It wasn’t just a game. It wasn’t just a good time. It was a clash of titans, a fight to the death, a momentous battle that lodged itself so deep in my heart there’s no coming back for me. It’s in me now, in my past, my present, my future. It’s mine and always will be.
“And if you don’t make it in the NFL?”
Qiang’s arguably rational but completely unreasonable question drops me out of that euphoric memory straight onto the linoleum floor beneath us with a thud. While Darryl guffaws at what he knows just knocked me out of my head, I’m staring at the ceiling, mumbling every apology to the energies surrounding us to ignore the treacherous negativity that has just been laid bare at my feet.
I know wholeheartedly that I am ridiculous, but energy exists in everything we do. Positive energy begets positivity. Negative energy begets negativity. My dreams are too big to risk with negativity. It’s a rule, a superstition that’s rooted even deeper than wearing my lucky durag for every game I play.
Darryl and Qi help pass the rest of lunch by maintaining a steady, light flow of conversation. I’m out of my head, Tristan is visibly confused by us, and Qiang keeps shooting me apologetic looks like they know they popped a bubble somewhere. If it weren’t for Darryl and Qi talking steadily, I don’t know if we’d even make it through the rest of lunch without dying of sheer awkward tension.
After a while, Qiang stands up and looks at Qi. “I’m sorry, I’ve got to run. I have an online panel I need to get ready for. I’d still like to think about things a bit, but it’s been real,” they say, hugging Qi before dabbing everyone up and heading out.
Before I can think it through or psyche myself out, I get up and jog out after them. “Hey, Qiang,” I call out to get their attention.
Qiang turns and hooks me with a questioning eyebrow.
“Um, I know I was awkward as fuck in there. Sorry, it just felt like a lot of pressure, you know. I know how much Qi wants you to move in, and I didn’t want to fuck it up, but I was awkward as hell, and I know I fucked it up. So, I was thinking maybe we could exchange numbers. Text a bit. You could get to know me in a more ‘me’ atmosphere instead of that awkward as hell lunch interview or whatever the fuck that was.” I trip over the words a bit as I rush to get them all out.
Qiang looks at the ground for a moment before looking up and giving me a penetrating stare. “Doesn’t make much sense not to. Even if I don’t move in, it’s not like we aren’t going to get thrown together often enough anyway, right?” they point out.
I smile widely at that and hand them my phone. “We’ll definitely be seeing a lot of each other in the future,” I drop in a low voice that issovulgarly flirty, evenI’minsulted by it. I need to get this shit under control before I see them again.
Qiang drops my phone back in my hand. “No dick pics. I have no desire to get arrested for child pornography,” they say.
I know they’re making a joke, but it’s also a very clear line they’re drawing. They see right through me, and I know they’re right, too. This can’t happen, and the tease is enough to remind me of that.
“Eighteen for the record, and I never send dick pics without consent,” I tell them, wanting them to know I got the message.
They nod. “That’s good. There needs to be more consent kings. See ya soon,” they wave before getting in their car.
I step back, letting them go. I need to talk to Darryl, and we need to talk to Tristan and clear the air with my bro. Bad blood and hurt feelings have no place between us, and I need to get rid of that shit sooner rather than later.
And I need to figure out how to tuck this attraction to Qiang in, because we’re both right; we’re about to get thrown together a lot. Icannot afford that kind of distraction, because Qiang won’t just be a one-and-done. As much as I’d like to, I can’t do that to someone who’ll be living in the same house as me and is an integral part of my best bro’s life. I have to lock this shit up tight.
SETTING THE RECORD NOT-SO-STRAIGHT
Marcus’s POV
“Darryl is already waiting for you. Tristan has yet to arrive,” Jay–the host of one of the many luxury restaurants that Darryl’s family owns–fills me in as he leads me to our table.
This place is way too fancy for me. I prefer simpler places. When I was growing up, it was rare for us to even afford fast food. Family chain restaurants were considered luxuries back then. I still feel more comfortable in those than in these ritzy places that felt like imaginary places when I was a kid.
After a lucky break that made my parents' names synonymous with luxury real estate and my parents utilizing that reputation to its fullest potential, my family now has a substantial amount of money, and we live a lifestyle that was practically unheard of when I was younger.
I understand what power looks like now, and how much money defines that. I don’t look down on my roots, and I haven’t turned my back on them. It doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate and utilize what I have now. It just means I don’t take that shit for granted.
But certain luxuries I still have a hard time getting used to. Like paying obscene amounts of money for meager portions of food. Finedining or not, if I’m gonna leave feeling even hungrier than when I came, then what’s the point of dropping that much dough? If it weren't for Darryl’s family owning this place and knowingthisfeels like home to him, I'd probably never step foot in here.
Darryl’s already sitting at a table toward the back. The lights are dimmer here, and the flickering candles on the table are providing more light than anything else. His eyes flit up to mine, and he sets his glass of Chardonnay back down on the table.
“I’ll get a glass of Chardonnay for you and a glass of Syrah for Tristan,” Jay says, knowing full well we're all underage, but money and ownership quietly negate that rule. Not that it should; simply that it does.
“Thanks, Jay,” I tell his swiftly retreating back.
“This one is different,” Darryl comments once I’m seated.
“Which one?” I raise an eyebrow at the random observation.
“Qiang.” The name rolls right off his tongue, and before he’s even done saying it, those pretty brown eyes that have been taunting me since that disastrous lunch resurface in my mind.
