“TTFN, kids. And your food is da bomb, J-Bomb.” Blake is still talking to himself when he leaves our apartment and closes the door.
Jamie glares at the door like it’s a venomous snake, and my phone starts dancing a jig again. I walk over and squint at it. “Shit. I have to take this.” I pick it up and greet the head of publicity. “Hello? Frank?”
“Morning, Ryan. Sorry to bother you on the weekend.”
“No problem, sir.” I’m extra polite because I’m speaking to the man who is going to have to manage my Big Gay Moment when my secret finally leaks. Whenever I speak to him, I never forget that.
“Blake Riley says you’re available to go to the black-tie benefit tonight. I know it’s sometimes a chore to spend yet another night away from our families, and I want you to know that I really appreciate the offer.”
“Umm…”I didn’t offeris on the tip of my tongue. “You said it’s black tie?”Christ. I’m going to kill Blake.
“Do you have a tuxedo? I could send you the number for an emergency formalwear service…”
“I got it,” I sigh. “Thanks.”
“No, thankyou. See you at eight. And Ryan...?” He hesitates.
“Yeah?”
“Do you plan to bring a date?”
“No,” I say awfully quickly.
“All right,” he says lightly. But he knows it’s a loaded question. Frank is one of the handful of people who knows about Jamie and me. I told him last summer, because if the team was going to ax me, I wanted to know that going in. “Have fun.”
As if. “I will, thanks.”
Jamie is sitting on the sofa when I hang up, staring at the TV, which is not even on. I walk over there and sit beside him. I put my feet beside his on the coffee table and my head on his chest.
“Let me guess. You’re going out tonight to some shindig.”
I burrow my face in his neck. “I can call them back and say I’m sick.”
Jamie sighs. “They might put you on the IR if they think you have that flu that’s been in the news. It’s starting to freak people out. You have to play Detroit tomorrow.”
“Fuck. Fucking Blake.” We are quiet for a minute. I reach up and stroke Jamie’s beard. I’m still getting used to it. “Okay, I’ll call a realtor on Monday and search for a new apartment.”
“What?” Jamie laughs.
“I’m dead serious. This is… He…” I don’t finish either sentence, because this is something Jamie and I don’t talk about aloud. The things we do to hide our relationship—the awkward little omissions, the outright lies—it all feels terrible. I know it bothers him, too. We don’t talk about it because it’s embarrassing. I put him in this position because I wanted to have a rookie season judged solely on the merits of my skill. But we’re only halfway through, and it’s getting harder all the time.
“We can’t move,” Jamie says dully. “Be a pain in the ass and no guarantee of more privacy.”
This is depressingly true. “I only need three more months. Four, tops.”
“I know.”
There is more silence. But at least his hand wanders onto my back. If Jamie is touching me, then everything will be okay. “I’m sorry about the movie tonight.”
“We could go to a matinee.”
“Sure,” I agree. But neither of us gets up to check the times. Instead, I start dropping little kisses inside the collar of his shirt. He resists me for a minute or two, because he’s pissed off that our evening is wrecked. But I keep it up. And ultimately, I’m irresistible. I trail my lips down his collarbone, then down the broad planes of his pecs. I part the halves of his shirt and nuzzle his nipple, then start to suck.
He shifts on the sofa, his legs falling open. I kiss my way down his body and onto the bulge in his sweatpants.
Jamie drops a hand in my hair and sighs. He’s a little sad, but also turned on.
We don’t make it anywhere near that movie. After I blow him on the couch, we retire to our bed where we alternately nap and fool around all day. And when I finally have to get up and pull myself together for a benefit I have no interest in attending, he’s too relaxed and sexually satisfied to care that much.
