“Hi, Phil.”Michelle crossed her legs, the heel of her right foot popping out of her stilettos.Was she allowed to wear those in here?Didn’t they damage the foam mats covering the floor?“How’s it going?”
Phil shrugged.“It’s going.How are you?”
Michelle smiled brightly.He liked that about her, how very inartificial her manners were.It was a good quality in a sports psychologist.The guys in the team needed someone who could be real with them when they faced the kinds of issues they went to Michelle with.
“I’m great, Phil.So what’s the prognosis on the knee?”
Phil pushed himself into a sitting position, letting both legs dangle off the side of the bench.“Not great.Rehab for a couple months, then we’ll see if I can make playoffs or if I need surgery.”
Michelle winced.“Sorry to hear it.I’m guessing you’re pushing for playoffs?”
“If I don’t, I might as well retire now.”
“Is that something you want?”
Phil scuffed his big toe across the textured mats on the floor while he considered.He’d told Tom he was thinking about it, but “thinking about it” implied far more active consideration than he’d engaged in.So far, he’d heard nothing but crickets from his agent about negotiations for a new contract or offers from other teams, and until he got an update, he intended to go right on not thinking about it.
At least Ben wouldn’t let their impromptu make-out session affect his position in said negotiations.If he even had a position, given he hadn’t confirmed or denied anything about his own role as a coach and his reticence to actually fill it.
Phil wondered if that would still be true if they had gone further.
Would Ben consider extending him if they were fucking?The thought made Phil’s skin crawl.Not the thought of fucking Ben—that was surprisingly interesting—but the thought of using him that way.
Michelle reached over and patted his good knee.“You know where to find me if you want to talk about it.”
She fixed her shoe and hopped off the bench before striding over to the door with a jaunty wave.Phil watched the floor mats slowly reinflate in her wake.
Oh God.Did he need therapy?Was it that obvious to everyone how much he struggled with the idea of retirement?Or could Michelle somehow see the cold sweat the thought of contract negotiations sent down his spine?Did she have shrink superpowers?
No, Phil was being ridiculous.So long as he had no long-term prognosis on the knee, his career could go either way, and he’d get through contract negotiations fine.He’d done it before even though it left him feeling slimy and unclean.He just had to decide what he was worth.Currently, his contract meant the team paid out six million per year, but he wouldn’t get that much again with his new injury record.Should he hold out for three or four million and take the risk of being traded to someone who would pay it?Or should he take a bigger pay cut to stay?He couldn’t imagine playing for some other team under some other captain, but he also hated the thought of everyone knowing how much he had declined in value.
Value.Phil snorted as he picked up his crutches and made his way to the weight room.He was a human being.His value had nothing to do with his salary, he knew that, but it was so hard to remember when his coaches and his GM could quite literally decide to trade him to another team for better assets.
Ben said he wouldn’t let their kiss affect contract negotiations.Phil ought to be thankful, but he wanted it to.He wanted Ben to see him as a whole human being, as a person who lived in San Francisco and loved it here, as a welcoming host who liked Ben’s company in his house, as a reliable player and teammate, as a wizard with a barbecue, as a person who liked to be kissed and desired and needed.He wanted Ben to see all of him and ask him to stay.That was a dangerous way to feel about a man who could decide keeping Phil around went against the team’s best interests, especially since he now knew Phil had questions about his coaching choices
Why was everything so confusing?
Phil didn’t even turn on music for his upper body workout, too mixed up and frustrated to bother.
Practice must have gone long, because no one disturbed him until the tail end of his cooldown, when the door to the weight room opened quietly.
“Tom.”Phil greeted him with relief.“What’s up?”
Tom smiled tightly.
“How’d practice go?”Phil asked.
“Okay.”
“I watched a bit.I have some notes for you, if you want to take a look—”
“Oh.Maybe later.I have a…thing.”
Phil sincerely hoped Tom never tried to act in anything, ever.He was a terrible liar.He was also avoiding Phil, which sucked because Phil had hoped to avoid Ben by hanging out with Tom.
For a wild moment, Phil contemplated confiding in Tom:I don’t know what to do with the rest of my life.I don’t want to negotiate a new contract.Our coach kissed me yesterday, and I don’t know what it means, but I want him to do it again.
The thought was laughable.At best, Tom would sit there like a deer in the headlights while Phil laid out all his worries; at worst, he would get all weird about Phil getting kissed by another man.No matter that Tom had been better than many other players at recognizing how different Phil’s status on the team was due to his race, adding this on would be a bridge too far.Phil had done just fine not thinking about kissing men for fifteen years; he could keep it up a while longer.
