Fair Catch

by Leigh Carman

  Toby’s eyes narrow. “So simple you have to get your friend to bring men to you in the office of his club for anonymous fucks?”

  My heart skips as Toby goes right for the jugular. “I-I can’t be out, Toby.” I put down my fork and turn to face him, putting my hands on his knees. “Professional football isn’t accepting of anything not viewed as masculine. You and I know being gay has nothing to do with how manly someone is, but a whole lot of idiots don’t. I don’t know how to do anything else. If I lose my career because I’m gay….” I shake my head, inhaling deep. “Okay, so maybe I’m a little complicated. In fact, dating me would probably be a fucking nightmare.” My pulse throbs in my veins, anxiety swamping my usual confidence. “But I’d like to try with you.”

  Again, Toby blinks, scratching the back of his head in what I’m coming to realize is a nervous gesture. “I don’t know, Van. I have, ummm, some trust issues with men.” His gaze flicks to the floor.

  The flames of anger pulse hot across my skin as I remember Toby’s comment about stalking. “Who hurt you, Toby? I’ll make sure they never touch you again.” The urge to protect this man overwhelms me, becoming dangerously difficult to control.

  Toby’s eyes go wide, and he leans away from me, that frightened look coming back. He puts some space between our bodies.

  “I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” I turn back to my food, but Toby lays a hand on my arm, stopping my fork midway to my mouth.

  “You didn’t scare me, Van. Well, you do scare me, but not physically. Not like that.” Toby avoids my gaze, glancing around the room.

  I put a finger under his chin, lifting until I can see those beautiful eyes. “I’m scared too, Toby.” I run my thumb across the lip he has pulled between his teeth. He releases the soft flesh, and I caress the tiny indentations left behind. “I’ve never done this before.”

  “Dated?”

  I nod. “I can’t. I shouldn’t. But you… you’re different. You do something to me, Toby. I want to see more of you, know more about you.”

  Toby stares at me, unblinking. My heart stalls as I wait on pins and needles for a response. When he finally speaks, it’s not exactly the answer I was hoping for.

  “Can I think about it?”

  It takes a minute for his words to sink in, and when they do, my lungs constrict painfully. I swallow back the bile that rises at the thought of not seeing Toby again, not tasting that smooth, salty skin or feeling his lean, taut muscles beneath my hands.

  I force a smile. “Take as much time as you need.”

  Toby nods shyly, ducking his head and biting on that lush red lip again. “It’s not that I don’t find you attractive, Van. I mean….” He blushes deeply and gestures down the hall toward the room with the pool table. Toby takes a deep breath, meeting my gaze straight on. “To be honest, I don’t know about the hiding, Van. And I understand, I do. I just don’t have the best track record with men, and I need time to work this out.”

  God, this man, my lack of willpower around him—it’s going to do me in. I want to pull him into my arms, hold him tight, and promise I would never hurt him like the bastard from his past, but I can’t make that promise. I am in the closet, whether I like it or not. That’s my life. Asking Toby to make that sacrifice isn’t something to be taken lightly.

  “All right.” I reach out and caress his smooth jawline. Pulling him gently toward me, I give him a chaste kiss. “You done?” I gesture at the half-empty bowl in front of him.

  “Oh, yes. Thank you.”

  I grab the dishes, bringing them to the sink to avoid letting Toby see the disappointment on my face. I’m not used to rejection. I want something, I get it. Period. And I’ve never wanted something or someone as much as I want Toby. Giving another person that much power over me is unfamiliar, and I despise how it feels. Between the rejection and the stalking, Toby has me right on the edge of feeling downright hostile.

  The silence between us is deafening. What now? Does he leave? Do I ask him to call me? Wait around the phone like a clingy schoolgirl? I turn to face Toby, who is still perched on his barstool, his expression making him look as confused as I feel.

  My phone rings, the Sunday Night Football theme breaking the awkward moment. That ringtone means it’s someone from work, so there’s no ignoring it. I snatch it off the island and glance at the screen. Walt.

  “Sorry.” I glance at Toby. “It’s my trainer.” He nods, and I swipe to answer.

  “Walt,” I say in a clipped tone.

