Page 13 of Catching Kyle
So now I’m going to have to put Kyle’s clothes on.
I slip on his sweatpants and an old T-shirt, both too big for me, and I catch a whiff of him. An earthly, almost sweet scent with a hint of vanilla. A mixture of his cologne, detergent, and him. I hope he lets me keep these.
I come out of the bathroom, and there Kyle is sitting on his living room couch. To my disappointment, he has a shirt on now, so I can’t take in that beefy hairy body. But I stared long enough for it to be burned into my brain.
“Still raining hard,” he says.
“Sorry to bother you,” I say, as if the rain was my fault. Like I planned this whole wacky encounter. Which I didn’t.
“Not a problem,” he says. “Got you some water.” He gestures to a glass of water on his coffee table, and suddenly I’m reminded not just of his looks but all that he does for others: his donations kids and adults with cancer. That sweet Southern charm that comes through every one of his commercials. I trulywonder if I’ve died and gone to heaven, and this is the angel greeting me at the gates, taking on the form of the most desirable person I can think of.
“You’re free to sit,” Kyle says. “You don’t need to stand there.”
“Sorry,” I say, and I shuffle over to the seat on the couch farthest from him. I pick up the glass and take a sip, which feels nice after the hot shower.
“No need to apologize,” he says. “So you’re part of that romance book club.”
“I am,” I say, setting the glass down. “Just had the first meeting. My name’s Michael.”
He looks at me like I’ve just sworn at him.
“What?” I ask, embarrassed.
“Your name’s Michael?”
“Yeah,” I say, looking around shyly. “Michael Cunningham.”
He stares at the ground, his brow deeply furrowed. Then he nods. “And you… you’re part of this book club?”
I nod. “You are too?”
He sighs. “I guess I am now. I have to be.”
I frown. He ‘has to be’? I’d ask, but I barely know him. Even though my face was just in his crotch.
We sit in awkward silence. He pulls out his phone. A very brief but very cacophonous sound comes from his phone, and he shuts it off quickly. He looks like he’s seen a ghost, which is weird. I figure he just had some YouTube video playing. No need to be embarrassed.
“So it’s cool to meet the famous Kyle Weaver, I guess,” I say. I listen to the rain, wondering when it will stop and this will be over. But it’s going as hard as ever. Driving home will be a nightmare.
He sighs through his nose. God, from here, he looks so ruggedly handsome. His beard and hair combo is just perfect.
“You knew who I was?” The fear from earlier is gone, and he flashes me a grin. A seductive one.
I look away. “I mean, yeah. You’re a huge deal here. And in football in general.” And the Sexiest Man Alive, but that would be a strange detail to cling to. Kyle Weaver is definitely straight, and I don’t want to make him uncomfortable.
“Didn’t take you for a football fan,” he says.
I can’t help but scowl at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
His swagger dissipates, and grimaces slightly. “Sorry, just—just didn’t know guys like you were into football.”
I scoff.Guys like me. Well, I’m not ashamed that it’s easy to clock me as a gay. I’m over that. I’m just surprised that Kyle Weaver of all people was able to clock me so fast. It’s like he already knew. But I can’t complain. He’s not being a dick about it.
“And I didn’t peg you as a reader,” I say, gesturing to all the bookshelves. I can see some titles now, mostly sci-fi and fantasy.
He winces, and my face reddens at my use of the word ‘peg’. Why can’t I just be normal around straight guys?
“Yeah,” he says with a shrug.
