Page 91 of Lucky Shot
“Yes, I know. But… I don’t really know how to say it. Like… I didn’t look at him because he never paid me anything other than cursory attention. In hindsight, I think I was always attracted to him. But I’m not sure he was me.” I laugh under my breath. “Actually, I know he wasn’t.”
Demi actually explained it to me when we walked on the beach. He doesn’t feel attraction toward anyone unless there’s already some kind of emotional investment. Then things could change.
Maybe that’s what has my nerves fraying more and more as the minutes bring me closer to seeing him. What if he’s not emotionally attached to me? What if he still doesn’t find me attractive? What if he wants me to stay behind a screen or on a phone but doesn’t want me in person?
“Huh,” Creed says. “I can kind of understand that. I didn’t necessarily find myself attracted to Jakub right away. But the more time we spent together, the more I swooned. Seriously, this man is a Czech Prince Charming. But, like, on steroids or some shit.” He shakes his head. “It’s so bizarre to think I never saw it before.”
“Yes! Exactly that.”
The announcement comes over the speakers to let us know that we’re getting ready for take off so we should turn our electronics to airplane mode. I send a quick text to Demi telling him we’re taking off and then switch it to airplane.
Creed and I are quiet as the plane taxis to the runway. The engines get louder and louder and the air in the cabin changes. I grit my teeth a bit and try to keep my breaths steady, the take off and landings are always the most unnerving parts of plane rides for me.
When we’re in the air, I check my phone and see Demi answered, telling me he’s already in the air. He attached a picture of him next to his teammate, Sidney Phelps.
There are a ton of players going to this thing. Way more than are actually on a normal team. I’m slightly curious to know how this is going to work. Are there three games? I’ve never done this event before.
“Holy shit,” Creed says.
I look at him, my heart climbing into my throat. We’re on a fucking plane. You don’t say that kind of thing without causing everyone around you to freak out!
But he’s staring at his phone. “I’m sending you an article.”
A second later, my phone pings and I pull up the message app that we always use. My eyes widen at the little visual that the link provides.
MAXIMUS LATHAM GROUP SEX VIDEO LEAKED
“Oh, no,” I say, my stomach dropping. I click on the article and it’s just like any other tabloid bullshit. Probably all just fake news.
But the images don’t lie. Even through the multitude of blurred spots to keep it PG-13 I recognize my friend. That’s definitely Max. He’s strapped to a St. Andrew’s Cross with a man hanging off his dick and someone fucking him from behind. The way his mouth glistens… the way his body is covered in lashes… is that blood on his hands?
“Oh no,” I repeat.
Backing out of the article, I forward it to Demi. I understand that this is the way gossip spreads, but I know this tabloid. It’s probably already made its way around the world twice by now. They were one of the more ruthless circulations that invaded Creed, Ethan, and Jakub’s privacy. I’m pretty sure that the reporter Ethan punched was associated with this publication.
Then I send a message to Max.
Me
Hey. Are you okay?
I don’t expect an answer right away, which is probably good because I don’t receive one. Flipping back to the article, I skim it again. There’s even a link to the fucking video!
Part of me wants to open it. Just to see if it’s actually Max. A picture can be altered. A video can be too, but it’s more difficult to do. However, that’s a lot of Max I just don’t want to see.
“Didn’t Max say he was supposed to be on his best behavior, or he was going to lose his contract?” Creed asks.
I nod. “Yes.” Poor Max.
I study the picture that’s topping the article. There are people everywhere. A crowd.
Party? There are lights over lewd pictures on the walls. The lights are colored, and I imagine that they’re changing with the music. People are dressed in all kinds of clothing, from drag to lingerie to… are those dog ears?
“This isn’t good,” I say.
Creed shakes his head.
I spend the rest of the flight searching the internet for more information. But when we land in Colorado, Max still hasn’t answered. It’s unlike him. He’s always quick to text back.
