Chapter Ten
Elliot
That basketball game was totally weird.
Right? It wasn’t just him. Or was it? Maybe Bennet was just excited to be playing again. It probably felt good to be moving. Competing physically, not holding back, leaving it all on the court. Felt great: Elliot could understand that.
But if that was all it was, then why hadn’t Bennet texted him all week?
He was too nervous be the one to text Bennet, so he thought about stopping by Force at a time he knew Dustin would be there.
But that just made him feel like a stalker.
Had he stayed in Portland because he liked it in Portland?
Or because Bennet was here? Was he going to Dustin’s gym because it was the best one in the city, or was he going because there was a high chance he would see him naked in the locker room?
He was probably imagining it about the basketball game. He was probably projecting his own stupid crush.
Not crush, it wasn’t a crush, he didn’t have a crush, he wasn’t a stalker!
He messaged Drew, but didn’t hear anything back.
On his rest days, he distracted himself by exploring the city.
The North Park Blocks, where they’d met for basketball, hadn’t been what he’d expected.
There were old folks playing bocce and kids around – but there was also a lot of trash, and used needles, and people sleeping on the sidewalk.
The playground equipment was covered in graffiti.
It was jarring. It made him wonder what the rest of the city was like.
All he’d seen so far was the Pearl District.
He took the Light Rail to the East Side and Old Town, and discovered a very different vibe.
The East Side was more like the barrio he’d grown up in in Tampa.
His mom was still a teacher there, and she was always talking about how low-income folks were getting driven out by high-income development.
Portland seemed like it was going through it too: luxury condos going up on the West Side, people living in cars on the East Side.
Dustin’s basketball court was like the boundary between the two.
Elliot wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
He’d gotten a lot of attention last season for being not only one of a few players with Puerto Rican heritage in the league, but for coming up through a charity foundation as quickly as he had.
And all of a sudden he was making close to a million dollars a year, and when his entry-level contract ran out at the end of next season, the way things were going he could start making… a lot more than that.
It made him a little uncomfortable. It wasn’t like anyone was telling him he had to represent the barrio, but living at an expensive hotel in the Pearl District sure didn’t feel like he was doing that.
He heard back from Drew on Thursday.
Sorry! I’m NOTORIOUSLY bad at checking dms! she sent, with the facepalm emoji. Idk why I thought insta would work lol. What’s up?
Elliot received this at Force, toweling off on the bench between sets. His stomach did a nervous little flip when her name appeared on the screen, and he tapped it open and sent back, Nothing, just chillin.
Marisol spotted him through another set of bench presses while he waited for Drew’s reply.
So you messaged me two days ago to tell me that? Just chillin? she sent, and the side-eye emoji.
Elliot winced and shut his eyes. He sat with the phone in his hand, trying to think of a way to play that off. Eventually, he just went with, You got me. Guess I figured we could meet up. Tonight? Or this weekend.
Nice. Cool, casual, direct. He took the phone and towel and followed Marisol to the leg press machine.
Three sets later, Drew sent, Can’t bud, sorry. My friend’s birthday is this weekend and we’re going camping out in Oxbow. Ladies only.
His stomach dipped with disappointment. Aight no worries. He paused, then added. Y’all gonna be clam diving?
A winky face. Of course.
Chuckling, he put away the phone and finished his workout.
He Ubered out to Bernie’s that night.
He told himself he was going back because he liked it there. It wasn’t that he was secretly hoping to run into Bennet. He wasn’t stalking Bennet.
The place was quieter this time. He found a seat at the bar, ordered a Deschutes, looked around for Dustin, didn’t see him, and told himself he wasn’t looking for him, anyway.
An hour and one very slow beer later, he still wasn’t looking for him.
He tapped his phone as he finished the beer and flagged down the bartender. Eight PM. He could probably just send him a text. Bennet probably wasn’t doing anything. Would that be weird? He hadn’t ever texted Bennet to meet up before.
He did it before he could stop himself – at Bernie’s.
You ready for a rematch old man? – then locked the phone and put it in his pocket.
He got up and went to the pool tables and watched a couple of guys chasing the balls around.
His glass was nearly empty by the time the phone buzzed in his pocket.
Elliot went very still and pretended he hadn’t felt it. He sipped his beer as he watched a guy shoot for the corner pocket and miss. As the ball ricocheted and went back to the middle of the table, the phone buzzed again.
