Page 116 of These Secret Years

Sullivan shrugs and gives my shorts a quick glance. They aren’t lined today, even though they’ve got a long inseam. Okay, maybe I don’t need to be hovering my crotch over his head at the bench press. I’m flattered, though, and can’t help my smirk.

I do go on with my own workout, and I’m far enough away that I can’t hear what they’re saying, but I can tell he and Deandre keep up a steady stream of conversation. The pit I feel in the middle of my chest is very obviously jealousy, and at the heart of that jealousy is a craving unique to Sullivan Scott. This nearly suffocating desire to wrap myself around him. Wrap myself up in him. In his sounds and his warm scent and yeah—even his body, which we’re working on, but I love exactly the way it is, too.

I swallow hard, reminding myself none of it is meant for me. Our lives are separate. Our futures are separate, and there’s nothing I’m willing to do to change that. Not yet, I think just before I tear my gaze away from them. Those two words, though. That whisper of a thought brings me up short.

Not yet.

Because what the fuck is that supposed to mean? Does it mean I do see him in my future? I mean, obviously I’d want him there if I could have that, but since I can’t, why is my brain leaving the door cracked on the option? And besides, Sullivan isn’t an “option.” He’s a person. Someone who deserves to be prioritized and taken care of. Someone who deserves the freedom to live the life he chooses for himself, not the life someone corners him into because they’re too weak or too much of a coward to be authentic.

Fuck, when am I gonna get it through my thick skull that I don’t need that? I chose football, and I have never once looked back. Never once regretted it. Sullivan sees shapes in music, and I see shapes, too—on the field. My brain knows exactly how to analyze the positions of the players in rapid time. I find the formations, I focus on the openings, I play smart and I play hard. I’m good. I love it, too. It gives me confidence, it’s given me incredible friendships. It gives me something to look forward to. It keeps my brain and my body more than occupied. It’s gonna get me paid, and it’s also gonna make me rich.

Football is a tool, a coping mechanism, a passion, a partner. It’s literally everything I need, and yes. I choose it. I choose it above all other things, because maybe one day it’ll let me down, but it won’t be because I didn’t give it everything I’ve got—and it won’t be because it didn’t believe in me enough, and it won’t be because I disappointed it or failed it in some way.

The game is not a person, and it can’t hurt me. Not the way I’m most afraid of being hurt. It won’t ever be because I’m not enough. If there’s one thing I believe in with my whole soul it’s that I belong on that field.

When the three of us leave the gym, sweat-drenched and shiny, Sullivan asks if D and I want to grab something to eat and says he’ll let us order for him.

“I got this,” I tell Deandre just as he’s about to speak up. “I want Thai, and I know you hate that shit.”

“There’s a sandwich place right there.” He points across the street at a franchise sub shop.

“Yeah, well we’re getting noodles. Take it or leave it.”

D makes a face and waves us off. “See you back at the house. You coming to the game Saturday?” he asks Sullivan.

I look at our joint project curiously.

He glances up at me with a frown.

“It’s at three,” I say helpfully, because I figure he has plans for the night.

“Oh, well, uh…”

“You gotta come. Have you ever been to one? Freshman year maybe?” I ask.

As I suspected, Sullivan shakes his head.

I lift my brows, expectantly. I’ve seen what he can do with a violin and a cello. The least he can do is see what I can do with a football. Not that he’s obligated or anything, but…well…it might be cool.

“Sure, maybe. I’ll see if I can get tickets.”

That’s a copout. “I’ll give you tickets. My mom and dad will be there, so I have four more.”

His eyes widen slightly. “Do I have to sit with them?”

I shrug. “You can figure it out.”

“Maybe we can discuss this with some noodles.”

He’s hungry. That’s good.

“Sure. The restaurant is literally two doors down.”

Satisfied that he’s coming to the game, Deandre says his goodbyes, leaving me alone with Sullivan for the first time in months. I wasn’t prepared for all the physical urges to come back at me so fast. I want to hug him. I want to cage him in against a building. I want to put my hands under his shirt and crowd him. I want our mouths open on lips or skin.

The surge of lust has my dick thickening in a hurry. I avoid looking at him as we walk because we’re just supposed to be friends now.

Fuck, I wonder how he’s doing with that. “Is this okay?” I ask quickly.