My eyebrows raise. Perfectly groomed Calvin Smith, co-owner of the Detroit organization, just spouted extremely personal vitriol about the president of a top university?—
“He’s also my cousin. I’d know,” he continues. “So in the absence of Washtenaw U actually hiring enough staff for…anything, everyone just has to wait and see what happens.”
“You think you could give your cousin a call?” I ask half-jokingly, laughing to give myself an out if needed.
For a single, fleeting second, I let myself think the prospect of Calvin pulling some strings is the best-case scenario. But Dean’s the kind of guy to stand on his own. He got to where he is based on being smart and independent.
Calvin chuckles. “Good one. I don’t know if he’d be willing to hear me out, though.”
Unease sinks into my gut again. “Got it. Thank you. I mean, I know he’s good enough to get in himself, but?—”
“I don’t doubt that at all. I hope things work out.”
Nodding silently, I think back to Dean’s admirable but irritating insistence that we don’t intentionally prepare evidence to help with speedrunning visa sponsorship.
The topic shifts away from my imploding, uncertain personal life, and to my history with the sport, my journey, and what I’m looking forward to. The sun is starting to set by the time I leave the executive office, and I reach my hotel room exhausted.
Maybe Iamgoing a little too hard in practice.
Stripping my polo off, I flop onto the comfortable bed and pull my phone out, my fingers itching as I navigate to the text thread I have with Dean. His contact photo is a cropped image of his laughing, surprised face from when he broke his couch, and seeing it sends a bolt of warmth to my chest and a pang of longing into my stomach.
hey
what’s up
Just got back from the gym
(PICTURE RECEIVED)
Yow. He sent a mirror selfie from his hallway. He’s wearing a dark blue tank top, and I can tell from the sick pump he’s got that today was chest day. Like clockwork, I stick a hand down my shorts, fisting my dick while I take the picture in.
Fuck, I miss him. Allof him.
I send him the eggplant emoji, followed by a question mark. Holding my breath, I wait for his reply—I don’tneedto sext with him, but I’d be just as happy with him cooling things down for now as I would be if he sent a shirtless selfie.
Very tempting
But can we just chat and catch up first?
I miss your cute face
Smiling, I withdraw my hand, slip into a team T-shirt and flop down on the bed and hit the call icon next to Dean’s contact, and his handsome face, hair falling in front of his forehead, pops up on my screen.
“Holy shit, Nick!” My boyfriend recoils, grinning.
He’s shocked by something, but at least he isn’t, like, puking at the sight of me or anything.
“What?” A nervous smile spreads across my lips. I have no idea what he’s getting at, or what could have spurred his surprise?—
“You gottan. Jesus.”
I force out a chuckle. “You fucking scared me. What did you expect? I’m training outdoors in the middle of the desert.”
“Yeah, sorry. But talk about a surprise. Sheesh. You need to wear sunscreen.” He’s being serious, but I can see right through his restrained smile.
“You like it,” I say, not getting a denial from his end of the line. “Hey, I’ll start working out shirtless so that by the time you visit me, you can sink your teeth into my tanned, toned, meaty?—”
He groans sensually, dragging a hand across his jaw. “Stop making me horny. I mean it.”
