My hearts jumps involuntarily. “You’re catching your death out here in the cold,” I say and want to punch myself immediately after. Did I not just mentally scoff at coach for saying something like that?
Marlon shrugs and looks away. He’s sat on the tiled floor, leaning against the glass panel of the railing, soaked from top to bottom. Misery personified. I try not to look at his chest, wherehe’s left his jacket open and his shirt is clinging to his skin because now isnotthe moment, Freddie, get a grip.
“How long have you been out here?” I crouch down next to him and push some of his wet hair out of his face so I can look him in the eyes.
He snorts and pulls his head away. “Who cares.”
Oh, shit. Oh, fuck, I probably shouldn’t be here. There’s probably nobody on the team less capable of figuring out a situation like that. I smile cautiously, though he’s not looking at me anyway. “I care.”
“Whatever.” Bitterness laces Marlon’s voice and it hurts. “Fuck off.”
Right, okay. This isn’t going great, but also, I can be a stubborn bastard if I want to, so we’ll see who’ll win this. I settle down next to him and shiver as cold water continues to pound my skin. “No.” After all, it’s not the first time someone has told me fuck off. If I had listened to them, I wouldn’t be where I am today.
Marlons sighs and stays quiet. I want to go back inside and warm up but I also really don’t want to leave Marlon here. So I wait.
After another minute of silence, I can’t stand it anymore. “Okay, look,” I say. “You fucked up today.”
Marlon blows a raspberry. “Thanks for the pep talk.”
“No, oh my god, shut up. What I’m trying to say is, so what? You got caught out a couple times, sure. But the rest of us left you hanging. We all know you’re still figuring it out. It was a shit performance by everyone, but we got through it. And now we’re in the semis.”
“Yep, and no thanks to me.”
I kind of wish the bitterness would crawl back into his voice, because this utter dejection is one thousand times worse. I’ve never seen my friend like this. Never heard this kind of sadness.
I am out of my depth here. No idea what I can do. I stare at Marlon’s face, the hopelessness in his eyes, the corners of his mouth pointing downward, and with no conscious thought or decision I lean forward and kiss his nose, where a big raindrop has been slowly rolling down.
Marlon shoves me away. “God, fuck off, honestly. I don’t need your pity.”
It’s not pity, but he’s so deep in his sorrow, he wouldn’t believe me, no matter what I say. So I do what I do best and say something stupid. “Do you need my cock?”
It’s silent between us for a moment and then Marlon huffs. “You’re unbelievable, mate, you know that?”
So … that’s not a no. I scramble to get up and hold my hand out to him. “Come on, you’ve drowned yourself enough. Both in self-pity and literally.” I squint up at the sky and a raindrop lands right in my eye. Yup, I’m done with this. “Let me cheer you up.”
Marlon looks up at me, not saying a word. Eventually, he sighs and lets me pull him to his feet. “Sure, yeah. Why not. Can’t get any worse. And maybe you’ll shut up for five minutes.”
Wow. We love a vote of confidence. This is super encouraging. But I’m not going to complain because he’s said yes—even though in the most insulting way possible—to having sex again and I’m not going to destroy that by thinking too much. When has thinking ever helped with anything?
And then, thank god, the elevator pings and the doors open. Let’s get out of here and on to more fun stuff.
I escort Marlon to his room, not because he needs it, but becauseIneed it. Holding him close to me helps soothe my nerves. Feeling his strength reassures me this is a phase that will pass. A few colleagues pass us by but nobody questions anything. We all know what a shit game Marlon had, and that we’re close. Our dripping clothes probably tell the rest of the story and so we’re unbothered.
By others, I mean. I am, in fact, pretty bothered.
It’s weird, because getting horny while Marlon is so down does not sit right and the guilt almost outweighs the lust.
Almost.
Because I’m twenty-one and there’s a gorgeous man in my arms and I’m confident enough to think I can make him forget about all that happened tonight.
A small part of me rings loud alarm bells at what I’m about to do. Somewhere in my brain, a tiny voice keeps shouting what a terrible idea this is. How long it took me to get over our last time. It probably won’t be any easier now.
But I don’t care. I know I’m probably hurting myself but there’s no way I would pass up an opportunity to get close to Marlon again. I can’t resist him.
And so, when the door closes behind us, I lose no time and push him against the hard wooden surface. Press myself against him. Kiss him.
God, that mouth.
