Down by Contact

by Santino Hassell

  I waited just in case Gavin tried to bust in with another rant. He didn’t, so I cleared my throat and tried to put it into words. No matter how I tried to form the sentences, they sounded wrong. That I thought Adrián’s confusion had led to his hostility, and that him being brought up in the world of professional sports had fed into his behavior and lack of awareness about his own feelings for me.

  And I was convinced he had feelings beyond lust. There was no other reason why he’d looked so hurt and rejected after I’d told him about Judd. Or why he defaulted to protective so quickly. It wasn’t just about being blessed with a blowjob. He cared about me in a way he wasn’t set up to deal with. My main question was . . . what should I do about it? Tell him to go fuck himself, or keep exploring whatever was between us until I figured out whether it was just a game to me or . . . if I really wanted to nurture this connection into becoming more?

  I’d never actually had a relationship before, so the notion was abstract to me. Football had been my life since junior high, and even after I’d accepted my gayness, there hadn’t been a lot of opportunities to find out, gay boys around my age in high school. The fact that I’d had my sights set on the NFL from age sixteen had also scared me into never doing anything that could get me outed, which meant no sneaking around with the same boy.

  But unloading all that on Gavin and Marcus while the wind whipped at me and raindrops started coming down heavier wasn’t going to happen. Especially . . . especially when they were both going to read me on my level of thirst outweighing my dignity and self-preservation. And fuck it—maybe they were right. Maybe I was ridiculous for even entertaining the idea of taking a chance on this fool boy downstairs, but I knew I was gonna do it. I could feel it in the growing impatience at how long this phone call was taking when I really wanted go back downstairs and see what he was doing.

  “Let me let y’all go.”

  “What?”

  “Simeon, come on,” Marcus protested. “We’re just worried.”

  “There’s nothing to worry about. I get to enjoy a dude who can lay that good pipe for a few more weeks without worrying about him taking blackmail video. He can’t screw me over without outing himself, right?”

  Gavin exhaled slowly. It was sad that I could identify him by his disgusted sighs.

  “Right,” Marcus said grudgingly. “Just be careful.”

  “I’ll try my best.”

  I hung up and went downstairs just as the pitter-patter turned into a downpour. The storm wasn’t set to hit the shore until after eight in the evening, but the wind was already causing tree limbs to swing wildly. It gave me a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach. This sense of foreboding that was likely overblown and based on my own paranoia about weather like this.

  I paused in the stairway to make one last call to my mother, reassuring her I was somewhere safe, before reentering Adrián’s apartment. It was quiet inside except for the low drone of the news. The locks clicking into place were deafening. In fact, wandering through the apartment to look for him was a weird experience without his presence by my side or at least his big mouth booming through the space.

  It was the first time I’d gotten a chance to take a real look around. Fancier than suited him with the chrome appliances, sleek furniture, and gray, black, and white décor. Adrián would fit more somewhere homey—a two-story house with a deck, colorful walls and soft furniture, and plenty of decorations pushed on him from his mother. He struck me as a mama’s boy, which was sort of adorable.

  “Bravo?”

  “Yeah.”

  His voice floated from the upper level, which I’d never seen. The staircase was spindly, and I felt like a dinosaur stomping up it. The steps felt hollow beneath my tennis shoes, like I’d fall through, and wow, I was getting morbid in my anxiety. Shaking it off, I gave the upstairs a cursory once-over and found him in what I assumed was his bedroom. One entire wall was a window facing the waterfront, and the rest was in cool gray and blue tones with an enormous mattress on a low platform bed. He was sprawled on top of it, still wearing his hoodie and jeans but minus his Timbs.

  “This apartment really isn’t you, Bravo.”

  He didn’t come back at me with a smart comment. The change was made more obvious by his still expression and the hard set of his mouth. O-kay. This was going to be fun.

  “It’s dreary. You strike me as a guy who loves bright colors and loud music.”

  “I do.”

  “So how come your apartment looks like my agent’s office?”

