“Guess you take after your mom, then,” I say.
He smiles, just a little. “I guess I do.”
We eat in silence for a while. The roll is stale but the sugar’s enough to drown out the memory of last night’s dream, which was equal parts weird sex and team practice.
I’m still chewing when he says, “Your mom runs a bakery, right?”
“Yeah. She used to make us do tastings when we were little. My sister threw up on the display case once. We got banned from eating the samples for a month.”
He grins. “But she’s cool with you running in the dark with a guy from the team?”
I consider it. “She’s cool with anything that gets me out of the house and doesn’t involve bail money. She’s always known, I think. Moms have that sixth sense.”
“Yeah,” he says. “Mine too.”
The barista finally looks up, notices us, and offers a half-hearted “y’all need anything else?” We shake our heads.
The world outside is lighter now, the city coming online, and the spell of isolation is almost broken.
Darius picks at the wrapper, not looking up. “You ever think about telling them?” he asks.
“Who, the team?”
He nods.
I sip my coffee, buy a second to think. “I think about it all the time. Then I picture O’Doul finding out and it’s like, instant panic attack.”
He laughs. “He’d probably just want to know if you were the top or the bottom.”
I choke, snort coffee, and now he’s really laughing, the sound echoing off the glass.
When I get it under control, I say, “You?”
He goes quiet, chews his lip. “I want to. But I’m not ready. Not until I know it’s real.”
I want to say, “It’s real for me.” I want to say, “I haven’t wanted anything this much since I was a kid and thought being happy was allowed.” But the words stick, as usual.
Instead, I finish my coffee, toss the cup, and stand. “Let’s do this again tomorrow.”
He grins. “Tomorrow,” he says.
We walk to the lot, side by side, close but not touching. At the cars, he opens his door, then leans over the roof, eyes serious.
“You’re good at this, you know,” he says.
“At running?” I ask.
“At being,” he says. “Most people aren’t. Most people are just filling space.”
I want to joke, want to say something self-deprecating, but instead I just stand there, shivering, and let it land.
He gets in the car, starts the engine, and for a second I think he’s going to drive away. But he waits, just long enough for me to get in my own car and turn the key, before pulling out.
It’s not a date.
But it could be.
And that’s enough to get me through the day.
