medications and taking my dad to get all these new treatments, and my mom was still working.
She was a journalist, but then she quit and became a realtor so she could be closer to home and see me more.
My grandma knew it would be a lot with my dad adjusting and my mom busy, so she moved in with us. ”
“Is he doing okay, by the way, your dad?”
“Yeah, he’s okay, thanks,” Leo says.
And, for once, he doesn’t feel he needs to stop there.
“Usually, I’m not hoping for rain at Wimbledon, but I actually am this time, just so things cool down,” he says.
“It’s tougher for him during the summer tournaments now that it’s getting hotter and hotter every year.
He should really use his cane, but I know he’s embarrassed.
Which I get. And I hate that he has to feel that way.
But I just want him to take care of himself. ”
“Yeah,” Gabe says. “Of course.”
“He’s been trying to let me do my thing on court this week, at least. And he set up that practice with you. So, I’ll take the wins I can get.”
“I mean, with that second serve, you should.”
Leo stops walking and blinks at him, a smile slowly emerging.
“Kidding,” Gabe says, stepping closer. “You’ve barely been double faulting lately.”
“You’ve been watching my matches, Montoya?” Leo asks, cocking his head.
Behind Gabe, he sees a black taxi trudge down the street, followed by a double-decker bus. He knows it makes him a typical American tourist, but he’s always loved how picturesque the transportation is in London, like souvenir fridge magnets come to life.
“I guess I should thank you, though,” Leo says.
“What for?” Gabe asks, brushing his fingertips against Leo’s.
“You—I don’t know,” Leo says. “You help get me out of my head.”
Gabe looks at him for a moment, then says, “Just know that I would kiss the shit out of you right now if the paparazzi weren’t such dickheads here.
They’re swarming outside my hotel with the amount of players staying there.
And I’m guessing a photo of the first out gay guy playing Wimbledon pays a pretty penny …
shilling? Pound? Quid? I can never keep track. ”
Leo recalls a paparazzi photo he saw of Gabe during Wimbledon last year—a heavy flash spotlighting him as he left a London nightclub with Cara Delevingne on the Friday night before the tournament.
Meanwhile, the only tabloid images one can find of Leo during Wimby are those of him riding a green fixed-gear bike from his townhouse to the All England Club (“BABY ROD’S HOT ROD,” one of the headlines read).
“I’m sorry again that we can’t be public about, well, this,” Leo says, gesturing in the slim space between them.
“I’m just, you know. I’m still not ready for that.
It would be a media circus if I came out, let alone if they knew we were together.
I don’t want that mess for you, either, after everything you’ve been through already.
Not to mention, I still haven’t told my dad yet. ”
“Leo, it’s fine. Seriously. Trust me, I know better than anyone that you can’t rush these things. Esme had an entire play-by-play guide in the works for months before I told everyone, just to make sure it all panned out how we wanted it to. She should maybe just be my coach?”
“She should really sit in your box more often. It would intimidate people,” Leo says. “Ooh, and she could prop up one of the cardboard cutouts next to her, too.”
Gabe narrows his eyes while feigning a laugh, then pulls Leo into the dim alleyway to their right. He leans Leo’s back against the brick wall.
“But really, Leonardo. Being with you, even in secret, is more than enough for me,” Gabe says. “Way more.”
He gives Leo one long, lingering kiss.