I’m not ready to talk about … this …
Can you even say the word? Say it with me: bisexuality.
I tell my conscience to fuck off.
Even though I’m not ready, I should. At least to clear the air between Jackson and me.
“So, uh, about before,” I start.
He freezes. “We don’t have to do this.”
“We don’t?”
He turns to me. “Like, I don’t know what’s going on with you. Or with Miller. And that’s okay. It’s none of my business, so you don’t owe me any type of explanation.”
Relief is the right reaction, but disappointment sneaks in too. Maybe Jackson’s psychic, or maybe because he knows what I’m going through, he senses this shit.
Queer shit?
How have my friends not punched me out with how annoying my sarcasm is?
“If you want to talk about any of it, I’m here for you, but don’t feel like you need to clarify anything to me if you’re not ready.”
That’s fair. And really good of him.
“I don’t think I’m ready.”
“Then say no more.” Jackson throws me a reassuring smile, and it relaxes my stiff back and neck.
“Thanks.”
“We should get ready for the game. How do you think we’ll do tonight? The team is getting stronger.”
I’m thankful for the subject change. “I wish I could say we’re gonna kick ass out there, but you kinda interrupted my pregame ritual, so we’re totally gonna blow it.”
Jackson laughs. “So, because you didn’t get to blow, we will?”
“Exactly.”
And sometimes I hate that I’m always right.
We’re taken down 23 – 17.
* * *
After our next game—a home game, which we win—I’m too wired and a little drunk to go straight to sleep when I stumble into my large and empty house. It’s still early in the season, but the team’s gelling well, and we have the talent to go all the way, but it sucks Miller’s not here.
I sink onto my bed, not bothering to change out of my suit. Not for the first time, I find myself thinking of the one night Miller stayed here with those women. And definitely not for the first time since I started thinking about it in more detail that my cock gets excited over the memory. Only now, in my head, the girls’ faces are blurry, and all I can focus on is Miller’s hard body.
Gah, I can’t go down this road again. Last time I thought about it this hard was right after the away game last week. I got home and basically jerked off until my dick was chafing and I literally had no cum left.
Maybe I need the real deal. I haven’t hooked up with someone since … shit, since that night. That was months ago.
Granted, we’ve been busy with training camp and the beginning of the season, but it’s more astounding I hadn’t even realized I haven’t had sex in months.
I wonder if Miller has, and then the idea of Miller going out in New York doesn’t sit well with me, but I don’t think he’d be able to anyway when his leg is fucked. Can’t do much with a screwed-up leg. Although, the girl could do all the work.
I scowl at that, and now I want to know. No, I need to know. I take out my phone and settle back on my pillow.
Me: I’m so bored.
And horny. And curious. And for some reason, possessive. I don’t say that though.
Miller: Bitch, you did not just say that to me.
I laugh. Didn’t think he’d like that.
Me: On a scale of 1 to 10 how insane are you going?
Miller: I’d be carted off to the nuthouse if I didn’t already live in one. My family is driving me crazy.
Me: You haven’t had the chance to go out at all? That sucks.
For you, I want to add but don’t for obvious reasons.
Miller: Jackson gave me his agent’s number. He and his boyfriend live in the city. Was thinking about going out with them once I finally get rid of the crutches and start intense PT.
Quick, come up with reasons why that would be a bad idea.
Me: If you’re worried about what the media will think of us sharing women, I’d hate to see what they’d say about you being spotted at a gay bar.
Without being an asshole!
Miller: I didn’t realize it was illegal for gay guys to go elsewhere. Jackson says they hang out at a sports bar.
Where girls would jump at an NFL player just for walking in.
Nope. Don’t like that either.
Can I tell him that, though?
One kiss in a bathroom and an awkward text convo doesn’t make Miller mine. Or us together.
Is that even what I want?
I don’t know what I want.
Me: Well, have fun, I guess.
Miller: I’ll remember to have fun under your orders two weeks from now. Until then, I’m all light exercises, crutches, and trying not to kill my family. Fucking sucks.