  “Van, did the yoga instructor come by?”

  The muscles in my back tense, and my hand curls around the phone. “I don’t need you checking up on me, Walt.”

  Walt sighs, raising my hackles further. “You’ve ignored my instructions for the past month, Van. I need to be sure you’ll be ready for training camp. It’s my job.”

  I grunt, irritated from Toby’s nonanswer and now Walt’s meddling. “He’s here now, if you must know.” I flick my eyes over to Toby, who appears a little green around the gills. I give Toby a smile and a wink, letting him know he’s not in any trouble. Walt has no idea what happened between us, and I sure as hell have no intention of telling him.

  “Good. May I talk to him?”

  I turn my back to Toby so he won’t see me seething with anger. “Goddammit, Walt. You’re crossing the line. I told you the instructor is here. What the fuck do you want from me?” A gentle and unexpected touch to my arm makes me flinch.

  Toby is standing next to me, hand open. “I’ll talk to him, Van. It’s not a problem.”

  I grind my teeth together, pissed at Walt for putting Toby on the spot like this. The guy is skittish enough. Anything Walt says has the potential to freak Toby the fuck out.

  “It’s okay, Van,” Toby says, his honeyed voice sending a shiver down my spine, relaxing my tense muscles.

  “Fine,” I say to Toby before barking into the phone. “Don’t be an asshole, Walt.” I drop the device into Toby’s open palm. It’s frustrating that I can only hear one side of the conversation.

  “Hello, this is Tobias Bennett.”

  “Yes.”

  “No, I just arrived, actually. I called Mr. Archer to rearrange for a later time.”

  My eyes bulge at the lie Toby gives to cover for our “extracurriculars.”

  “We’re about to begin.”

  “Yes, I’ll make sure he follows the program.”

  Walt must make some sort of smartass comment, because Toby chuckles. “I’m sure he’ll be a model client.”

  “Yes, sir. Bye.”

  Toby hands the phone back as I stand there gaping. He circles the island and grabs his bag off a chair, then pulls out a rolled-up yoga mat and a small speaker to attach to his phone. I’m still frozen in place when Toby looks at me and cocks his head.

  “Where do you want to set up?”

  Confused, it takes me a minute to respond. “What?”

  “Regardless of our previous liaison and the one that happened a little while ago, I am, in fact, here to help you with your rehabilitation.” His gaze darts around the room. “What I did was highly unprofessional, and I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

  I open my mouth to speak, but Toby grabs his mat and glides barefoot into the formal living room. The barrage of arguments on the tip of my tongue is difficult to keep inside, but I don’t want to fight with Toby. Instead I retrieve my own yoga mat from the hall closet and head into the stuffy, opulently decorated room.

  “I’d rather work out in the gym, if you don’t mind. I hate this room.” I’m nearly shouting, my emotions still all over the place from Toby’s nonanswer to going out with me and his icy cold shoulder after speaking with Walt.

  Toby’s head snaps up, fear flickering across his face so quick it’s a “blink and you missed it” moment.

  “Okay,” he responds calmly.

  I grunt like the rude bastard I’ve turned into over the last fifteen minutes and lead the way to my hom
e gym.

  Graceful and gorgeous, I can’t tear my eyes away from Toby as he unrolls his mat and fiddles with his phone. Tranquil music mixed with sounds of nature floats from the small speaker. Toby sits cross-legged on his mat and closes his eyes. I watch, entranced, as he takes deep breaths, his defined chest rising and falling at an even pace.

  “Aren’t you going to sit?” he asks.

  Prickly heat floods my face from being caught ogling. I unroll my own mat and copy Toby, sitting and facing the wall of mirrors. Toby stands up and directs me through each pose. Whenever he needs to correct my posture, Toby’s hands scorch my skin, leaving a searing impression of his fingers behind.

  When Toby bends into a pose he calls upward plank, I nearly choke on my tongue. He’s holding himself face up, raised toward the ceiling with his arms propped straight beneath him. His long, rippling body is high off the mat at his shoulders, slanting down in a straight line to his feet. Toby’s head is thrown back, dark hair hanging off his forehead. But it’s his groin I can’t tear my eyes off of. The way his body is displayed, the bulge in his loose pants is more than obvious, and now that I’ve had a taste, I want more.

