Our little closet hook-up.
Connor fucking Hoffman.
Fucking fuck.
Panicked and needing confirmation, I toss the iPad I was using to record set play drills onto the bench. It slips off, because of course it does, and lands with a crack on the concrete floor, drawing all eyes to me and the sprint I’ve broken into. “Look at him run,” Trent wheezes with laughter. “Some fucking leader.”
Leaving his continued chirps in my wake, I again leave my defense to my teammates and high-tail it to the locker room. Seconds later, my phone is in my hands, and I’m unblocking Nate McKinney’s number.
Surprisingly, he answers on the first ring.
“Cory?”
“McKinney, hey. Yeah, it’s me, Cory. Sorry to call out of the blue like this but–”
“I thought I must have put your number in wrong,” he says excitedly. “Don’t be sorry. I’m not. I think about you a lot. All the time, actually. ”
Fuck.
“Ahh, that’s nice, but I’m seeing someone right now.” I wish. “So I’m sorry but I’m just calling to ask you something.”
“Oh. Oh, well, okay then. What can I do you for?” He laughs like he’s the first person to come up with that, and I remind myself to re-block this number as soon as the call is over.
“Haha, great. Yeah, hey did you tell anyone about our little … meeting in the cupboard?”
“What? No way, bro. Of course not.” There’s a long pause, and then. “I mean, well, actually I did tell my cousin, but he’s cool. He wouldn’t snitch.”
“Your cousin named Connor Hoffman?”
“Dude.” He laughs. “Did you slip and crack your pretty head? Of course it’s Connor Hoffman. Know any others?”
My balls drop to my toes, ready to be ground into dust Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Hunched over, I toss my phone and try to breathe, the banana I ate mid-training tries to claw its way back out my mouth. Trent Hoffman is going to push me from the closet. Yes, judging by Sam and Lucas’ taunting at the car wash, my ass has been sticking out and waving around a lot more than I thought, and also yes, I shouldn’t have to hide or be afraid.
But I am.
This is my decision. It’s my God damn right to choose when, and to whom I come out too.
In no universe, no timeline or dimension will I let that fucking asshole take that away from me.
Boys. You still awake?
Sam
Ahoy, captain oh, captain. What’s up.
Lucas
Awake but don’t want to be.
I know it’s late, but can I interest either of you in a beer.
Sam
O’Reilly’s?
I’m home with Billie, can you come here? Need some advice.
