it hard and it’ll come on.” Alec goes into the kitchen and opens the fridge.
“Okay.” As much as I hate it, all I can think is maybe that’s a sign for me to relax. Before I say anything to him—when really I don’t even know where in the hell to start—I need to cool off. A cold shower is the best place I can think to start.
Chapter Eleven
Alec
By the time Brandon gets out of the shower, I’m sitting in one of the two chairs on my balcony. It’s small so there’s not a lot of room. My grill is in the right corner, and then the two chairs on the other side, no more than five feet away from the barbecue. The charcoal just turned gray enough for me to put the burgers on.
There’s beer left from when Logan was here so before Brand comes out, I call through the sliding screen door, “There’s beer in the fridge if you want one.”
“Thanks.” His words drift through the house hitting me with this ridiculous sense of shock that Brandon Chase is in my apartment right now. When he called things off, it was like someone carved my heart out of my chest. Yeah, dramatic but true. I knew, when he had the balls to do that, I
knew
we were done.
And we still are. That knowledge is in the back of my head. We don’t have a future. I know Brandon. He’s going to work his ass off and he’ll play ball again and he won’t ever come out to his team.
And yet, he’s here and I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact.
When the screen squeaks behind me, I lean forward so Brandon can get past me to sit in the other chair, before putting my feet up on the railing. It’s a battle to resist the urge to glance over at him and see what he’s wearing.
“Burgers on?” Out of the corner of my eye, I see him take a drink of beer.
“Yep. I got my own special seasoning too. They’ll kick ass and then you’ll regret ever talking shit to me about grilling.”
Brandon laughs, before nudging my arm. “I was teasing you. You can’t take a joke anymore?”
This time, I don’t stop myself from looking over. His brown eyes are on me, with what I’ve always thought looks like gold highlights in them. “I can take it.”
Those highlights look like they were lit on fire. “You’re doing that shit on purpose.”
“What?” I tease.
“Fuck you. You’re a guy. You know exactly how my head automatically took that.”
At that, I laugh. “Sorry if your
head
can’t handle it.” My eyes dart to his crotch before I stand, ready to flip the food. Brandon reaches his hand out but before he makes contact with my arm, he seems to realize what he’s doing and drops it.
If we’d been inside, he would have pulled me to him. Those first summers we spent together the touches were less frequent, more nervous. But at the end, when we managed to sneak away so it was only the two of us, we weren’t afraid to put our hands on each other.
I wonder if it’s like that for everyone. If people in love want to feel the other person all the time like we did.
Hell, maybe it didn’t mean anything and we were just horny but also too chicken shit to do much about it.
After flipping the burgers I sit back down next to him. The sun’s getting lower but it’s still hot out. Brand’s wearing another T-shirt and shorts that hang below his knees.
“Are you embarrassed by your scar?” I ask him.
“No.” He takes a drink of his beer. “You know me better than that. I’m not that superficial.” Another drink. “I don’t like to look at it. It reminds me of everything—that I could have died, that I’m scrawny as hell now—”
“You’re not scrawny.”
“For me, I am. And that I have to work up to do shit I used to do easily. That I could lose football.”
“Would you really hate to lose it?” As soon as the question comes out, I know it’s stupid.
“Fuck yeah. Even you would hate to lose it. That means you don’t have a choice. That something was taken away from you. No matter what, Al, you know there’s a part
“Okay.” As much as I hate it, all I can think is maybe that’s a sign for me to relax. Before I say anything to him—when really I don’t even know where in the hell to start—I need to cool off. A cold shower is the best place I can think to start.
Chapter Eleven
Alec
By the time Brandon gets out of the shower, I’m sitting in one of the two chairs on my balcony. It’s small so there’s not a lot of room. My grill is in the right corner, and then the two chairs on the other side, no more than five feet away from the barbecue. The charcoal just turned gray enough for me to put the burgers on.
There’s beer left from when Logan was here so before Brand comes out, I call through the sliding screen door, “There’s beer in the fridge if you want one.”
“Thanks.” His words drift through the house hitting me with this ridiculous sense of shock that Brandon Chase is in my apartment right now. When he called things off, it was like someone carved my heart out of my chest. Yeah, dramatic but true. I knew, when he had the balls to do that, I
knew
we were done.
And we still are. That knowledge is in the back of my head. We don’t have a future. I know Brandon. He’s going to work his ass off and he’ll play ball again and he won’t ever come out to his team.
And yet, he’s here and I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact.
When the screen squeaks behind me, I lean forward so Brandon can get past me to sit in the other chair, before putting my feet up on the railing. It’s a battle to resist the urge to glance over at him and see what he’s wearing.
“Burgers on?” Out of the corner of my eye, I see him take a drink of beer.
“Yep. I got my own special seasoning too. They’ll kick ass and then you’ll regret ever talking shit to me about grilling.”
Brandon laughs, before nudging my arm. “I was teasing you. You can’t take a joke anymore?”
This time, I don’t stop myself from looking over. His brown eyes are on me, with what I’ve always thought looks like gold highlights in them. “I can take it.”
Those highlights look like they were lit on fire. “You’re doing that shit on purpose.”
“What?” I tease.
“Fuck you. You’re a guy. You know exactly how my head automatically took that.”
At that, I laugh. “Sorry if your
head
can’t handle it.” My eyes dart to his crotch before I stand, ready to flip the food. Brandon reaches his hand out but before he makes contact with my arm, he seems to realize what he’s doing and drops it.
If we’d been inside, he would have pulled me to him. Those first summers we spent together the touches were less frequent, more nervous. But at the end, when we managed to sneak away so it was only the two of us, we weren’t afraid to put our hands on each other.
I wonder if it’s like that for everyone. If people in love want to feel the other person all the time like we did.
Hell, maybe it didn’t mean anything and we were just horny but also too chicken shit to do much about it.
After flipping the burgers I sit back down next to him. The sun’s getting lower but it’s still hot out. Brand’s wearing another T-shirt and shorts that hang below his knees.
“Are you embarrassed by your scar?” I ask him.
“No.” He takes a drink of his beer. “You know me better than that. I’m not that superficial.” Another drink. “I don’t like to look at it. It reminds me of everything—that I could have died, that I’m scrawny as hell now—”
“You’re not scrawny.”
“For me, I am. And that I have to work up to do shit I used to do easily. That I could lose football.”
“Would you really hate to lose it?” As soon as the question comes out, I know it’s stupid.
“Fuck yeah. Even you would hate to lose it. That means you don’t have a choice. That something was taken away from you. No matter what, Al, you know there’s a part
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