  He finally cracked a tiny smile. “Truth? This was a model apartment. I told them I wanted it so I didn’t have to think too hard while traveling, and I was tired of sharing an apartment with Rocky.”

  Ah, Rocky Swoops. The only other guy in the NFL who had a reputation as bad as Gavin’s. Although in his case, he deserved it. He wasn’t just aggressive by nature; he appeared to genuinely enjoy hurting people, if I went by his low-key bragging on social media. How he didn’t get tapped for his behavior was beyond me.

  “Why didn’t you like living with Rocky?” I asked, throwing myself on the bed beside him. “You know I fucking hate that guy, but I’m curious about an objective comment on him.”

  “Well . . .”

  Adrián folded his hands behind his head, gazing up at the ceiling while I stared at his profile. It was an odd thing to be hung up on, but I loved his nose. Between it and his dimples, it was hard not to find him absolutely adorable. The lips and intense eyes upped the ante to fuckable. His body upped it further to cause-for-dehydration.

  I stopped checking him out and realized he’d zoned out.

  “Answer.”

  “I’m trying to figure out how to answer without throwing my boy under the bus.”

  Here we go. I rolled onto my side, face braced with my hand. “It’s just you and me here. I’m not about to publicize the fact that we were gabby about your teammate while we lay in bed.”

  He laughed. “So true. Okay, well, I’ve been thinking a lot about my team in the past couple of weeks. I guess after you laid it down about why you were relieved to go, and how being around them made you feel, and I never thought of it that way before.” Adrián took a deep, slow breath and rolled his eyes over to me. “All that shit we say when we’re joking around . . . I guess I’d never thought about how it’d come off to someone who’s actually queer, you know?”

  “Sugar, do you really think I’m the only gay man in the NFL? Or that Brawley’s the only bisexual?”

  “Nah. I mean . . . a couple months ago I maybe thought that shit, but now I realize no one will ever come out if their team is as fucking hostile as the Predators. In fact, they probably double down on the homophobia just to cover up their queerness. To seem less . . . suspect or whatever.” Adrián’s mouth sank down. He reached out to pull at a thread in my hoodie, tugging it and hyper-focusing on the little string. “It’s just that I grew up with athletes, and a lot of people made jokes that weren’t ‘PC’ and shit, you know? It was just kinda normal, and I never thought anyone talking mess ever meant it, so it seemed harmless.”

  “Uh-huh . . .” I sure as hell hoped this was going somewhere I could tolerate. “Now?”

  “Now I’m just like . . . I dunno, man. I think a lot of people who used to make comments legit hated gay people, and I was helping to let it slide by going along with it or laughing or saying their sense of humor just ‘wasn’t PC.’”

  “Like Rocky.”

  “Yeah,” he said dully. “Like Rocky. It’s weird because . . . he’s different when it’s just us. When I was living with him, there was this whole other side of him. He’d talk about books and knows all of this random trivia. His favorite movies are like Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings, dude. He has an entire personality that nobody knows about. And then all of a sudden he’s out in public or on social media, or in the locker room, being a monster
. It doesn’t make sense how he flips so fast. I’m starting to think the only one who has ever seen that other side of him is me. When I try to tell other people, even guys on our team, they look at me like I’m making shit up.”

  “Okay, so, please enlighten me as to why you’re so hung up on this now? No offense, but I knew Rocky was a homophobe after he steady subbed me after I came out. You thought that was a joke?”

  Adrián didn’t say anything. I sat up and leaned over him, glaring.

  “Uh-uh. No sir, you do not get to clam up now that I’m asking the hard questions.” When he stayed shut, I shoved his shoulder. “If you’re trying to clear the air with me you need to speak up.”

  He sighed and flicked an annoyed glare at me, but it dissolved as soon as it landed. “I’m sorry, Simeon. I’m sorry I’m so stupid I didn’t see how awful he was until I started . . .”

  Lord, we were about to be here forever if I left it up to his hesitant ass.

