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I pull on my cleats and lace them up as a shadow comes over me. My gut tightens knowing the confrontation won’t be put off any longer. I don’t hurry or look up until I’m done. You can’t let them know they ruffle your feathers.
I stand up and give Marshall a bored, blank expression. He’s a five-foot-ten, dark-haired prick with a pinched face and more muscle than brain.
“Lose something over here?” I cross my arms and face him.
“Yeah, my fucking appetite,” he sneers.
“You need me to rub your tummy?”
Aaron stands shoulder to shoulder with me and snorts at my answer but keeps the laugh in.
Marshall takes a step back, disgust clear on his face. “Don’t fucking touch me, fa—”
“Finish that sentence and it’ll be the last one you say in this locker room,” Coach’s no-nonsense, cold timbre cuts him off, and I lift an eyebrow at the man in front of me.
Everyone in the room is silent, crowding around the space to watch it all go down. They all knew it would happen, but maybe not this early in the day.
While I knew this was probably going to happen when I came out, I hoped it wouldn’t. We’ve come a long way for acceptance of the LGBTQIA+ community, but there are still these assholes that make it hard for all of us.
“First of all”—I crowd into his space—“liking men isn’t contagious, unlike the VD you’re normally sporting. Second, jocks don’t do it for me. Never have. I have never looked at any of you with anything other than friendship.” I move closer until my arms brush his chest. “Third, I’m not an asshole that sexually harasses people who aren’t willing. That says a lot more about you than it does me.” I stare at him for a second before turning my back to him to head toward the gym for warm-up. I’m pushing through the doors when I hear Coach speak to the entire room.
“I will not stand for homophobic slurs or offensive jokes about the LGBT community. If I hear even a rumor about someone causing problems, you’ll be out of here by the end of the day. This team, this franchise, is better than that shit. It will not be tolerated. Am I clear?”
The room breaks out in a “yes, sir,” and Aaron claps me on the back. I didn’t know I needed the reassurance, but hearing Coach have my back is a huge weight off my chest.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-ONE
Elliot
It’s been almost three months since I went to San Diego with Aaron and Asher, and I’ve never looked back. Not having to hide around the team is really nice. I’m invited to things for the significant others, allowed in the box for games. We’re just careful in public, and that’s fine. A lot of people aren’t comfortable with PDA, so that doesn’t bother me. Much.
Today is the first game of the regular season, and it’s a home game. Asher has been gone for hours already, getting ready with the team, while I get ready to join the families and significant others in the box. I dig out a pair of lace thigh-highs with an attached garter belt and some sexy underwear. Asher loves me in lace and satin, skirts and tights. I love that he finds it attractive, and I’m not shamed for liking it too.
I find a pair of jeans with lots of holes in them for the lace to show through and pull them on, careful not to shove my foot through one and rip them even more. Standing in front of the full-length mirror in the closet, I check my reflection as I button up the jeans. They cup my ass perfectly and the flash of delicate lace is sexy as fuck.
I dig out a silk camisole in light blue and a navy velvet blazer to put over it. The air conditioning in the box is always too damn high, and I end up freezing. Today, I’ll be warm. Hopefully.
There’s a knock on the front door and a cheery Jordan calls down the hall.
“Get your ass out here and drink this abomination you call coffee!”
I smile at her comment and grab my favorite pearl necklace to add to my outfit. Once again, I check the mirror, fluff my curls, and slip on some ankle boots. I look damn good, if I do say so myself.
Leaving the closet, I stop and admire the black-and-white pictures that we had printed for above the bed. They’re all pictures I took at Black Diamond. Some of them are of Asher, some of them of the beach or the trees, and somehow he managed to sneak a few pictures of me while I wasn’t looking. They didn’t turn out too shabby either.
I like to think of that time as the start of us. We’ve come a long way over the years, growing and being dealt shitty hands, but we made it.
My boots click on the wood floor of the hallway, and Jordan holds out the cup of iced double cream, double sugar coffee from Dunkin’ Donuts. I grab the cup and take a big drink, the sugar settling in my soul.
“Perfect.”
Jordan lifts an eyebrow at me, gives me a once-over, and whistles.
“Look at you!”
I flush a little at the compliment and shrug like it doesn’t get to me.
“My boyfriend is an NFL star.” I fake a snotty attitude. “I have to look the part.”
