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Too bad I still have no idea what to do with that realization.
Shifting in my seat so my weight is on my left ass cheek instead of my right, which had started to fall asleep, I run through my options for the umpteenth time.
I could do nothing, which I’m fairly certain would mean we continue to touch each other physically if the mood strikes him, but that would be the extent of it.
Truthfully, that doesn’t sound like a horrible scenario.
I’m enjoying the fact I can find release with him, and since evidence suggests I’m able to get aroused myself if I see Liam in that state, if he instigates it, I think I can respond. We could have the casual sex relationship my teammates and friends—hell, pretty much everyone—seems to engage in with ease. And there wouldn’t be any pressure to define anything, which I’m clearly not good at anyway.
But if Dani’s right about him being interested in me, is it fair to let him use me for sex? Or for me to use him that way?
The part of me that’s curious and excited to try something new, something I’ve never had before, says no. The part of me that doesn’t want to lose him says yes.
Dammit.
I hoped time away would give me some perspective, but the only thing I know for sure is that after being gone nearly a week, I miss Liam.
I miss talking to him, and not just about mundane stuff like classes and sports, but the soul-deep conversations about our pasts and who we are. And I miss the shy smiles he fights when I make a crack in his grouchy shell. I even miss him calling me a hero.
Add it up, and I’m pretty sure Dani is right. I like him, as more than a friend, more than just the physical exploration. And if that’s the case, the real question is am I in the closet or out?
Will I ever understand myself, or will I always need someone to figure it out for me?
Shifting back to the right butt cheek, I take stock of what I know, lifting a finger as I mentally rattle off each item. Right hand for positives, left for negatives.
One. I’m totally comfortable hooking up with a guy. Right finger.
Two. I’m not afraid of my friends or family knowing I might be gay. Right finger.
Three. The league’s official statement is they support the LGBTQ community, and a handful of players and owners have publicly stated that as well. Right finger.
Four. There aren’t a lot of openly gay football players. Some have come out after retirement, but guys on an active roster… I think one or two exist, but I can’t name them. Left finger.
Technically, that’s three to one in the positive column, and only one in the negative… But it’s a big negative. I’m not ready to call it a deal breaker, but if my sexuality might impact my ability to find an agent and get drafted, I can’t say it doesn’t matter.
I feel shallow for considering that. Dirty, even. I never would’ve thought of myself as someone who buckles under pressure, but if that pressure is the difference between an NFL career and working as an engineer… Cars are cool and all, but football is my life-long dream.
And then there’s Liam himself to consider. He’s a great guy. I genuinely like him as a person and—maybe—even as a boyfriend. But given his history with homophobic classmates, the last thing he needs is to be with someone who hides him like a dirty secret. If I can’t be out and proud with him, I don’t have the right to tell him how I feel.
That settles it, right? If I can’t say a hundred percent that I’m ready to risk a future in the NFL, then I go with option A and do nothing.
Okay.
Good.
I have a plan, and the plan is to follow Liam’s lead. To let him dictate when, or if, we have any contact, and to not admit, under any circumstances, that I might be curious about something more unless I’m ready to come out.
Naturally, that means the first thing out of my mouth when he comes back to the room after break, casually flicking his soft hair off his forehead to look at me with those rapt, hazel eyes, is a needy groan that sounds a lot like, fuuuuck.
He pauses just inside the doorway and lets his gaze slide over where I’m reclined on the bed, tracking down from my face to my legs and back up again in a slow, deliberate perusal, exactly like I’m doing to him. “What’s that?” he finally rasps.
“I…” My tongue swipes over my lips as I realize my cock is starting to get a little thicker, and I jackknife to a sitting position, swinging my legs so they dangle over the edge of the bed and—hopefully—hiding the evidence under the shirt that covers my lap.
Liam steps fully into the room and kicks the door shut with his foot, never taking his eyes off mine. God that’s hot. “Jesus, Cruz. I’m getting a seriously sexy vibe from you right now and I don’t know what to do about it.”
I open my mouth, but the only sound that comes out is best described as a whimper.
“Seriously, man.” He runs a nervous hand through his hair. “This is making my dick hard, and if that happens, I’m gonna want to rub it against yours again. Do you want that?”
