Page 23 of Catching Kyle
I remember why I’m supposed to be in this book club, and my stomach twists. I need to be finding a girl, someone to get with so I can re-sign with the Tigers. Winning the Championship Game is still on the top of my agenda. So I gotta stick with this book club. Eventually, I’ll go in person, and that way Ican find someone. Then the Tigers won’t have to worry about me being gay anymore. But that doesn’t mean I can’t have fun now.
“I’m sure,” I say. “And you still haven’t sent me your work. That was part of this deal too, remember?”
Michael deflates slightly, but his enthusiasm remains. He pulls out his phone. “I’ll send that to you now.”
“Can’t wait to read it,” I say.
He looks up at me, his eyes bright. “And I can’t wait to read your recommendation.”
Chapter 10
Michael Cunningham
Afewweekslater,it’s a busy night in Portland’s gay district, and I’m shivering underneath a streetlight. Amani said she wanted to do something different, perhaps go somewhere else for our weekly catchup. Before I could throw out an idea, she suggested this street. I wanted to protest—I hate going out to the gay bars. I feel it’s just a place where men eye one another and treat each other like sacks of meat. I’ve always wanted more than just carnality. That’s why I write romance after all. It just sucks that a good relationship can only be fantasy.
Amani wraps her arms around me in a side hug, sending a satisfying wave of warmth through my body. “Thanks for coming out here,” she says as she pulls away. “I know you’re not a fan of the bars.”
I spot a group of jacked, bearded men walking up to what is usually the busiest bar, and there’s an uncomfortable tug on my stomach.
“Come on,” Amani says, pulling my arm. “There’s a new restaurant out here I want to try.”
I feel as if I’m a tourist being swept through the streets of a foreign city. We slip through crowds of people and pass by multi-colored buildings and lights. It’s been ages since I’ve been out here. I think the last time was when I was dating David. I shiver at the thought.
“Here we are,” she says. I’m overwhelmed, but her excitement is infectious. She pulls me into this Japanese restaurant, one I never knew existed down here. And the walls are covered in anime.
“You have got to be kidding me,” I say, the widest smile forming on my face. “Amani, this is your dream come true.”
“Don’t I know it!” She says as we approach the hostess. “Table for two, please!”
A Japanese woman wearing an elegant pink kimono bows and gestures for us to follow her. She takes us to a table just in front of Naruto slurping up a bowl of ramen on the wall.
“Isn’t. This. Amazing?!” She says in a manic whisper as I sit down.
No longer moving, I have the bandwidth to look around. Banners with Japanese characters hang from the ceiling. To our left, there’s a sushi bar with a ruggedly handsome man preparing sushi for several women eagerly watching him create their rolls. Each table is filled, and the sound of boisterous conversation buoys my mood.
“I’m glad you suggested this,” I admit. I look up at the Naruto drawing again. “Though we could have gone with better seating.”
She laughs. “Thanks for humoring me. I didn’t know who else could tolerate my anime obsession.”
We both look over the menu, and I’ve already decided. The katsu ramen sounds divine.
“It seems like it’s more than just the restaurant. What’s got you so happy?”
She looks at me above her glasses. “I’ve been thinking. You’ve been working with Skye—that critique partner you met because—” She coughs.
I playfully roll my eyes. “Yes, because you suggested I go to Rucker’s romance book club. Thank you, Amani.”
She swirls her hand and gives a mock bow. “You’re welcome, you’re welcome. And there’s this whole mystery boy that you’ve been working with as well. I can see how it’s affected your mood. And your writing.”
My chest tightens. It’s been a month since I started going to the Rucker’s weekly romance book club and since I started meeting weekly withtheKyleWeaver—the top linebacker in the NFO and the Sexiest Man Alive. It still blows my mind that I have his number and that he’s actually reading my work. He says he wants to wait until he’s read enough of my novel to give me feedback, which makes me nervous that he’s just hoarding bad news until he can’t stand to keep it inside.
But he has emphasized to me that he wants to keep his anonymity. That’s why he doesn’t go to the Rucker’s book club himself, after all—he just has me bring his book and report what the discussion is about.
“I never told you he was a boy,” I say.
“It can’t be more obvious,” she says. “You just seem more hopeful now.”
“That’s just because editing my novel has been easier,” I say, trying to obscure the identity of this ‘boy’.
