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He opens his mouth, halts, and closes it again. Frowning, he looks down at his food. “What do you mean, you don’t pick the right people to trust?”
“Martin Tremblay,” I answer, shortly. Sweat prickles uncomfortably on the back of my neck at the thought of him. Anthony’s still frowning, but now it’s at me and not his soup.
“The guy who hit you?” He asks. I nod.
“We were close. At one time, I would have described him as my brother. I stood next to him at his wedding, and was there when his first kid was born. We’d room together on away games and, because I was single, he was always offering to vacate the room so I could bring a girl back, if I wanted. I figured, there is nobody in the world I could trust more than Martin, right? So, I told him. I told him I was never going to bring a girl back to our room, because I was gay.”
Because he’s an intelligent fellow, Anthony can see where this story is going. His frown is so deep, his eyes are squinted nearly shut. I reach over and nudge his bowl closer to him to remind him that he’s barely eaten and that he needs to. Obligingly, he picks up his spoon and eats a few bites, never taking his eyes off of me.
“Well, turns out this was the wrong thing to do. Something I’d intended to remain between us was known by every member of the team by the next practice. Turns out, my best friend wasn’t the only homophobe on the team. Eventually, they traded me. Honestly, it was a relief at the time. First regular season game against my old team, and this happened.”
I gesture to my face. Anthony looks stony-faced with anger. He has, again, forgotten his food. I take a few bites of my own, letting him absorb the story. It’s the first time I’ve told it aloud, and it was rather cathartic. My headache is nearly gone, and I’m feeling pretty good. The same cannot be said for my dinner partner, who looks nearly apoplectic with fury.
“So, he targeted you because you told him you’regay?Your fucking friend?” His voice shakes. “He could have killed you, hitting you like that. That was a goddamn hate crime.”
I have the very strong urge to reach across the table and lay comforting fingers on his arm. “Anthony.”
“Don’t Anthony me, what the fuck, Nico. You didn’t report him, did you? He got off with a slap on the wrist while your career was ruined!He could have killed you.”
Okay, so maybe it was a little hasty of me to be feeling good. Because he needs it, I pull my chair in closer to the table and reach across to him. When I lay my fingers on his forearm, he takes a deep breath. “I know. You’re right. And I don’t have a good excuse for you except to say that I was tired. I woke up in the hospital, that first morning, feeling worse than I’d ever felt in my life. I couldn’t handle anything beyond myself. Besides, it would have been my word against his, and the entire team would have backed him up.”
“I can’t believe this. I can’t believe that fucker was yourfriend.” He sounds so offended; it nearly makes me laugh.
“Apparently I valued the friendship more than he did.” I feign nonchalance, but he’s not fooled. My hand is still on hisarm, and I have no inclination to move it. He puts his free hand over mine, fingers wrapping around my wrist and holding me in place.
“And you think, what? That I’m going to do something similar? Fuck you a couple times before deciding this is too gay for me, and then out you to administration and the team on my way out the door?”
“No.”
He shakes his head, disgusted. “You had me pegged as a piece of shit from day one. No wonder. I’m surprised you’ve let things getthisfar. Do you even trust me at all?”
“Yes, I trust you. You wouldn’t be here if I didn’t trust you, Anthony, and you know that.”
“But we can’t be more, huh? You’re going to keep everyone at arm’s length for the rest of your life?”
“I told you what I was comfortable doing, right at the beginning,” I remind him, voice gentle. I know there’s a very real possibility that he’ll end things tonight, and he’d be well within his rights to do so. I wouldn’t blame him. Hell, I’d probably congratulate him on having a healthy sense of self-preservation. “This is what I can offer, right now. And if that’s not enough, I understand.”
With a final squeeze of my wrist, he lets go of me and I slide my hand away. “No. You’re not getting rid of me yet. And thanks for telling me, about Tremblay.”
I blink. That isn’t what I expected to come out of his mouth. I’m stupidly grateful. Selfishly, I want to keep him without actually committing to anything. “Thank you for listening. And for dinner.”
“Any time.”
He smiles, but it’s a strained, pale version of his usual one. He still looks exhausted. I stand, skirting the table carefully and laying a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s go upstairs.”
I go slow, tonight. Lying him out on the bed and using my mouth to edge him—walking him to the verge of release before slowly bringing him back. His eyes are closed, one hand on my head and the other wrapped up in bed sheets. He’s panting, sweat speckling his chest and stomach. Eventually, I suck him to completion and he finishes in my mouth.
I settle next to him on my bed, propped up on an elbow so I can look down on him. He still hasn’t opened his eyes, and his lips are parted slightly as he brings his breathing back to normal. When he does turn to look at me, his eyes are half-lidded and sleepy. As though he’s too tired to speak, he rolls to his side and begins trailing his knuckles down the center of my chest. I catch his wrist before he can get too far south, pushing him back onto the bed.
“Not tonight,” I tell him. Releasing his hand, I place my own on his chest. I run my palm over the smattering of chest hair; I’ve always been partial to that. “Just rest.”
“I can leave,” he says, words slurred.
“Just rest,” I repeat, and trail my hand down to his stomach. I’m also partial to a happy trail. Indulgently, I trace my fingertips over his a few times, up and down. His breathing has slowed, eyelids slipping closed once more.
Adjusting the way my head is propped up on my hand, I continue my languid exploration of him—plenty of skin I can reach from here. Lightly, I run my fingers over his shoulders. He’s got broad shoulders, and I like that too.Nothing I don’t like about him, actually. And how dangerous is that?There are so many reasons not to get attached to this man; so many reasons not to get attached to any man, in fact. I’m still trying to figure out how to navigate my own life, right now, and any therapist worth their salt would tell me I’m not in the correct place for a relationship.
Sighing, I rest my hand back where it started on his chest. It rises and falls with his breathing, which is slow and even. He’s asleep. Carefully, so as not to jostle the mattress, I reach for my phone and set an alarm for four a.m.He’s not actually spending the night,I reason,if I wake him up and send him home before the sun rises.
