Page 58 of Tempting the Teammate
“Bet you will either way,” I said.
“You got that right,” he said. Jace’s arm dropped off his shoulders, and he crossed his arms over his chest, a light jacket framing his athletic build. Easton took a step forward as if to emphasize the importance of it. “Anything’s better than the dark space of the closet. Fuck everything else.”
“Easier said than done,” I whispered, feeling more than exposed. I was being dissected under a microscope, a scalpel cutting through the rawest, most intimate features of my soul.
Easton pressed a finger against the left side of my chest. “Trust me. We’ll fight another day, but this is more important. The secrets can eat you bit by bit before you even realize. When you wake up one day, you realize there’s none of you left.”
“Thanks.” The word was cut short, curt, but clearly the end of the conversation. I didn’t know what to say to him. I didn’t know how to explain that I had spent a lifetime chasing one fascination after another. I didn’t know how to say that I didn’t fear people knowing I was gay. I didn’t fear people knowing that Andrei was my everything.
What terrified me was far bigger and closer to home. If I promised so much to Andrei so soon, could I keep those promises?
The avalanche of feelings that had descended upon me and that still held me so tightly wasn’t going anywhere. Yet it had arrived too swiftly to trust so completely. What if a warm windmelted it away? I doubted it, yet I still feared it. What was there—what I felt—was so deeply rooted in my heart and soul that I could hardly imagine a different life, but it was sudden.
Easton stepped back, and Jace did the same. “Good luck, guys,” said Easton.
Jace echoed him, then threw his arm over Easton’s shoulders, and they walked over to their car.
“Are we that obvious?” Andrei asked.
I shrugged. “To some, maybe.”
Andrei nodded, as confused with the state of our lives as I was. “Let’s meet up with the team.”
“Right,” I said and took out my phone to call Phoenix.
Another night of not thinking too much about it. Another night of living in the moment. That way, nothing could go wrong.
But as I glanced at Andrei, my heart lifted a little higher, beat a little faster, and I knew that this was a constant without a beginning or an end. I just needed the courage to say it aloud. The courage I lacked.
TWENTY
Andrei
The weeks blended togetherafter Chicago. Games were lined up one after another like never before, and the NextPlay Media crew scrambled to get as much content out of the remainder of the semester.
Griffin’s hands rested on the railing along the edge of the walkway, the lake extending behind him into the infinite distance. He leaned back, his chin lifting high, gaze wandering over the leaden clouds above. The first snow wasn’t far away in our future. You could smell it in the air, that cold anticipation.
My camera shutter opened and closed, immortalizing Griffin in all his perfection.
Lately, I took him places more often. I carried my camera to our games, to trips, and even to the library, capturing him like he was running through my fingers and I only had so much of him left.
Nothing had changed. Not one thing. He was the same wonderful guy I had been in love with for years. He was still the finest lover and the greatest friend. And somewhere in that perfect space lay the problem.
I could feel him watching me, watching when he didn’t know I noticed it. I could feel the longing in him, in every heated touch, every urgent kiss, every lingering hug.
Things had remained the same, though months had gone by. December brought constant frost to the glass lawns, the scent of cinnamon to every café and bakery, and the sounds of holiday tunes from every shop.
Part of me knew where we were headed. Where we had always been headed. In a few short weeks, we would return home, and we would spend the holidays with our families. Someone would ask the question, and the moment of truth would arrive. Would we lie? If I lied, even now, about loving him, then I only prolonged the inevitable. And if I were honest, it would rush us into something neither of us had defined.
I wished I were like other people, that I could just be happy with what I had, be happy that I even had it. But I needed it categorized and labeled and nearly defined. I simply needed to know if I was his boyfriend or his friend.
It hadn’t bothered me, it hardly bothered me still, but I knew that it would. And I should have let it go. I should have been more like Griffin, not worrying about it until the moment arrived. But for some inexplicable reason, I pre-worried about things.
Griffin was beautiful in this pale, washed light. He looked like he was made of steel. My film was filled with images of us and our friends. The nights in the basement of our team house lasted long, and guys didn’t mind modeling for my hobby. Yet Griffin was the subject. The way his pupils dilated when he listened to someone’s story, the way he leaned in, the way his curls bounced when he nodded.
Then, when we were alone, he would take photos of me. Sometimes, he would do it when I stepped out of the shower with a towel around my waist, the sight of him holding thecamera ready making me laugh. Other times, he would just tell me to stay the way I was, leaning over the notes spread out on my desk, and he would snap a photo or two, saving the film for more.
And when we developed them, most went into the box under my bed, because even a passing glance at them was too revealing, and we kept our unspoken love hidden. The framing, the composition, the moments felt so intimate that we knew without mentioning it, should anyone see these, our relationship would be out to all.
