Much to many a professor’s disappointment, during today’s lecture I was distracted, lethargic, a step behind on every move. It’s not a good sign. Classes have just begun and are overwhelming me already. Now I’m at practice, my first as captain, and I’m afraid things haven’t progressed. They may actually be worse, and it’s all because of last night.
Because of Jimmy.
Jimmy who got my Superman reference, and didn’t give me shit about it. Jimmy who touched like a man possessed, and nearly had me blowing my load the instant he tweaked my nipples.
As lame as it sounds, I was really into him.
Like, I may not have even blocked him after I left.
Overriding all the positives, though, is the silhouette of a cowardly, naked man clutching his phone to his head, promising to be home soon.
Should I have given him a chance to explain before storming out? Maybe. There’s a ton of guys that have no issues hooking up with family men on the down low.
As for me, I am not, and will not ever be one of them.
You want to have a little down low fun while single hiding out in the closet? Who the fuck am I to judge when I’m not really out myself? Adding a third for fun? You do you. None of my business. But to go to the extent this guy did. Having a secret place to bring home hisbeautifulmen? Ugh. No thanks.
Signaling it’s time for a break, Coach blows his whistle and points to the bench, a severe scowl aimed squarely at me as he does so. I take a seat on the bench and bury my head in my hands.
“Cubby. Dude. I’m hungover as fuck, but you’re as slow as a wet week out there. You okay?”
I raise my head and groan. “I don’t know what that means, but I think I’m going to be sick.”
Brady’s cheeks flush and he hops from foot to foot like he needs to pee. “Oh, shit. Want me to get a trainer? Or a bucket? Or both?”
“Nope. Just a hot man with a moral compass.”
His eyebrows rise then knit together. “Oh, I. Um, I dunno if I can help you there.”
Despite being a year older than me, he grunts like an old man as he drops at my side, and slings his giant arm over my hunched back. It’s not at all helpful for my nausea.
“Can I ask you something, Brades? It’s kind of personal.”
He tightens his grip. “Shoot, Little Guy.”
Swallowing my pride, and the vomit he seems determined to squeeze out of me, I inhale. Exhale. “I’m gay, Brades. Gay and quickly discovering the worst thing aboutbeinggay is men, because men, including myself, are disgusting.” I pause, waiting for a shocked, OH MY GOD NO WAY, reaction, but my grand coming out earns nothing more than a head nod and a cautious smile. It’s both brilliant and anticlimactic. “So yeah. I’m new to it. Have been hitting the apps pretty hard, had some amazing sex, but have also met a few guys I feared may rob me blind or wear my skin as a jacket if given half the chance.”
“Jesus, Cub.”
“Yeah. Well, anyway, last night I met up with a guy at his apartment and things got weird.”
“Since your guts aren’t hanging out, I know it’s not the skin thing, but he didn’t actually like, rob or hurt you in another way did he?”
“What?” I rear upright, causing his hand to slide down my back. “No, nothing like that. I mean, maybe psychologically, ‘cause I can’t stop thinking about him, and his massive biceps I wanted to be sandwiched in … or the fact that he was married.”
That spurs a reaction I’ve been expecting. “He was married?”
“Yep. I think so. He didn’t tell me as much, not directly. But we were in bed, and he was sucking my?—”
“Don’t need that level of detail, Cub,” he whines, glancing over his shoulder.
“Right. Sorry, so yeah, we were fooling around and his phone rang and rang, and he ignored it at first ‘cause he was doing this thing with his tongue. But eventually he answered it and, yeah. It was his wife. Pretty sure he had a kid, too.”
“How do you know? You just said he didn’t tell you.”
“He didn’t, and I didn’t give him the chance to. It was obvious. You should have heard the affection in his voice when he called her, Faithy, and then he asked if Dyl was okay.”
Brady rubs his hand over his chin. “Hmm. That does sound sus. But it might not have been his missus It could have been a friend or?—”
