He stares at me, and I can practically see the wheels turning, so I quickly add, “Nor do I have any other kind of relationship with my students outside of coach/athlete.”
Peyton huffs. “I’m not going to be a student for much longer.”
The next words out of my mouth are almost, “You’re a good kid but…” I don’t say them, though. There’s nothing moreinsulting than being called or referred to as a kid by someone you’re interested in. Besides, I don’t call my students kids because I think of them as children. It’s not like that at all.
I just… it kind of expresses the age gap to me. It reminds me that these are my boys to take care of, to support, and teach, and be a role model for. To know them and care about them enough that I spot when something is wrong, be it superficial or something truly bad going on.
Peyton won’t understand that’s what I mean when I say kid, though. He’s going to think the same thing I did growing up.
Child.
I don’t want him to feel like that. Especially not right now when I’m practically rejecting him. I avoid any of the other clichés too. All those predicted lines of ‘it’s not the right time’ or ‘you’re a great guy.’
Instead, I do something that might be seen as counterproductive. I pull Peyton to me and wrap his big body in a tight hug.
He’s surprised. I can feel the way he jumps slightly. It’s a few heartbeats before he returns my embrace.
There’s a rule at Disney amusement parks that states that a character cannot end a hug when a child embraces them. It’s up to the child to back up first.
With my kids—my players—I always enforce that rule. So I keep Peyton in my arms for a long time. “Thanks,” he murmurs after a while and stands back. His cheeks are flushed and that almost arrogant air about him has simmered until he’s more… balanced.
“I’m happy to be your friend,” I tell him. “We can talk about whatever you want as long as it doesn’t interfere with football, but Peyton, this isn’t going to happen. Okay?”
He sighs. “Am I too tall?”
I stare at him, unsure if I really just heard that.
“Too loud? I have too many muscles, don’t I?”
My laughter is loud as I shove him. “Stop. You’re perfect the way you are and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. I can give you a whole bunch of reasons that are all going to sound like lines and excuses, but I don’t want you to walk away with that heavy feeling. So I’m not going to. We’re just going to say that this isn’t going to happen. Not now and not ever.”
Peyton sighs, but nods. “Okay.” His voice is quiet, and he gives me an almost shy smile. “Thanks for being gentle.”
I pat his cheek. “Go have fun.”
He nods but doesn’t move. Since I can still see the hope in his eyes, I make myself turn away. Okay, that’s more than I can manage today.
On my way out of the tent, I spot Hansley with Alka and his two guys. It takes a lot not to scowl. Or to admit that the ragey feeling inside me is jealousy.
Hansley looks up and his eyes lock on mine. I stare as I walk in his direction, though not toward him. He doesn’t look away as I walk by. Hopefully, he keeps watching as I head for the hockey arena.
We haven’t talked a lot in person over the last few days, but we have spent hours talking online. I make sure to remind him how much I hate him every hour or so, but… I don’t think I’m doing a good job of making him believe it. I need to step up my game.
Not right now, though. Not when I haven’t felt his hands on me in ages.
Pushing my hand into my pocket, I close it around the condom and travel packet of lube. My pace quickens as I let myself into the arena. I can hear the activity on the ice. During these festivals, the entire campus is filled with activities. Every building. Every square foot of outdoor space. My poor field gets all kinds of divots in it.
I slip into the stairwell and head downstairs. The halls are silent. I move through the trans flag hall and try Hansley’s office door. A thrill goes through me when I find it unlocked.
Silently, just in case someone is around, I push it open and slink inside, shutting it silently behind me. It’s dim, with just a little light illuminating the room from his monitor. Biting my lip, I pull the straps to the one piece I’m wearing and let it drop before stepping out of my underwear. I fold them and set them on the bookshelf as if that’s where they’ve always belonged.
Then I sit in his chair behind his desk and take a deep, shuddering breath. Wrapping my hand around my cock, I slowly stroke myself as I stare at the door. And wait.
And wait.
Forty-five minutes go by and I’m getting annoyed. I think the annoyance is trying to take over so I don’t have to examine the little smidge of doubt that he’s not coming. Maybe he didn’t watch me walk away. Maybe he did, and he’s choosing not to come here.
My breath catches when I hear voices. Everything inside me freezes as I stare wide-eyed. Multiple voices. They’re getting closer. My heart races when I recognize one of them as Hansley’s.
