Page 31 of Catching Kyle
“Yeah, I… I’ve been talking to this girl.” If I had known Timmy wouldn’t care about the books, I wouldn’t have needed to set up my little agreement with Michael. But, in truth, I’m glad we are reading together. And I like spending time with Michael.
Relief melts his tense shoulders. “Alright, good. Tell me a little bit about her.”
“She’s…” I pause. I told Ezekiel I was helping someone with their writing. I can do the same thing here. “…a writer. I’m looking at the stuff she writes. It’s real good. She’s even having me read—”
“That’s good,” he said, tapping my window frame. “Good details. Send me a picture ASAP, and I’ll talk to management. Hoping they soften their stance. Then we’ll have a chance of getting you back on the team.”
My stomach jumps so much it feels like I’ve been stabbed. I have to take a deep breath. At least by now the AC is doing its job. I’ve just dug myself into deeper into my lie. It means everything to honor my dad’s legacy by winning the Championship Game, but getting there by fooling everyone around me just feels sleazy. Yet finding and committing to a girl in less than three months makes me even more nauseous. I want it to be true. Authentic. But now I either have to find a girl, and fast, and deal with all the depression that comes with that later. Or I just have to keep lying. And now, Timmy’s expecting hard evidence, which of course I don’t have.
Timmy taps my door and pushes away. “More updates like these,” he says. “Keep ‘em coming. Send that picture over quick.”
“I will Timmy,” I say. “I gotta go. See ya around.”
He walks away as I roll up my window. The AC ice cold, my sweat now chills me, and I rub my bare arms. Sitting there, I turn my phone back on. I make my way back to the video and watch the rest with a frown on my face, not even aroused.
My life is a mess. But seeing Michael clearly upset like this triggers the protective Southern man in me. Is it because of this guy he’s been seeing? Someone else? I need to know.
At the very least, I did tell one truth to Timmy: there is a special someone I’m seeing. One who is smart and kind and interesting—one who just happens to not be a woman. I can’t bear to imagine what would happen to my career if this secret got out, but it would be worse to just stuff it all down and suffer through a relationship with a woman I couldn’t bear to call mine.
So, I’ll lie until there’s a better solution.
And in the meantime, I need to know what has Michael so upset. And if this man fucking him is really his man.
Chapter 13
Michael Cunningham
IstepontoKyle’sporch, our new books in hand. We’ve been doing our little book club for over a month now. Yesterday, we discussed a Beverly Jenkins novel at book club. It was a good book, and I knew I would have had a lot to say. But ever since I saw David, I’ve been in a funk. I could hardly pay attention while I was reading it, and I was so absent yesterday that Kelley asked what was wrong.
‘Oh, I’m just a loser who can’t seem to do better than his ex,’ seemed like a remarkably self-pitying thing to say, so I didn’t say it. But that’s nonetheless how I’ve felt.
Kyle opens the door, and the sight of him makes me tingle head to toe. He’s wearing well-fitting jeans with a light-blue button-up that makes his hazel eyes pop. His sleeves are rolled up, revealing his hairy, muscular forearms.
“You’re dressed nice,” I say, stepping inside. I try to sound enthusiastic, but even I can tell it’s coming out flat.
“Thank you thank you,” he says, chipper.
“Any special occasion?” I ask. Probably some date with a woman hotter than the surface of the sun.
“Just felt like dressing up,” he says.
I follow him into his living room, unable to keep my eyes away from his perfect ass. He gestures to the coffee table, and it’s covered with large brown bags.
“I took the liberty of ordering us some food,” he says. “I remember you mentioning pad thai was your favorite.”
I sit down on the couch and set the books aside, already salivating. Smelling hot, savory goodness reminds me that I haven’t eaten at all today. I probably haven’t been eating well at all.
“Oh!” He walks into his kitchen, and he comes out with a bottle of Diet Coke. “And I know how much you love this.” He hands it to me, and my chest is alight with warmth.
“You didn’t have to do all this,” I say. “It’s just me.”
He sits down, his elbows resting on his knees. “Sometimes it’s just nice to celebrate,” he says. And then he winks at me, and I have to immediately look away.
Goddamnit, that sexy ass wink. The one that melts me into a puddle of goop. And he did it to me.In person.
“Everything okay?” He asks.
“Yeah,” I say, clearing the saliva that’s pooled in my mouth. “Just hungry.”