  “Until you started catching feelings for me?”

  Adrián covered his face with his hands, fingers digging in. “Fuck. Yes.”

  My posture eased, and tension I hadn’t realized had been clinging to me dissipated. I’d been waiting for this moment for a few weeks now—wanting him to admit he wanted me and later that he liked me. What I hadn’t anticipated was this relief. Or to feel like it’d mattered outside of my secret project to help him realize he’s fucking queer too.

  “Why’d you get quiet?” he asked from behind his hands. “I figured I made it obvious today.”

  “It was obvious for a while, Adrián. I just didn’t think you’d ever accept it.”

  “Because it’s ridiculous.” He pushed himself up and hunched over to bury his face in his hands. The turtle mode was serious. After all the flirting and touching and even the fucking, it was this moment that was breaking him down. I didn’t know whether to be in awe of how much straight men valued their heterosexuality or to be sad that he was potentially going to mourn it this hard. “I’ve only ever wanted women. My entire life, the only dude I’ve ever looked twice at is you. From the moment I saw the ESPN clip about you on signing day like seven years ago. You were talking about how being in the League was an honor, and you kept stressing your community instead of just talking about yourself. I guess I related, because when I signed, the first thing I thought of was how proud my mom would be.”

  It was legitimately heartwarming. The last time a guy had told me a story about the first time he’d noticed me, the emphasis had been on my dick print.

  “Please tell me more. I love a good story about how charming and alluring I am.”

  Adrián dropped his hands with a laugh. “You’re such a jackass. I’m tormented here.”

  “I understand your torment, but I’m pretty hype about hearing the tales of you lusting for me.”

  His mouth twitched up, and he grabbed my sweater, tugging me forward playfully. I had no idea if he was going to mush my head or shake me, but I swooped in for another kiss against those sweet lips. There was another moment of that automatic tensing before he parted his lips for mine and swiped my tongue with his own.

  Groaning, I leaned back. “I hope this conversation isn’t going to end up with you telling me we can’t fuck anymore. I kind of like being able to mess with someone I can trust not to expose my filth.”

  “How you think I feel? I just figured out I’m probably not straight.” He stumbled over the words, but it was beautiful nonetheless. Another athlete finding his queer wings. “I probably should have figured it out before . . . back when I found an excuse to talk to you at training camp and then hounded you until you’d come out with me.”

  “And when you acted like a scorned lover after I signed with the Barons?”

  “That too.”

  Silence blanketed us as the wind picked up outside. It wasn’t exactly a howl, but the whipping against the windows was foreboding. The room grew dimmer as daylight became less capable of breaking through the thickening storm clouds. For outer bands of the storm, it was a lot. For the first time, I wondered if we should have gone somewhere more secure than this building.

  I grabbed Adrián’s hand without thinking and squeezed.

  “Keep talking,” I said.

  He looked down at our entangled fingers and half smiled. It didn’t seem boyish as much as tense. We were both on edge, but the sense of impending doom was hitting us for vastly different reasons. I’d wanted him to know how it felt to be alone in the harsh world of professional sports, but the acceptance of his queerness was blighting the customary Bravo shine. I couldn’t help wondering: is not being straight really this much of a death sentence in his mind?

  “Fine, I’ll talk,” I said. “Marcus and Gavin were betting on whether or not we were sleeping together.”

  “Are you for real?”

  “Yeah. They know me. And they know I have no self-control when it comes to pretty boys who are bad for me.”

  “Ha. Pretty boys? Speak for yourself, with your red hair and freckles. Looking like an extra on Eve’s Bayou and shit.”

  My laugh was so loud it filled the silent house. “You dumbass. Is that the only movie you could think of with Creole folks?”

  “Yeah. Basically.”

  “Yeah, well, I fucking love that movie, so good job.” I shook my head, smiling. His sense of humor needed to stay intact so I didn’t start tripping about him becoming a self-loathing bisexual. I could already hear the rant formulating at the back of my skull, before I even knew it was true. “FYI, Gavin didn’t think I’d touch you with a ten-foot pole. He’s pissed.”

