“I guess he just wasn’t interested,” I say. “But for last night, he was perfect.”
Stace’s dark brown hair is pulled back with a tie, and she fixes it while she talks. “Cool, I’m happy for you,” she says. “And if you do it again, just find a way that won’t potentially derail your soccer career.”
I nod. “I scratched the itch.” Considering the tabloid scandal I’d be risking by using Grindr repeatedly, that’s going to have to be good enough for now.
I head back to the locker room, and my thoughts drift back to Troy. He was easily ten years older than me, maybe twenty. A big dude with a thick brown beard and a heavy brow. I’ve never fantasized about older guys, but he was hot.
There’s no way to get in touch with him, even if I wanted to.
I’ve been curious about other men for years, but for some reason, dick-sucking has always tempted me the most.
It might seem obvious that if you’re a dude fantasizing about sucking off other dudes, you’re probably bi or gay. Except that wasn’t so obvious tome, especially since I fucking loved anything oral and had a great time with my girlfriends. I thought maybe I was really intooral, andthe cock thing was just, like, extra. Since I spent my life surrounded by other straight jocks, it was easy to leave it at that.
Now, when I walk back into the locker room, I wonder what the rest of the team would think if they knew what I did last night. We’re a tight group, and I don’t think any of them are bigots. But it does cross my mind when I see everyone stripped down, half-naked and horsing around.
My bad judgment calls last year already singled me out in a bad way. I don’t want anything to come between me and my team, like being the only queer player.
“Looking good out there, man,” Syed says. He plays center forward, which means we’re always up front on offense together. “Lightning fast.”
I strip my shirt off, my mood lifting. “Hey, thanks.” I probably shouldn’t beam so much, but he’s got skills that still wow me, and he’s a no-nonsense kind of guy. The compliment means something coming from Syed. “You, too.”
“Onassis. You won’t be grinning like that if you’re late again.”
Zeke’s voice cuts through me. He’s the captain of the team, our goalie and star player. The man is basically a soccer legend in the making, and his presence fills the locker room.
Like everyone else on the team, I have nothing but endless respect for Zeke, and his approval means even more to me than the approval of my coaches. He’s a world-class player, a fixture on the national team, and as captain, he’s been pivotal in making the Force into one of the best teams in the league.
My grin drops. “Sorry, Zeke. I’m working on it.”
Which I am. Compared to how bad I was at being on time up until a couple years ago, I’m basically Mr. Punctual.
Unreadable as always, Zeke stands across the locker room, eyes boring into me. Everyone else is suddenly quiet.
“Vodka again?” he asks, and someone laughs.
I shake my head. The vodka incident happened right at the start of the season, before I was back in the flow. I’d run into a group of guys who were out mourning their friend who recently passed, a huge soccer fan and fan of the Philly Force, especially.
After they told me that their friend had attended every home game for the past six years, how could I not join in celebrating their buddy? But the team doesn’t like videos of players verging on going viral, at least not when the player in question is doing vodka shots and backflipping into a pool.
I know better. I wanted to show up as the big new talent, and instead, I feel like the team’s problem child.
“No vodka,” I assure Zeke. “And I promise. I won’t risk hurting myself again. I took your point about the backflip to heart.”
He frowns at me. “Fine. Then you’re just late.” When he turns his eyes to the rest of the locker room, everyone starts moving and talking again.
Shit. How humiliating. I have no excuse for showing up late and letting my team down. Zeke’s the man I most want to impress, and he has to take time out of his day to scold me.
I hate this, and I’m ready to crawl into my locker. Instead of walking away in silence like usual, though, Zeke tilts his head to the side and comes closer, talking to me without the audience.
“You know damn well our coaches are considering making your spot in the starting lineup permanent,” he says evenly. “Every little mistake makes them reconsider. If you think I’m hard on you, it’s because you’re good, and we need you up front, Onassis.”
He’s right, and I force up a smile despite the embarrassment. “In that case, you’re really going to have to kick my ass, because I’m about to get even better.”
Zeke studies me for a long moment, like he’s sizing me up.
“Fine,” he finally says. “After training, go home, clean up, and put on a nice shirt.” He raises up a slight smile, intimidating rather than encouraging, and drops his voice to a rumble. “I’m going to introduce you to my agent.”
CHAPTERTHREE