  Much, much more.

  Toby

  THREE TIMES a week for the past two weeks, I’ve made the drive to Van’s exclusive Beverly Park neighborhood, where wealth is displayed obscenely and openly. I try not to think about Austin when I pass the huge mansions, or the future he insisted he deserved. A future including a neighborhood just like Van’s.

  It’s awkward and uncomfortable to be around the big, sexy, imposing man after telling him I had to think about my answer to his wanting to date, but I do my job as promised, helping Van with different poses to heal and strengthen his hamstring as well as the muscles supporting and opposing the injured one.

  He never brings up the subject of “us” or asks me if I’ve made a decision, which I appreciate. But at the same time, I wonder if I’ve made him wait too long to give him an answer. Maybe he’s moved on and found someone else. Someone who isn’t stupid enough to turn down a hot famous football player when he asks him on a date.

  Frustrated, I turn off my computer, my mind too preoccupied to make any real progress on my latest creation. Computer programming, developing innovative software—that’s my real passion. Yoga and parkour are what keep me sane. When Austin began controlling more and more of my life, cutting me off from friends and family, I used the physical activity to keep my mind and body balanced, purposely choosing two hobbies that require extreme concentration and calm along with athletic skill.

  A loud knock at my door is followed by Leo sweeping into my apartment.

  “Leo, thanks for waiting for me to invite you in.”

  He gives me big puppy dog eyes, pouting his lips. “At least I knocked this time.”

  I’ll give him that. Leo lives next door and treats my apartment as if it’s an extension of his own. He’s a social creature, needing human contact a lot more than me. Leo is a good guy and a good friend, so I’m happy to fulfill his need to socialize when he wants to. I’m not antisocial per se, but Austin systematically took away every social outlet I had until I was left with the shocking realization that I don’t really know how to talk to people anymore.

  Leo is a big help in that department. He talks a lot.

  “Let’s go out tonight,” he says, perching on the arm of my couch. He props his chin on his hand, elbow on his knee. “Come on, T. Pleeeeeease?”

  I swivel my computer chair to face my friend. He’s all decked out in full flaming club wear, from his tall, teased hair all the way down to his bright orange Converse high-tops. His shirt is shiny and tight, with some kind of band logo on the front. His skinny jeans are equally tight, only they’re a shocking shade of turquoise. I flick my eyes up to his. Yep, there it is: eyeliner.

  “Jesus, Leo. I’ll need sunglasses to look at you.”

  Leo huffs and leaps to his feet. He stalks toward me, circling my chair in a predatory way. “You need help, my friend.”

  I stand up, feeling defensive. “What do you mean?”

  Leo crosses his arms and stares. “Look at you, T. Black shirt, black jeans, black shoes….” He waves a hand up and down my body as if it’s obvious what’s wrong with me. “Your clothes have no personality. They make you look all blah and boring.”

  “Blah and boring?” I stare down at my clean shirt and jeans. “I’m comfortable.”

  Leo raises an eyebrow. “Honey, if comfort was the goal, we would all go out in lumpy sweats and those big, fuzzy Ugg boots.” He shudders, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “Let me do this, T. You seem kind of down lately. I promise. A wardrobe makeover with a night out dancing and flirting is just what you need.”

  I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck. I have been kind of depressed lately, waffling in making a decision about dating Van. On one hand, I really, really want him. He’s kind, funny, and caring. On the other hand, he’s super wealthy, famous, and completely in the closet. Oh, and much stronger than me physically. Too much like Austin for me to have a lot of confidence in pursuing a relationship.

  “Okay, I’ll go.”

  Leo bounces up and down, squealing and clapping his hands.

  “On one condition.”

  “Whatever it is, yes!” he shouts gleefully.

  “YOU WANT me to go in there?” Leo asks, disgust written plainly on his delicate features.

  “It’s a bar, Leo. They serve food and drinks,” I respond, reaching for the door.

  “It’s a sports bar, T. It’s so butch I can practically taste the testosterone from out here.” Leo cocks his hip, putting one hand on it as he stares me down.