Very slowly, casually, Elliot set his beer down and pulled it out. Two texts from Bennet.
Wingmen rematch?
Or pool?
Heart skipping, Elliot sent back, either. both
He set the phone on the high top and picked up his beer, sipped, realized it was empty, and went to get another.
The phone buzzed in his pocket on the way back.
Alright. See you in 10.
Elliot’s stomach did cartwheels for ten solid minutes until Dustin walked in.
Elliot spotted him immediately and sat up faster than he’d meant to, lifting his hand.
Dustin was wearing the leather jacket again with a white t-shirt underneath, and jeans tucked into boots, and he looked so much like Heath Legend in the cowboy movie that Elliot felt like he might pass out.
Dustin’s eyes found him, and Elliot couldn’t tell if it was a smile or something else that crossed his face as he lifted a hand back and went to the bar.
Five minutes later Bennet was standing next to Elliot’s table with a glass of what looked like straight whiskey, and they were both sipping in silence, watching the pool.
Elliot raked his head for something to say. He felt like everything inside him was going about three times faster than it usually did. He could smell soap and the leather of Dustin’s jacket.
“How was your week?” he said, at the exact same moment Bennet said, “What have you been up to?”
They both paused awkwardly and turned back to the pool. They sipped their drinks. Was it weird? Was he being weird? Was Bennet?
Finally, Dustin leaned in and tipped his glass toward the bar, and said, “What about them?”
Elliot followed his gaze. Two white women had just come in and sat in the spot Elliot vacated earlier.
They were dressed in crop tops and yoga pants, like they’d come from a late class or something, and they had petite, well-muscled figures.
Any other night, Elliot would have already been calling them over.
His heart sank a little. He lifted one shoulder. “Sure. Which one do you want?”
Bennet sipped his whiskey and didn’t answer right away. “One on the left?”
“Aight.”
Neither of them moved. The guys at the nearest pool table wrapped up, and one of them offered his cue to Dustin. Dustin looked at Elliot.
Elliot hesitated. He glanced over his shoulder at girls. “I thought we were…”
“Sure, if that’s…” Dustin kind of spread his hands.
“I don’t mind–”
“We don’t have to–”
“Right, yeah, no–”
“Whatever you…”
Elliot gulped his beer as Dustin took the cue. “Pool sounds good,” he said. “We need a rematch, anyway.”
They racked the balls and started.
Elliot was one beer deeper than he’d realized. He was at that perfectly pleasant stage of tipsy where the world was slightly warm and fuzzy, and his legs were just a little bit floaty.
He was also horny. Bennet walking in like that guy in the cowboy movie had done something to him inside.
He set up the shot and broke – abysmally – and stood back from the table to watch Bennet.
His eyes lingered on the arch of Bennet’s wrist as his hand tented on the felt, on his knuckles as he set the cue between them.
He watched him squint one eye closed, heard the clack and rattle of balls as he glimpsed a scrap of hair down the neck of his shirt, and felt heat rush to his groin.
Dustin stepped back, linking his fingers around his cue and setting the end of it between his feet. He regarded Elliot over the top of it. “Your turn.”
Two hours later, they were standing beside Bennet’s car in the empty parking lot. Elliot couldn’t remember what flimsy excuse he’d given for needing a ride back to the hotel – it was barely ten-thirty, Ubers were definitely running – but Dustin had accepted it.
Whatever weirdness Elliot had felt at basketball had been magnified a thousand times by the pool game.
It felt like every time they circled the table, the space between them shrank.
When Elliot passed Bennet the first time around, their shoulders brushed.
Next time around, their hands. He could have sworn Bennet was doing it on purpose.
Or maybe it was Elliot that was doing that. Or maybe they were just drunk.
They stood in the shadow just behind the car while Dustin contemplated his keys, then looked at Elliot.
“Seems a little early still, doesn’t it?”
“Oh.” Elliot swallowed. “Um…okay.”
“You wanna go somewhere else?”
“Sure. Like where.”
Dustin rubbed the bottom of his chin with the back of his hand. “Pineapple?”
“Okay.”
Dustin nodded slowly. “Okay.”
“We didn’t do any wingmen stuff yet,” said Elliot. “So, sure. Pineapple.”
“Or we don’t have to do the wingmen thing,” said Dustin. “We could just… Hang out.”