Out of Bounds

by Gray, Mackenzie

  I shoot Lydia an email to update her on the situation. I’m sorely tempted to buy a drink at a bar, but I’m afraid of the addiction running through my blood. It’s a rotting streak I can’t escape from. An invisible disease lives inside me, waiting for the day I lose my good sense and go a step too far. One drink is all it takes. One drink, and a life destroyed.

  Chapter 14

  Logan

  When I wake up, the first thing I do is turn toward Austin’s bed. The covers are twisted haphazardly and piled at the end. One of the pillows has fallen onto the floor. It’s a little past seven. I listen for the shower, but all is dark and quiet. I’m alone.

  Disappointment slips through me, which is a surprise. Leaning back into my pillows, I stare up at the ceiling. Well, not a complete surprise. I’m always happy to see Austin, and always bummed when he’s gone. That’s just the nature of our relationship. After last night though, the disappointment is more acute.

  I guess I thought—well, I don’t know what I thought. Maybe that we would miraculously wake up simultaneously and fuck like bunnies. Or, you know, talk about last night. Although, to be honest, I’m not sure I’m ready to have that conversation. I basically threw myself at Austin and had no qualms about it. What does that mean? Fuck if I know.

  The first time I kissed Austin, I liked it.

  The second time I kissed him, I liked that even more.

  And when I gave him a blow job, I liked that the most. The memory of his moans makes my dick twitch.

  I’m attracted to my friend. There’s no doubt about it. Sometimes it takes only one experience, one kiss, to open the floodgates. I wonder how it was for Austin. Looking back, he never dated anyone in high school. But that doesn’t mean he didn’t hook up with anyone. Did he know early on he wasn’t attracted to women? Or did that come with time?

  God, the inside of my head is a mess. A combination of dirty thoughts, guilt for thinking them, curiosity about my attraction, and fear as to what this all means. When my brother came out to me a few years ago, he cried because he was so afraid I would reject him. It’s sad our world is the way it is. People aren’t free to show who they really are.

  In the soccer world, homophobia runs rampant. Knowing Austin didn’t hide his sexuality from his college teammates makes me respect him all the more. That takes a lot of guts, especially in a historically conservative state like North Carolina. He’s lucky his teammates were so understanding. No one wants to be ostracized. No one wants to be othered.

  It’s then I notice the breakfast tray on my bedside table. It’s loaded with eggs, bacon, toast, fruit, and juice. Something moves in my chest. I smile as I pull the tray over, because I’m starving and Austin was thoughtful enough to bring me breakfast before he left to go wherever he went.

  Always thoughtful, my friend.

  After chowing down, I get dressed, brush my teeth, and wait a little bit to see if Austin will return. I fight the urge to text him. Don’t want to appear too clingy. It kind of bums me out that he disappeared, since I was hoping to hang out, but it’s probably for the best to take space. I have a lot to think about anyway. And a lot to not think about. Like his cock.

  There’s a large indoor gym at the dorms where we’re staying, so I head downstairs to sweat. After taking ten minutes to stretch, I begin my weight training.

  It’s funny. I never realized how much I missed Austin in my life until he walked through the door two weeks ago. I was flooded with memories: laughing, playing soccer, shooting the shit, going to one another for advice. There was never any fear of acting foolish around Austin, because I knew he accepted me, just as I accepted him. There’s a comfort to that. You can be free.

  Back in high school, I was having issues with a girl I’d been dating for a few weeks. It wasn’t an unusual occurrence. I think the longest I ever dated anyone was a month, if that. The only thing I cared about back then was sex. Or losing my virginity, rather. So every other month or so, when the relationship inevitably began to crumble, I’d go to Austin for relationship advice. He was more grounded than me, and all the girls loved him. They went to our games for him. Wanted to hang out with us—for him. Somehow, he’d managed to perfect the casual I don’t care attitude. A smile tugs at my mouth as I settle onto the quad machine and begin my first set. Now I realize it’s because he wasn’t interested in women. Go figure.

