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But.
I wasn’t quite sure what that meant. Was the hookup a one-and-done thing? Were we back to the same Tiller and Mikey from before, or had things changed? Were we going to get naked together again?
Lord, please let us get naked together again.
The knocking sound jerked me out of my imagination, and I realized Mikey was standing outside my car door waiting for me with a frown on his face.
“You okay?” he asked when I finally opened the door. “Is it your shoulder? Did we fuck it up?”
He reached out a hand to help me out of the big vehicle, and I continued to keep hold of it after I’d stepped down and closed the door behind me. Mikey looked down at our joined hands and up at my face.
“Are we…? What are we doing exactly?”
I pulled his hand up and pressed a kiss to the back of it. “I want to hold your hand. Is that okay?”
He looked around at the empty street. “Well, I mean… for now because no one is here, but…”
He didn’t have to say it. I knew all it would take was one cell phone photo to blow up the sports news. I was out—there was no secret left about that—but a photo of me holding hands with my coach’s son? No. Absolutely no way that would fly under any media radar.
I pressed the back of his hand to my mouth again and held it there for a few beats before muttering a curse and dropping it. “Sorry,” I said with a sigh. “I’m really sorry.”
We started walking toward the restaurant side by side. “Tiller,” Mikey began, “you know I’m in the same boat, right? I mean, obviously it’s not nearly as big a deal if I’m caught with you as you being caught with me, but… my dad…”
He didn’t even need to finish. “I know. You’re his baby boy. He’d shit a brick.”
Mikey searched my face for a minute before nodding absently. “Yeah. That. That’s kind of an understatement,” he murmured under his breath.
It made me realize that there really wasn’t a future for us, not unless I was willing to put him through upending his family and becoming the target of a ruthless media. Anyone I dated publicly would be subject to an insane amount of scrutiny and hate. I was well aware of how many fans I had that enjoyed selectively forgetting about my sexuality. Those same fans would turn on me if I started seeing someone publicly. It was one of the reasons I’d never pursued dating seriously. It wasn’t fair to the other man.
Besides, this was the time in my life to focus on football. There’d be plenty of time for romance after I retired. In all honesty, that mantra was getting really old. But I clung to it for dear life because it was one of the only things that had kept me focused enough to become the success I was today.
And it was one of the only reasons I hadn’t jumped Michael Vining’s bones before last night.
I followed Mikey into the diner in a rapidly declining mood, but I couldn’t help but smile when I saw an actual Santa Claus dressed to the nines behind the counter. Whoever it was made the most perfect Santa with a real white beard and everything.
He was eating the hazelnut crepes.
“Don’t even think about it,” Mikey muttered with a smile in his voice.
“If Santa can have them…” I began.
“Santa is an obvious cardiac risk,” he whispered, cutting me off. “You’re a pro athlete.”
I didn’t even actually want the crepes. If I started the day with that much sugar, I’d want to take a nap as soon as we got back to the house which would completely botch my plans to seduce Mikey again. But I loved teasing him, and I wasn’t about to miss a chance to hear his prim lectures about macronutrients.
Solo hustled over to us with a pot of coffee. “Who needs the good stuff?”
Both of us raised our hands, and he laughed before quickly turning over our mugs and filling them. “We have a special sweet potato hash this morning with peppers, onions, kale, turkey bacon, and eggs in it. It’s really good if you’re in a savory mood. We also have a greek yogurt and muesli parfait and… what else? Oh! Brioche french toast with candied walnuts. Not to be missed. It’s my dad’s surefire way of cheering me up whenever I’m in a bad mood, and it’s on special today. You have to try it.”
I held out my hand for Mikey to go first.
“I’ll have the french toast please.” He lifted an eyebrow at me, but I ignored him.
“And I’ll try the sweet potato hash. Thanks.”
When he moved away to put our orders in, I could see Mikey’s wheels turning. “That sweet potato dish sounds good,” he murmured, pulling his phone out to make some notes.
