Marco and I stand up and make our way to join the geriatric group, both of us towering over them. “Hey, boys. This is my friend Marco and he’s gonna play with us today. You want us to split up or you wanna get creamed?”
They all grumble and chuckle and some start hacking up a lung already. Marco and I join in and I put my hands up. “Alright alright! We’ll split up. I’ll take Harold, Lawrence, and Roy. Doug, Fletch, and Jerome, you’re with Marco.” The last three start to protest so I quickly add “Fine! He’s with you,” I drawl and roll my eyes.
Roy and Fletch tip off—if you can call it that—and the game, as always, is equal parts amusing and fun. It’s fucking hilarious to watch old men get angry at one another for making a mistake and then celebrate a good shot.
We quickly find our rhythm on the court and Marco and I stick to defending against each other. I don’t normally have anyone physically capable of properly doing so, so this is a welcome change of pace.
Literally.
We’re racing up and down the polished court, trying to be careful not to knock one of our elderly friends down and accidentally kill them. We make shot after shot, juke each other, and back off to let the old guys make their plays, too. I’m actually putting in work in this game thanks to a matched opponent and it’s helping me not focus on how fucking good he looks with sweat soaking his chest through his cotton shirt. Or how I want to wipe away the beads of wetness on his forehead with my hand, pushing it through his buzzed hair.
I wonder what it looks like grown out a bit?
Okay, maybe I’m still focusing too much on him. But how can I not? He’s being so nice to my friends. Letting them steal the ball away from him, gently patting them on the back when they make a good shot, encouraging them… how dare this man be hot and sweet.
When the game ends, my team wins and my guys taunt Marco as he grabs his water bottle and takes a few long pulls.
“Yeah, that’s right. You might be young, but we’re experienced!”
“Don’t go crying to your mama.”
Marco just laughs at their sick burns. “You guys can play one hell of a game, I’ll give you that.”
“Hey Jay, when you gon’ ask my grandson out?” Harold asks, having a seat next to me and I swear I hear his bones creak.
Oh shit. I did not anticipate this.
I’ve been playing with these guys for years and theyknowthings. They’re all cool with it, though. There was one guy who wasn’t and they all iced him out on my behalf. They’re crotchety, but they love me.
Not turning to see Marco’s reaction, but desperately wanting to, I bend down to take off my gym shoes. I can’t deny this around my pals, and I certainly shouldn’t deny it in general. I’m proud of who I am, but the smallest part of me is worried Marco won’t be cool with it. I mean for fuck’s sake—he’s in the military: a notoriously not-cool-with-queer-people professional field.
I mentally sigh, knowing I have to get this out in the open now before I do any real damage to my psyche.
Transforming myself back into a jovial persona, I tell Harold, “Your grandson hasn’t texted me back, boss. I’m not about to send him follow up messages and look thirsty for a guy I’ve only seen pictures of.”
Not even hot pictures.
Family pictures that Harold had stored on his flip phone.
“Hey, whoa whoa. What about my granddaughter?” Lawrence interjects, removing his sports goggles and wiping sweat from his dark brown skin with a hand towel.
“First of all, your granddaughter is twenty years older than me and ghosted me after our first date.”
“She what? What’s that mean?”
“We went out and I never heard from her again. Poof. Vanished. Like a ghost.”
Lawrence looks taken aback. “Well, I’m gon’ have a talk with her. She don’t know what she’s missing out on.”
Harold interjects about his grandson and the guys battle about who’s going to date me. Nervously, I finally look over to Marco who has a huge grin on his face as he watches the guys bicker.
He finds this funny? I mean, it is funny. But to see him look so cool with it… My god, my heart is pounding in my chest. So he’s straight and seems unfazed by this new information.
Looks like I have myself an unrequited crush.
Friend zone it is.
I lean over to him. “They’re gonna keep at this for a while. Wanna get some food?”