  “I know, but you promised. I want to talk to you before we go to the club.” I look away from Leo’s probing gaze. “I just figured, you know, we’ve been friends for a while, and I’ve never told you about my ex.”

  Leo puts his hand on my wrist. “Okay, T. Lead the way.” I flick my gaze back to Leo’s, seeing nothing but kindness and support.

  With a deep breath, I pull open the door and walk into the bar. Leo sticks close to me, the guy so clearly uncomfortable I actually feel kind of bad for dragging him here, but I like this place. It’s not much, and it’s not a gay establishment, but they have beer and bar food and loads of sports on TV. I don’t care much for sports, but I like the atmosphere. It’s fun and loud and filled with men without the pressure of being hit on every two seconds.

  The place is only half-full, but nearly every head turns our way as we enter. As eyes widen and people begin murmuring to each other, I realize my mistake. Unlike the other times I’ve been to this bastion of everything heterosexual, tonight, Leo and I are dressed for clubbing. Gay clubbing. We couldn’t be more obvious if we walked in buck naked and rolled in rainbow glitter.

  “Over there,” I whisper, pointing at a booth on the far side of the bar. Leo clutches at my arm, his gaze skating around the room, never stopping on one thing for longer than a second or two before moving on.

  When we slide into opposite sides of the booth, we both exhale.

  “That was just awful, T. It was like walking the catwalk at fashion week and finding out you’re wearing Walmart clothes when you get to the end of the runway.”

  “What? Is that something you’ve thought about?”

  Leo shrugs. “I’ve had a few nightmares.”

  Leo works for an up-and-coming fashion designer, mostly running errands and doing grunt work, but he loves the industry and knows he has to start at the bottom of the food chain. He’s grateful to have the job, and I’ve never heard him complain.

  A waitress comes over, handing us menus and two glasses of ice water. She eyes us both suspiciously but doesn’t say a word about how out of place we look. “Would you like anything to drink?”

  “I’ll have a 24th Street, draught,” I tell the waitress.

  “Ummmm.” Leo wrinkles his brow, unsure what to order.

  “It’s a full bar, Leo. You can get wha
tever you want.”

  “Okay. Then I’d like a dirty banana,” he says to the girl, whose mouth promptly drops open. Leo gives her the same derisive eyebrow lift he gives me when he’s making a point. She nods and hurries away.

  “Well, you got your courage back quickly,” I muse.

  My friend flicks his blond hair out of his eyes and huffs. “No, I just decided I’m not going to worry about what these people think.”

  Our drinks arrive, along with a hostile look from the big bear of a bartender. I order a plate of nachos to share, and the waitress leaves us alone.

  “So.” Leo folds his hands on top of the table, eyeing me. “What did you want to talk about?”

  I nearly choke on my beer at the thought of talking about Austin. I manage to swallow it down and put my glass on the table. “Okay.” I gather my courage. “My last boyfriend. He was… not nice.”

  Leo frowns. “What do you mean?” Then Leo gasps, gripping his shirt over his chest. “Oh my God, Toby. Did he hit you?”

  “Not exactly. Well, sort of. I don’t know, Leo. It was abusive, I know, but it all built up over such a long period of time, I didn’t realize what was going on until it was too late.”

  “Explain,” he demands, then sips from his weird banana cocktail. Yuck.

  The nachos arrive, and I pick at them while sorting out my thoughts. “Austin was very charming at first. Good-looking, driven, polite….” I actually smile at the memory. “He swept me right off my feet.”

  “How old were you?” Leo asks around a mouthful of food.

  I thrust a napkin at him. “Nineteen. He was twenty-five.”

  “So you were in college, then?”

  I shake my head. “No. I finished college at eighteen.” Leo gapes as if he doesn’t recognize me. “I’m a, uh, quick learner.”

  “Toby, that’s not a quick learner. Are you some kind of genius or something?”

  “Or something,” I mumble. I shove away the memories of growing up as my parents’ pride and joy, the child prodigy, doing calculus by eleven, finishing high school at fourteen. No social life, no fun, no proms or dates or after-school clubs. It was all work all the time in order to make them happy. No wonder I rolled so easily under Austin’s thumb.