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“That’s the one.”
“Yes, it was. Why are you staring at me like that?” I squirm under his gaze.
“Because I know for a fact you’ve never looked this excited after listening to a message from me.”
“You’d have to actually leave me a message at some point to even test that theory. And since you prefer cave drawings, it doesn’t have quite the same effect.” I grin at him.
He laughs and pushes my shoulder. “Get changed. You stink. And hurry up, because we’re taking you out to celebrate tonight.”
“Yes!” I yell out. “Just like old times!”
“Indeed.” Gavin grins. “It’s time for us to go have some fun.”
FOURTEEN
Nikolai
Back home in St. Louis I try not to be disappointed that I haven’t heard back from Ander. I’m not disappointed in him. He owes me nothing just because I called him and left a message. I didn’t call him expecting him to call me back.
But still, I can’t help but wish that he would. The heart wants what the heart wants and all. Thankfully, my brain is smart enough to not let my heart talk it into picking up my phone and calling Ander again.
Play it cool, Nikolai. No need to get ahead of myself. Just because I’m crushing hard doesn’t mean he is. Just because I’m finally ready to embrace this side of me that, outside of a few experimental encounters, I’ve successfully suppressed. I have no reason to believe that Ander even sees me in that way. He reminds me that we’re friends every chance he gets. Although, I suspect he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.
Just like I suspect he doesn’t realize that his body responds when I touch it. He calms. He settles. He leans into my touch like his dog leans into my palm when I pet him. Ander is a glutton for touch. I bet he’s fun to pick apart in the bedroom.
My phone finally rings and excitement runs through me as I pick it up to answer. That excitement immediately falls away.
“Hello, Sofia,” I say as I answer. I try to contain my sigh, but I don’t think I do a good enough job.
“Gee, Nikolai. I’m happy to talk to you, too,” she says, her tone clipped.
“Sorry.” I check the time. It’s almost midnight. Why is she calling me now? “It was long day.”
“A long day with another win. You should be celebrating, not stewing alone in your apartment.”
“I am not stewing.”
“You’re doing something.”
“Maybe if you got my contract sorted out like I requested you would not think I was stewing when we talk.” It’s been months since I told her to get my contract finalized, and still nothing. There was an offer on the table and she turned it down. This doesn’t need to be so difficult.
“Again. I’m only looking out for your best interests. That’s my job as your agent, remember?”
“If you say so,” I say, shaking my head and slumping more into my couch. I’m tired of this. I want stability. I want to know I have nothing to worry about. I want a guarantee. My whole life I have been looking for a place where I belong. A contract extension with the Mules will be confirmation that they feel like I belong there, too.
“If you like it in St. Louis so much, maybe you should consider going out more and finding yourself a girlfriend. You’re so cranky every time I talk to you, I’m convinced you haven’t gotten laid since we broke up.”
“Is this how you talk to all of your clients?” I ask her, even though she is right. About one thing at least. I haven’t gotten laid since she and I broke up a year and a half ago.
But even if I did go out and do what she’s suggesting, it would only make things worse. I don’t want a girlfriend. I don’t want a one-night stand. And friends with benefits situations have never worked for me either. What I want is currently somewhere in New York City, likely celebrating his shutout and string of wins.
“No,” she says. There’s a hint of softness in her voice. The type that’s laced with concern. “Only you. And only because, believe it or not, I do care about you. I want what’s best for you.”
“Even if what is best for me is not you?” I ask. I don’t mean to sound so blunt, but again, that is what she told me when she chose not to come to St. Louis with me.
“Definitely.” She laughs lightly, then takes a breath. “You and I both know there was always something missing between us. And it’s neither of our faults. To be honest, a part of me wondered if maybe you were gay.”
“Wow,” I say. Now it’s her bluntness that takes me off guard. I don’t even know why she’d think that. I was always a dutiful boyfriend to her. But then again, maybe it’s because dutiful isn’t all a boyfriend needs to be. Even I can admit I could have done more. Everything between us just always felt routine. Clinical. Dispassionate.
