I’ve never gone there, because I didn’t want to. Because I thought of my parents, who would never understand, and my career, which would be over, and ignored the random urges whenever they came up.
I clear my throat. “So,” I say, inelegantly dodging his question. “You’re … bi?” My knowledge of queer topics is limited because I’ve made a point of staying away from it, but I knowwhat the letters in the acronym stand for. I simply had no idea they applied to anyone I knew.
Freddie shrugs, utterly unbothered. “Yeah, I guess. If you want to put a label on it. Though I’m not a label guy, I like who I like. I don’t want to limit myself by being put in a box, you know?”
I open my mouth, then close it. Because Ilikebeing in boxes. I like knowing what’s ahead of me, what I’m doing, where I belong. But clearly that’s not something I can say to Freddie, who, it’s becoming increasingly obvious by the second, is much cooler than I could ever be. And so, because I have no idea how to respond to that or how to be cool about it all, I blurt out, “Must be exhausting?”
He quirks a brow in question, and I continue hastily.
“You know. Constantly, I guess, being open. With your relationship and yourself. But also, uh, probably hiding a big part of it, right? Because of all the—” I wave my hand in the air and hope Freddie correctly interprets it asthe homophobic world of professional football.
His happy, almost smug expression slips for the first time and I get a glimpse of a darker, more solemn version of him. “Yup,” he says without looking at me. “Wish it were different, but here we are.” There’s a bitterness in his voice I’ve never heard from him before. It’s so unlike the Freddie I know.
Before I can think about what I’m doing, I lean forward and grip his fingers in mine. His skin is so rough. His fingernails are clipped, hair peeking out from under the sleeve of his hoodie. So very different from all the women I’ve met. The only one who’s ever elicited something in me. I clear my throat again, like that can get rid of all the strange thoughts. “I’m sorry,” I say. “That must be hard.”
“Guess what else is hard?” His grin is still a little skewed, but yep, that’s the Freddie I know. He shakes his head though and holds up a hand. “Sorry. Instinct. Thanks, Mar, I appreciate it.”
I snort, which makes Freddie’s grin more genuine, a flash of white teeth amid his dark stubble.
I’m still holding his hand.
“It’s not,” he says, and gestures at his groin. “Just to clarify. Not yet, anyway.”
“I … okay. Thanks, I guess. For that bit of info.” I give him a wry smile and he smiles back, then traces a small circle on my skin with his thumb. My breath hitches in my throat.
Maybe this is the point where I bolt.
Before I can, though, Freddie sighs and pulls away. “We probably shouldn’t,” he says, nodding at our no longer entwined fingers. “Never know who’s taking pictures and all that, now that we’re famous and newsworthy.” Again, the crooked grin.
“Yeah,” I croak. My head is spinning.
There’s a beat of silence and I don’t know what to say. It’s not comfortable; if anything, it’s … expectant. Like we’re both waiting for something to happen. Like we’re both itching for him to hold my hand again. Or to have him draw circles on my skin again, but maybe on my stomach. Or my chest.
I’ve never let thoughts like these linger; always pushed them aside; always told myself my brain must have gone haywire.
Now, though, I allow myself to look at Freddie for the first time. Really look.
In a way I’ve never done before, because what if I liked what I saw? His messy hair, strong jaw, slim but undeniably athletic body.
He’s offering it all to me. He’s giving me permission to touch him.
Kiss him.
Wind my hands into his hair and pull him close. Feel those hands slip under my jeans and touch me roughly.
I don’t know what’s happening to me. Why my cock is so achingly hard over nothing—a few thoughts. Ideas in my mind I didn’t know I needed. Wanted.
Or maybe I did know, and never let that knowledge go anywhere.
Either way, a barrier inside me has broken down that has always held tight before.
I focus my gaze, look into Freddie’s eyes. Whatever he sees there has him swallowing hard and a muscle in his face tightens. “Mar.” It’s barely a whisper. “Holy shit, man, you should see yourself.”
My teeth dig into my lower lip, but now that I’ve started, I can’t stop the images flooding my brain. It’s too much to hold back. I want to try. I want to feel it.
Feel everything.
Give in and let it happen. Just once.