  The girl I dated at the time kept breaking things off, which was frustrating, as this happened every other week it seemed. I thought I was doing everything right. I bought her coffee. I carried her books. I held her hand. I respected her boundaries. Yet she still wasn’t happy with me.

  So one day I’m complaining to Austin about how I can’t keep my on-again, off-again girlfriend happy, when he asks me, “What does she like?”

  I blinked at him in confusion. “What do you mean, ‘What does she like’?” I asked, trying not to get defensive about a simple question I was blanking on.

  He sent me a long, pitying look. As if he knew. We sat on the bleachers following practice, cooling off as the sun sank low in the west, brushing the field in shades of pink and gold. “It’s a simple enough question. What does she like to do? What are her hobbies, her interests?”

  “You mean besides making out with me?” It was meant as a joke, but my voice was strained. Yeah, I had no fucking idea what my girlfriend liked to do. When we hung out, it was mostly so I could try to get to second base. Then she’d want to talk and get to know one another, and I’d make some excuse about how I had soccer, so I couldn’t hang out. I only wanted to see her when it was convenient and beneficial to me.

  Austin managed to come to this conclusion by himself, because he released a long-suffering sigh. “Logan.”

  I waited, knowing he’d have something to say eventually.

  “Do you even like this girl, or are you just using her to get into her pants?”

  That put my back up. There was irritation in his voice that I rarely heard. To think it was directed at me made me feel like shit. “I like her.” It was half the truth, at least. “But I also like getting into her pants,” I added with a rueful smile.

  “And you wonder why she keeps breaking up with you.” He shook his head. “It’s because she feels used. If you really like someone, you want to get to know them, right?” In his eyes was a strange light I couldn’t read.

  I turned away, thinking about what he said. It made sense, which made me feel like a tool in addition to a moron. You want to know your friends, right? You want to know they’re loyal, trustworthy, worth your time. I guess I never applied it to relationships.

  “How about this,” my friend went on. “Ask her what she wants to do this Saturday, and whatever she says, you do that. Even if it’s shopping. Even if it’s taking a walk in the park. Even if there’s a game on. You ask her questions about her interests, her life. You get to know your girlfriend.”

  The advice worked too. I cleaned up my act, actually started hanging out with my girlfriend, a lot of times platonically, and we stayed together for another three months, just in time for me to get my first hand job. Until she dumped me for another guy.

  Austin was always my go-to for life advice. I’m thankful he put up with my idiocy for as long as he did.

  My workout takes me another forty minutes. Soon, I’m soaked in sweat, my muscles aching pleasantly. With practice tomorrow, I went easy on my legs, mostly focusing on the arms and abs. I don’t want to collapse during circuits tomorrow.

  I check my phone. It’s barely noon. And—I’m bored. Which is crazy, because I’m in Paris for God’s sake, but all I want to do right now is hang out with Austin. I hold off on the text. Since he didn’t say where he was going or when he’d be back, I’m guessing he wants to be alone. Now I have to figure out something else to do. I could hang with some of the guys. Or I could see some more of the sights, maybe find a nice café to eat at.

&n
bsp; Or there’s always a run. I’m already dressed for exercise anyway. I don’t usually run on Sundays, but I might as well pass the time wisely.

  The route I take is five miles around the city center. Once outside, I fall into a steady rhythm. I try not to think about last night. It should have been a one-time thing. A moment of exploration. But my body remembers how it felt then, as I knelt in the shower and took Austin in my mouth.

  Alive.

  It didn’t matter that Austin wasn’t a woman. The sounds he made were hot as hell. Desire is desire. Sex is sex.

  The first two miles pass quickly. I decide to take a different route today. I turn down a deserted side street, admiring the architecture of the old buildings, when I pass a place of business with a rainbow flag flapping from its storefront. Another gay bar.

  I hesitate. It’s open, from the looks of it. The street is deserted. I’m unsure, but also curious. Is my attraction toward Austin singular, or is it possible I’m attracted to other men too?

