He looks down at me with that amused expression of his. A crooked smile tugs at his mouth, like he’s trying not to laugh, but he says nothing more.
My brain scrambles for a second before I decide I’m apparently feeling brave today. Or reckless. It’s hard to tell the difference lately.
“Are we ever going to talk about . . .” I let the world trail off and gesture between us, sure he knows what I mean.
I used to spend an embarrassing amount of time daydreaming about finally getting to touch him. In those fantasies, I would look into his eyes, say something witty, and then we would roll straight into round two. Instead, I passed out right after the most intense orgasm of my life.
Damn, I need him under me again as soon as possible.
He drags a hand over the back of his neck. “About that . . . ”
“Yo, Johnson,” Akintola calls, and I’ve never wanted to whack someone on the head more. “You’re with me, let’s go.”
Something that looks a lot like disappointment flickers across Johnson’s face, which is comforting, at least I am not suffering alone.
“See you later,” he says, jogging up to Akintola.
Later when, exactly? Tonight? Tomorrow? In five business days? I want to shout, but I compose myself, pretending like I’m not rocking a semi just from our brief interaction.
Bayero walks up to me, hands me a keycard and we walk into our room. The second I get inside, I flop onto the bed and pull out my phone, ready to text Johnson. Then I stare at my screen and remember I don’t have his number.
“I’m meeting someone,” Bayero declares, already halfway to the door.
I glance up at him, and it takes exactly one second to read his face. He is so going to hook up. Good for him, I guess. I’m not jealous at all.
“Okay, man. I won’t wait up.”
He huffs out a laugh. “See you tomorrow morning.”
I snort. “Don’t miss the bus, we’re leaving for training by nine.”
He salutes me, mumbles something that sounds like agreement and leaves.
10
AUSTIN
—Salt In The Wound
by boygenius
Now that Ihave the room to myself, my brain immediately circles back to an important question. How do I get Johnson here? Short of kidnapping him, I’m coming up empty. I’m in the middle of workshopping myBring Johnson to my roommasterplan when my phone lights up and starts ringing.
Seeing Sandra’s name on my screen feels like someone threw cold water on me. Whatever semi I was nursing from my earlier interaction with Johnson—and the extremely productive direction my thoughts were heading—deflates in record time. I scrub a hand over my face and answer.
“Hey, you.”
Her face fills the screen, bright and smiling. “You made it to round of sixteen, whoop!” she cheers.
I can’t help smiling back despite the tiny pinch of guilt twisting in my chest. Sandra has been cheering for me long before I got called up to the big leagues, even before I made it tothe academy. She has always shown up, even before any of this had felt real.
“We did,” I say, matching her excitement. “But I didn’t score a goal.”
“You will score in the next game,” she states, dead serious. “Roland was on fire though. I can’t wait to watch you guys play live.”
I blink. I hadn’t actually asked if she were still coming to the games, I sort of assumed she would sit this one out. “You’re coming?”
“Of course.” She sounds personally offended that I would even ask. “I always come to watch you whenever I can. And I promised Roland I would be there.”
