Hunter
“Ihave somethingfor you,” I tell Lucas, who’s sitting at my table, laptop in front of him, going through photos from a recent shoot.
I haven’t asked to see the ones he took of me a couple of weeks ago, and he hasn’t offered to show them to me. Iwantto see them, but he hasn’t mentioned it, so I haven’t mentioned it, and now it feels weird to ask about them.
Lucas looks up, smiling, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Does it have anything to do with getting you naked?” he asks, something I noticed he does when he’s feeling emotional or when we’re talking about something deep. He turns it into sex and plays things off like he’s not feeling whatever he’s feeling.
It’s wild how much I’m learning about him—simple things like the fact that he hates any juice except orange, that he likes to go without underwear when he’s at home, that he sleeps farther down the bed, so when he’s on his stomach, his toes hang between the end of the mattress and the footboard; that he talks to the characters on TV while he’s watching, telling them what to do or not to do as if they can hear him and will listen. It’s cute as shit.
That when we’re at my house, he often reaches for the same LA Pulse shirt to wear. It’s old and faded, even has acouple of small holes in it where the fabric has worn thin. It’s the most comfortable shirt I have, and Lucas loves it.
That he gets sad when he talks to his mom, and no matter how good he is at photography, he doesn’t think he’s good enough. That when we risked our first and only trip to the grocery store together, me with sunglasses and a hat obscuring my face, we passed three presumably unhoused people, and Lucas gave them money.
And he has a jealous streak. Haven called to ask if I wanted to hook up, and though I told her no, that I wouldn’t be doing that again for a while, he got pouty and grumpy.
“No, Lucas, my surprise is not about getting naked, but I’m sure that can be arranged.”
“What did you get me, then? An autographed Hunter King football?”
I laugh. “You asshole…but you’re kinda on the right path.”
I pull my arm from behind my back, holding out his favorite shirt of mine. I leave for Kansas tomorrow, and with each day that the trip got closer, Lucas and I have been more and more on edge.
“I get to wear your shirt again?”
I shake my head. “You get to keep my shirt, at least while I’m on this road trip. Me going home, where we both grew up, but without you, and to play against your dad’s team.” If we were in a typical relationship, Lucas would be going home with me. When I head to his childhood home to have dinner with his parents, something I do every time I’m in Kansas City, we’d be there together. It feels wrong leaving him here like this because these weeks I’ve shared with Lucas have been beautiful and confusing and everything wonderful.
I don’t know what we are, what I even have to give him. We can’t be anything real, not really, but then, why does itfeel so real? Why does it feel like the most real thing I’ve ever had?
“Maybe it’s silly,” I say, when he still hasn’t taken the shirt. “I just thought you could wear it while I’m gone, and it would remind you that I’d rather be here…with you.”
And that’s true, isn’t it? I want to be with him all the time. I love laughing with him, talking to him, simplybeingin Lucas’s presence. Sometimes I even forget why it’s wrong.
“It’s not silly.” He takes the shirt, brings it to his face, and breathes it in. “Smells like you,” Lucas says, then sets it on the table beside his laptop, stands, and kisses me.
He holds my face in his hands, mine going to his ass. We rut together, both of us shirtless, panting and kissing, and when he bends me over the table, right then and there, I let him. When he eats me out, opening me with his tongue and his fingers, I let him do that too. And when he fucks me, I moan his name, close my eyes and see his face, and realize how much trouble I’m in. How much I really want him, and that I don’t know what to do about it. And when Lucas comes inside me, the condoms gone weeks ago, I wish his load would stay inside me so I’d have that part of him to take with me.
*
When they setus free in Kansas City, I go see my mom. It’s hard having her so far away, but this is her home, and she didn’t want to leave. The second I’m inside her house, I’m wrapped in her arms. She hugs me with strength she doesn’t look like she should have, crying a little, though it’s only been since this summer that we saw each other.
“I miss you,” Mom says.
“I miss you too.” She’s my favorite person in the world.The one who worked extra hours so I’d be able to do anything and everything football—before we met the Blakes. What were the odds that I would make it as far as I did? Not high, but that didn’t matter to her. All that mattered was that her son loved football, and it was his dream, and she would do anything to make that happen because she wanted me happy, which is so different from how Coach Blake is with Lucas.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, pulling away. “You got stiff.”
“Nothing. I’m fine.” Which is only half true. I’m good, better than I have been in a long time, but that’s because of Lucas, which then turns my head into this war zone that doesn’t give me a moment’s peace.
We head to the living room, and I take a seat on the couch in my favorite corner. This couch is the first one I bought her when I got money and she moved into this house, and years later, she still has it. That’s how my mom is. Her place isn’t flashy, and she keeps things forever, even when they’re old and should be replaced. I always remind her I would give her anything, and even if I couldn’t, she has more money herself now, but she’s so used to not having anything that she lives well below her current means. And I love that about her.
I feel her gaze on me, so I turn to her, see her smiling in this mom way. “What?” I ask.
“Nothing. You just look good. I can’t put my finger on it…lighter or something. Like you’re not carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders, the way you’re known to do.”
I roll my eyes, but really, her words make my heart twitch. Do I seem lighter? Desmond mentioned it as well, and I feel it, despite the guilt. I can’t explain how I can feel both those things simultaneously, but I know it’s because of Lucas. Football is fun again. I wasn’t sure I could get that back, but I have, which makes everything feel even better. “You see howI’ve been playing. That would make anyone happy.” And that’s another part of it, obviously. I’m having the best season I’ve had in years. Even when we lose a game, my stats are on point.
“That’s true, but it feels like more than that. Even when I talk to you on the phone. It’s like…my boy is back.”