  Before I can talk myself out of it, I slip inside.

  It’s busier than I would have expected, yet quiet despite the number of customers. Conversation is a low murmur. Dark wood, old brass, glass chandeliers. I guess I’m so used to how bars are in America—too loud, too much personality—that I didn’t think it would be any different in other parts of the world.

  Once I take a seat at the bar, the bartender approaches. He’s a young twenty-something man with dark hair, dark eyes, and bulging muscles. I’m perched on the edge of my stool. It’s just a bar. And I’m just a guy, here to buy a drink.

  “What can I get for you?” the bartender asks.

  “I’ll have a Stella, please.”

  He nods and goes to fill up a glass. My eyes track him as he works. I’m not really sure what I’m looking for. A spark? Butterflies? I don’t feel anything, but maybe he’s not my type. Kind of difficult, as I’m not really sure I have a type in men.

  The soccer game is on. Italy versus Birmingham. I was hoping Austin and I would watch it together, but I guess not.

  “This seat taken?”

  I turn toward a man with blond hair and sharp eyes. He’s on the leaner side, and he has a few days’ worth of scruff on his raw-boned face. I see a tattoo peeking out from the collar of his shirt.

  Then he smiles at me with obvious interest, and my pulse spikes.

  Maybe I do have a type after all.

  “It is now,” I say, returning his grin. Holy shit. Did I really just say that, and in a flirty manner, no less?

  His smile widens as he settles beside me. “Jaden,” he says, offering his hand.

  I grasp it, pleased by his firm grip. “Logan.”

  The bartender passes me my beer, then takes Jaden’s order.

  “I’ll have what he’s having,” he says, gesturing to my drink.

  “You got it.”

  The bartender moves away to give us some privacy. My focus narrows on Jaden. I’m aware of his body and how it’s turned toward me, one of his long, jean-clad legs stretched out to the side. His elbows rest on the bar top. My eyes lock onto his corded forearms. Hm. Yep, that’s definitely interest I feel.

  As if noticing where my attention has settled, the muscles of Jaden’s arms flex. He shifts a few inches closer. “So where are you from, Logan?”

  I look into his eyes. They’re light blue, and of a similar piercing quality to Austin’s. But whereas Austin’s gaze is quiet, this guy’s is edged with something sharper, something devilish. “The US. Indiana.”

  “A fellow American.” He dips his chin. “I thought as much. I’m from San Fran.”

  You know, I can kind of see that. I feel like Californians have his certain something about them. Like they’re living ten years ahead of everyone else. “I mean this in the nicest way, but how can you afford to live there?”

  “Ha. I don’t.” I’m only half certain that he’s joking. “I live with three other people and my room is the size of a closet.” He shrugs. “But it is what it is. There’s no living in San Fran. Only surviving.”

  Well, that sounds rather unfortunate. I guess I’m lucky that the place I share with Greg doesn’t break the bank and allows me extra money every month, enough to put into savings.

  “So what brings you to Paris?” Jaden asks. “Are you backpacking?”

  Until this point, our conversation had been easy. Now I’m frozen with what to say. It’s kind of shitty lying to someone I just met, but whatever I’m discovering about my sexuality, I want the soccer world to have no part of it until I’m ready. I’m on a road without a map.

  I take a sip of beer to buy myself time to think. I finally settle on, “Work.” It’s not entirely untrue. I am working. When I join LA Galaxy in a few months, I’ll be better prepared for the professional soccer world.

  “What do you do for work?” He seems genuinely interested.

  Fuck. I take another sip. At this rate I’ll need to ask for a second drink. It’s unlikely I’ll ever see this man again, but it’s best not to risk it. I pull the first thing I can think of out of my ass. “Sales.” I nod convincingly. My father is a salesman. Yes. A family business. Very successful.

  “Oh. What do you sell?”

  It would make sense for me to say something like cars. Or real estate. Or, shit, clothes or computers or those cute fluffy designer dogs. But do I say that?

