Page 11 of Tempting the Teammate
My thoughts kept circling back to the gym, to the feeling of standing over Andrei while he lifted, to the way the locker room steam had made his skin look almost luminous. I’d spent my entire life in athletic environments, surrounded by half-naked teammates and communal showers and the casual physical intimacy that came with team sports. None of that had ever affected me before.
So why was tonight different? Why couldn’t I get the image of water droplets on Andrei’s shoulders out of my head?
I found myself at the edge of campus, where the manicured lawns gave way to the natural woods that bordered the university property. There was a bench here, positioned to overlook a small pond that reflected the scattered stars visible between the cloud cover.
I sat down and tried to organize my thoughts into something resembling logic. Andrei was my best friend. He’d been my best friend for over a decade. I knew him better than anyone else in my life, knew his habits and quirks and the way he hummed under his breath when he was happy.
But tonight, watching him in the gym, something had shifted. Or maybe not shifted so much as come into focus for the first time. The easy physical awareness I’d always had of him as a teammate, as someone whose body I knew from years of shared spaces and activities, from years of measuring up against, years of building in each other’s company, had suddenly felt charged with something I couldn’t name.
A group of students walked past on the path behind me, laughing loudly about something that had happened at whatever party they were leaving. Their voices faded into the distance, leaving me alone with the sound of water lapping gently against the pond’s edge.
I thought about the way Andrei had waited for me tonight, turning down whatever else he could have been doing to spot me in an empty gym. I thought about the comfortable silence between us, the way we didn’t need to fill every moment with chatter. I thought about how he’d looked concerned when he’d asked if I was okay, and how that simple question had made something warm unfurl in my chest.
Maybe I was overthinking this. Maybe it was just the stress of the cameras and the artificial pressure of performing ourassigned roles for the documentary. Maybe I was projecting some weird anxiety about the show onto my oldest friendship.
I stayed there for another twenty minutes, letting the night air clear my head and the quiet campus calm my racing pulse. By the time I walked back to the team house, most of the lights were off, and the Friday night revelry had wound down to occasional bursts of laughter from upstairs rooms.
Our room was dark when I slipped inside. Andrei’s breathing was deep and even from his bed, and I could just make out his silhouette in the dim light from the parking lot outside our window.
I got ready for bed as quietly as possible, moving carefully to avoid waking him. As I settled under my covers, I found myself listening to the familiar sound of his sleep, the rhythm that had been the soundtrack to hundreds of nights over the past year and the occasional nights over the last decade.
Tomorrow, there would be cameras again, microphones taped to our chests, producers looking for drama and conflict and romantic storylines to feed their audience. But tonight, in the dark safety of our shared room, I could just be Griffin, lying awake and thinking about my best friend in ways that were probably going to complicate everything.
The realization should have kept me up all night. Instead, lulled by Andrei’s steady breathing and the comfortable weight of questions I wasn’t ready to answer, I fell asleep easier than I had in weeks.
FIVE
Andrei
Four weeksof cameras had blurred together into a routine of practiced conversations and careful positioning. The crew moved through our lives with creepy efficiency, capturing everything from morning workouts to late-night study sessions. I’d given three interviews so far, each one digging deeper beneath the surface Jen Harding seemed determined to excavate. She really wanted to see the friendship between Griffin and me. She was planning a buddy day episode as a possibility for later in the season that would mainly feature the two of us on our “day off.” As if such a thing existed.
The questions were getting personal. Not invasive, exactly, but pointed. She had a way of asking about my family, my motivations, my relationships that made me feel exposed under those bright interview lights. Still, it was becoming less awkward. I could sit in that chair now without feeling my shoulders creep toward my ears.
A month into the semester, and the rhythm was settling. Classes, practice, cameras, repeat. The production team had covered most of us evenly, though I suspected they were buildingtoward something. Jen kept notes during every interaction, her sharp eyes cataloguing details I wasn’t sure I wanted catalogued.
The past weeks had their moments. Toby had finally nailed the triple deke he’d been working on all summer, celebrating with a victory lap that ended with him crashing into the boards while the cameras rolled. Mason had gotten into it with a player from State during a scrimmage, nothing serious but enough attitude to feed his rebel persona for weeks. Phoenix had organized a team dinner at some hole-in-the-wall pizza place, insisting we needed bonding time away from the cameras, though two producers had somehow shown up anyway.
Griffin had been Griffin throughout it all. Making jokes during interviews, charming the sound crew, turning every mundane moment into something brighter just by being present. I’d watched him navigate the attention with the same confidence he brought to everything else, and I’d tried not to think about how much I enjoyed watching him do it.
Or how much it hurt to watch him flirt with girls who volunteered to be recorded.
Now we were heading downstairs to the common room, where the team had gathered for the premiere ofBlades of Northwood. The long chaise lounges faced each other across the coffee tables, which were loaded with chips, beer, and whatever junk food Phoenix had deemed essential for the occasion. For an out and proud gay guy, he was shit at party planning.
The TV dominated the far wall, screen black but ready. Everyone was here. Phoenix sat rigid in his usual spot, jaw tight with anticipation. Toby bounced in his chair, unable to contain his excitement. Mason sprawled across half a couch, playing up his rebellious image even for an audience of teammates. Damon had claimed a corner spot and looked about as invested as someone waiting for a bus.
Griffin dropped onto the couch beside me, close enough that I could smell his shampoo. His leg pressed against mine, warm and solid and completely unconscious of the contact.
“You nervous?” he asked, reaching for a handful of chips.
“No.”
He grinned. “Right. You look totally relaxed.”
The opening credits rolled before I could respond. A deep, dramatic voice filled the room, the kind of narrator who made everything sound like life or death.
“In the heart of Detroit, where tradition meets ambition…”
“Aw, man, we didn’t get Sean Bean?” Toby asked.
