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He watches me, silently. The only sound in the quiet house is the mug bottom scratching across the wood tabletop as he spins it. I wait.
“I have a prescription migraine medication.” He’s speaking slow, nearly slurring his words, and when he looksat me, he does so with narrowed eyes. “I’ll get some after you leave.”
“I can grab it for you.” Thinking about the glass he put my beer in, I start peeking in cabinets until I find the glassware. I fill it with water from the tap and bring it over to him, still seated in the low light of the dining room. He takes the glass, but doesn’t immediately offer up the location of the prescription. “Where is the medicine? I’ll bring you some.”
“In my bag.”
I remember seeing a messenger bag by the front door, and head that way. Instead of rifling through his belongings, I bring the entire thing in and place it gently on the table. I watch as he slips an orange pill bottle out of a side pocket, popping it open and dumping a single pill into his palm. He takes it, drinking down the entire glass of water. I hover uncertainly, but he’s closed his eyes again like he’s in pain. Carefully, I slide the pill bottle out of his grip and replace it in the bag, bringing everything back to where I found it by the front door.
He’s still unmoved when I return, and I stand in the doorway just looking for a moment. Eventually, he opens his eyes and turns to me.
“You good?” I ask, uncertainly. I don’t know him well enough to get a read on him. Is he always that pale?
“I’m good.”
“Would you tell me if you weren’t?”
He nearly smiles. “Unlikely.”
“I can see myself out,” I offer, but he gets up anyway and follows me back to the door. He leans against the door frame as I take a few steps outside and turn back around, his hands casually tucked into his pockets. “I’ll see you tomorrow, at practice.”
“Tomorrow,” he agrees. “Have a good night, Anthony.”
???
After tossing and turning half the night before I finally fell asleep, only to have wildly confusing dreams, I’m feeling a little rough this morning. Sitting on the side of my bed, I scroll through the practice schedule Avery had texted me and note that I’m expected to be there a little earlier today. Feeling as though an extra vat of caffeine might be needed to get through this day, I shoot a quick text to Avery.
Coffee orders? I’ll pick some up on the way in.
Locking the screen, I make a mental note to get Nico’s number today and head into the shower. As I pass it, I see the clothes hamper is overflowing onto the floor and add another mental note to do laundry. By the time I’m showered and dressed in plain black joggers and a muscle shirt that saysPlease don’t feed the goalie, there are no less than six responses from Avery. Running a towel over my hair—remember to get a haircut—I scroll through them.
Good morning!
Coffee sounds great.
Where are you going to stop? Might change my order depending on the place.
LOL just kidding, I’ll take a chai tea latte, 2.5 pumps of vanilla syrup, oat milk if they have it otherwise almond is fine.
Coach Mackenzie just does a black coffee. Like his soul.
That was a joke. Don’t tell him I said that.
I snort out a laugh, shaking my head. Avery types like he talks. Heading downstairs, I whistle tunelessly as make a beeline toward my home gym. Technically, I’m still on IR so I’m limited in what I am allowed to do, fitness-wise. Luckily, I’m not missing much since it’s the off-season, but it still grates on me that this shoulder continues to give me trouble. Surgery was supposed tofixthe trouble, goddamnit.
I settle in on my yoga mat and start with some simple stretches. I wonder if Nico’s headache went away and he was able to get some sleep. I wonder if he was at least a little bit serious when he said we should date each other. Because now that the idea has wormed its way into my mind, I can’t get rid of it. Switching positions, I picture Nico’s scowling face and summer-green eyes. I shouldn’t like him; I shouldn’t even want to be friends with him. But, absurdly, I want tokisshim.
I’ve never wanted to kiss another man before. Not on the lips, anyway. Or, below the lips, which is what I was dreaming about last night. I wonder if Nico has chest hair. Probably not, but damnit, I want to find out. Sighing, I try and devote myself to yoga and rid my mind of unhelpful sexual fantasies. I’m failing, miserably, when my phone rings. Corwin’s name flashes across the screen, and I smile as I answer.
“Cor.”
“Hey, Lawson. How are you? I hope I didn’t wake you up.”
I can tell he’s in the kitchen, by the background noise. The thought of breakfast makes my stomach grumble. “You didn’t wake me up. I’m down in the gym.”
“Not working out, though, right?” Corwin’s voice adopts what I think of as his Captain tone.God, he’s the best.I lay back on the mat, stretching my legs out and resting my free hand on my abdomen.
“No, Cap, no working out. Just stretching. Trainer approved stretching.”