  No. No, I do not.

  “Dildos.”

  Jaden sucks in a breath as he takes a sip of his beer, and it spews from his mouth. He starts coughing violently, and I slap him on the back to clear his air passage.

  “I’m sorry.” My voice is mild, as if I get this reaction all the time. “I didn’t mean to offend you.” I have no idea what I’m saying right now.

  He shakes his head as the coughing subsides. He drinks from the water glass the bartender sets in front of him. The bartender shoots me a curious look before taking care of a few patrons. “No, I’m not offended. I’m—uh—” Another swallow. “I’ve never heard of someone selling, um, dildos.”

  My brain is fucking with me. It sees I’m in a gay bar, so it immediately goes to something stereotypically crass. Fuck you, brain. Seriously, fuck you.

  “Er.” I cough into my hand. “Yeah. It’s an unusual profession, that’s for sure. But people sure do buy them. Big ones. Small ones. Long one. Thick ones. Skinny ones. Hey, we even have flavored ones. Like—” My mind goes blank. “Bubblegum flavor?” It’s more a question than a statement. “Cherry is a particular favorite.”

  If Austin were here, he’d be dying of laughter right now.

  Jaden makes a vague sound of agreement.

  “You have to be careful with them, though. Use them the wrong way and, well, they might get stuck.”

  His eyes widen.

  “Has that ever happened before? With a customer, I mean?”

  “More often than you might think. Especially with old people.” I nod with great enthusiasm. “You know, they’re not as flexible as they once were, so it’s hard for them to reach.”

  Jaden blinks at me wordlessly. This guy probably thinks I’m crazy.

  He notices me following the game on television. “You a fan?”

  “Of a sort.” I’m not telling him anything more. At least we’re off the topic of dildos for the time being. “You?”

  He shrugs, his smile small and reserved. “You can say that.”

  Jaden is pretty easy to talk to. We talk sports for a while, then the dumpster fire that is the United States government, then travel. He arrived in Paris this summer too, and has visited Prague and Amsterdam as well. I drink a few beers. He does too. The bar goes from relatively busy to slammed in a few short hours. Finally, he leans close and asks, “Do you want to get out of here?”

  At some point during our conversation, he managed to position his body so that
his thighs bracketed mine. I didn’t even notice the change. I’m fighting with my dick to behave itself, because right now, it wants to stand tall and proud, happy from the attention we’re receiving from Jaden.

  One of his palms lands on my thigh. He gives it a slow stroke, sending sparks through me. I’m sure he notices the bulge at my crotch.

  But while my body wants Jaden, my mind is on Austin. His hands on me. His mouth. That little grunt right before he spurted over my chest in the shower. I’ll admit, a part of me wants to see what will happen if I go home with Jaden, but something in my chest makes me hesitate. Austin and I haven’t talked about the shift in our friendship. It’s not like we’re together, but after what we did last night, it now feels wrong to hook up with a different man, at least without talking to Austin first. The truth is, at the end of the day, I’d rather be with him than anyone else.

  I shift away from his hand, my face apologetic. “Actually man, I’m going to head out.”

  “Oh.” Jaden looks more than a little confused and put out. “Well, could I get your number at least? Maybe we can meet up again.”

  My dick twitches in annoyance that we won’t be going home with the very attractive American. He seems so earnest that I can’t find it in myself to deny him this one thing. “Sure.”

  Surely it can’t hurt.

  Can it?

  After I pay my tab and say goodbye to Jaden, I head back to the dorm. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I must have spent three or four hours in that bar, passing the time with conversation. It’s now early evening. I hope Austin’s back from wherever it was he went.

  Back at the room, Austin still isn’t back yet. My breakfast tray is still there. I sit on my bad and scroll through my phone. Nothing. No texts, no calls. I pace and eventually force myself to sit back on my bed and wait.

  Twenty minutes later, the door opens. Austin hesitates for only a second before he comes to sit on his bed, toeing off his shoes. “Hey,” he says, not looking at me.