  Adrián’s spine snapped straight. “You told that fucker?”

  “Yeah,” I said, unapologetically. “He’s my friend. I tell him and Marcus everything.”

  Adrián’s brows drew together and annoyance darkened his eyes, but he just sucked his teeth and flopped back on the bed. “Must be nice to have someone you can tell that shit to.”

  “Yeah. It is. You should invest in some non-phobic friends.”

  “I’ll get right on that.” Another sarcastic smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. “You know, there were times in the past few months I swore you and Gavin were fucking.”

  “Because we’re both queer?”

  “I guess? But also because . . . that dude who sold the video was big and blond. Brawley is big and blond. Guess I started assuming your type was blond-headed white boys.”

  “Why were you even pressed over my type?”

  The answer was so obvious that it didn’t need to be spoken aloud, but he said, “Because I was resentful about it, even though I didn’t realize why at the time. The first thing that popped into my head when you came out was . . . how come you’d never tried to kick it to me if you were gonna get on your knees for some fucking frat boy at a club. I got so pissed.” Adrián rolled his eyes at himself. “Even at the time, I knew it was a weird thing to think, so I blocked it out. But it came back today. Earlier.”

  “Because of Judd,” I said. “Because he’s another blond-headed dude trying to get in my ass.”

  “Bingo.” Adrián sighed long and loud and utterly disgusted with himself. “This is so messed up, man. Why am I only knowing this now? Why you and not anyone else?”

  “I don’t know, Adrián. Would figuring that out really make you feel better?”

  “Uh, yes. I’m not used to this. This is not—”

  Thunder cracked so loudly outside that I literally jumped up from the bed with my heart in my throat. Adrián snickered, and I flipped him off.

  “Fuck yo—”

  This time when the sky lit up and thunder rolled out from the ocean to muffle every other sound, it was accompanied by a low hum in the building. The room was already dark, but the LED lights on the various devices that had been plugged into the wall blinked out. White noise I hadn’t even noticed
in the background abruptly ended, and there was nothing but the storm and voices ringing out from outside.

  I looked out the window and winced. The sky was apocalyptic, and all the street lights were out. With Adrián’s windows facing the East River, I could also see, across the water, that some of the lights in Manhattan had gone out as well.

  “Well,” I said. “Looks like shit just got serious.”

  “What happened?” Adrián asked from the bed. “Lights out on the block?”

  “Maybe in the whole damn city.”

  “For real?”

  Adrián slid off the side of the bed and joined me by the window. He pressed his fingers against the glass, smudging his fingerprints against it like a child, and let his eyes go wide with surprise.

  “I didn’t think the lights could ever go out in this city, man. I know they said it happened a few years back, but I never seen it with my own eyes. I lived in Jersey at the time.”

  “Freaky, yeah?”

  Adrián nodded slowly. I watched him scan the streets below his building, a furrow in his brow.

  “What’s up?”

  “Nothing, it’s just that—fuck.”

  “What?” I followed the trajectory of his scowl but saw nothing. “What are you seeing that I’m not seeing, boo?”

  Adrián jutted his finger in the direction of the pier. “Brayden. Like clockwork, every day, he goes down to the pier and meets some lady.”

  My eyes flew to the pier in question, and, sure enough, I spotted Brayden’s slim figure walking towards the railing on the pier. A woman waited there, but she was so heavily wrapped against the wind and rain that it was impossible to make out her features.

  “Who is that?”

  “I dunno. I figured it wasn’t none of my business to ask, since I put a moratorium on personal questions, you know? But she can’t be too savvy if she’s dragging this kid out on the pier in a hurricane.”

  “Tropical depression,” I muttered. “Why are they just kicking it down there? The wind is nuts.”

  “I don’t know, but he needs to take his ass home. I swear to my mother, some of these kids have no kinda common sense.” Adrián exhaled roughly. “Fuck. I’m gonna go down there.”