This is my happy thought just as I hear an unfamiliar sound—someone knocking on the door. It’s so unusual that I actually assume it’s part of the TV show in the background at first. But the knock comes again. “Wesley! You crazy bastard. Open up, I have beer!”
Jamie pulls his head back, his eyebrows shooting up. “Who is that?” he mouths.
“Fuck,” I whisper. “Just a sec!” I call. Then I drop my mouth to Jamie’s ear. “My teammate. Blake Riley. He moved in upstairs.”
Jamie gives me a little shove, and I get up. I have to adjust myself in my sweats to make my semi a little less obvious. I approach the front door, opening it a crack. “Hey. You found me.”
Blake gives me a big, stupid grin and pushes past me into the apartment. “Yeah! I have boxes stacked up all over my new living room. Total disaster. My sisters found the sheets and made the bed for me, but otherwise it’s hell up there. So I ate a burger and bought a six-pack and thought I’d come see you, eh?”
For a moment I think of throwing him out. I really do. But there’s no way to do it that isn’t hella rude. I mean, I’m standing here in sweats, a beer in my hand and the TV blaringbehind me. I look exactly like a guy who has time to drink a beer with his teammate. And this is a guy who’s asked me out for beers a handful of times already, and I always beg off unless we’re on the road.
“Come on in,” I say, hating the sound of it. He’s already in, for one thing. That bastard. And sixty seconds ago I had Jamie’s tongue in my mouth.
Fuck me.
Blake doesn’t notice my discomfort. He sets the six-pack on the coffee table and sits right down on the sofa where Jamie was a minute ago. Jamie’s beer is on the bar dividing our kitchen from the rest of the room, but he’s vanished.
“You ready for another one?” Blake asks, grabbing a bottle.
“I’m good,” I say, taking a swig of my own.
Jamie reappears from the hallway, wearing a T-shirt now, ruining the view I had of his muscular, golden chest. “Hey there,” he says. “I’m Jamie.”
“Ah, you’re the roommate!” Blake hops to his feet and leaps over to engulf Jamie’s hand in his big paw. “Nice to meet you. You’re a coach, right? Defense? Teenagers?”
“Uh, yeah.” Jamie’s gaze lifts to mine, a question in them.
I’m just as confused, though. I’ve mentioned my roommate to maybe two people all season, but apparently Blake was one of them. I never talk about Jamie to my teammates, because I don’t want to have to try to figure out when to stop, or how much detail is too much.
And I never want to tell a bold-faced lie about him. That’s just not my style.
Blake is a big guy with a quick smile, and honestly I’d always assumed he was a little slow. That might have been inaccurate. “Want a beer?” he asks now. “Hey! I loveBanshee! Which one is this?” He gallops back to the couch and sits.
I don’t know quite what to do, so I sit down on the opposite end from him.
Jamie heads into the kitchen, and I stare at the screen for a minute, trying to figure out what’s happening with this episode. Hood is trying to escape from a building where he’s stolen something. His colorful trans friend is in his earpiece, trying to help him navigate out of there.
I have no idea what’s happening. On the screen or in my living room.
Jamie returns a few minutes later with a plate covered with enchiladas in melted cheese. He’s using a tray because the plate is hot from the oven, and I’m famous for burning myself in the kitchen. My mouth waters when I see a generous blob of sour cream and a pile of diced avocados, too. He’s even thought of a napkin and silverware.
Wow.
To have your boyfriend bring you a homemade dinner is just about the best thing in the whole fucking world, except Jamie’s eyes are asking if he should hand it over, or maybe this looks weird? Too domestic?
I stand up and take it from him, because goddamn it, this is my home and I can do anything I want here. “Thank you. This looks amazing.”
He gives me the world’s quickest wink, and I sit down on the couch to eat the dinner he brought me. It’s not all I want from him, but it will have to do for now.
TWO
JAMIE
I’m not pissed. Nope, not pissed at all. I mean, what else was Wes supposed to do? Slam the door in his teammate’s face? Gesture to his rock-hard dick and say “Sorry man, I’m about to bone down with my boyfriend”?The boyfriend he hasn’t seen in eight days, the one who’s been anxiously waiting for him in this empty condo and making sure there’s dinner on the table when he got home and—
Okay. Maybe I’m a teeny, tiny bit pissed.
My mom always says I have the patience of a saint, but right now I’m not feeling too saintly. My natural state of easygoing and infinitely calm has been replaced by a deep-seated prickle of annoyance. Resentment, even.
