Open Net (Cayuga Cougars Book 2)

by V. L. Locey

  Our gazes met. I thought about that for a bit. Sal held up the bottle of Patrón and I inclined my head. Another three fingers for me but no more for Sal. The storm had weakened considerably. I reached for my glass as he gently pushed it toward me. My fingers swept over the back of his hand. Electricity strong enough to rival the storm outside crackled along my nerve receptors. Sal’s response was a short inhalation. Did he feel the draw as strongly as I did? Given that he was probably way more experienced, I was sure he had a firm rein on his desires.

  “I’m glad you did too,” I finally said, then lowered my drink from my nose.

  “Are you seeing anyone?” Sal asked.

  I sipped my second glass, letting it wiggle its way down to my stomach. The balmy tentacles slipped around the food, enveloping my core with soft, chocolate radiance. I shook my head.

  “Are you tested regularly?”

  I almost asked “Tested for what?” but then the question sank into my head. “Oh, well, um, when I came up to the Cougars I had a full panel of testing done. I don’t have anything sexual inside me.”

  “You know, for some reason I find that really hard to believe.”

  “I can show you the paperwork,” I quickly countered.

  Sal threw back his head and laughed. It was a great laugh that ended with a short snort.

  “No, August, I’m not calling you a liar. I meant that you’ve got all sorts of sexual things inside you. Powerfully strong sexual things that make it hard for me to stop wondering what your mouth tastes like or how you’d feel wet and naked under me.”

  “Oh, okay.” My face was flaming hot. I pulled my gaze from his and looked out through the sliding glass doors. “Looks like the rain stopped.”

  “You want to shoot some hoops after we get the dishes in the dishwasher? There’s a small court across the street,” he said, his gaze holding no small amount of heat.

  “Yeah, sounds good.”

  “Good.” He pushed himself to his feet as his gaze moved over the dirty dishes and roaster. “I’d better get these dishes into the dishwasher before I have to take a sandblaster to them.”

  I also stood. “Let me help.” I started gathering the plates and silverware. Sal moved around me, his hip brushing mine. Another jolt of raw passion raced to my balls, making them feel hot and heavy. “Do you ever see your parents?”

  “Sure,” he said over his shoulder as we carted dishes into the kitchen. “They live in Elmira, so we’re always doing stuff together.”

  “What do they do for a living?” I enquired as I placed our dishes on the counter.

  “They own Castenada Cleaning. It’s the largest cleaning company in the Twin Tiers,” he stated proudly as our fingers touched yet again. I think I might have wanted it to happen this time. “Not too shabby for a couple of immigrants from south of the border, huh?”

  “Not too bad at all. You’re really incredible.” That was also not really something I’d meant to say out loud, but there it was, hanging there like a big old idiot balloon, just floating in front of our faces. If I would have fit, I would have crawled into the dishwasher. “They’re really incredible I meant. Them. Not you.” He folded his arms over his chest and let me flounder. “I mean, you’re incredible and hot, smart too. Great cook, but I wanted to say they were incredible. Shit.”

  “You’re incredible as well,” Sal replied, his voice a little lower and whole lot raspier. I swallowed. “Let’s get this done and hit the court. I’ll let you wear something of mine, okay?”

  I looked down at my khakis and suit jacket, then at Sal. “That’s cool, thanks.”

  He gave me a look that made the chicken in my stomach feel light and airy. After cleaning up after the meal, I was handed some sweats and a T-shirt then pointed toward the bathroom. It was a small space with a shower stall, toilet and sink, but everything was clean. The towels on the rack smelled freshly laundered. Not that I stuck my face into them or anything. Okay, I did, but just to see if they carried the aroma of Sal’s aftershave. They did not. I folded my pants, shirt, and jacket and laid them on the counter. I stepped out of the bathroom feeling more than a little self-conscious.

  “They’re a little tight,” I said as Sal’s gaze touched me all over. He’d changed into old black athletic shorts and a white tank top. Under his left arm, a basketball rested on his hip. His bared arms and calves were leanly muscled.

  “You have some impressive thighs there, August,” Sal said, and the hunger in his voice was evident.

  “Skating,” I mumbled, then walked over and yanked the sliding glass door open.

  Damp, fresh air blew over my heated flesh. I stepped out into the wet grass, my bare toes sinking into the lush lawn. When I looked over my shoulder to see if Sal was coming or not, I caught him ogling my ass. His gaze rocketed to mine when I cleared my throat.

  A wicked light filled his eyes, then he kicked off his sneakers and jogged out, barefoot, to walk at my side. The tiny playground across the street had one set of swings, two of those animals-on-springs things, and a basketball court. The blacktop was wet and covered with puddles. Bugs were starting to congregate under the two big lights that illuminated the court. Night had moved in with the storm. In the distance you could hear thunder as the rain moved off.

  “First one over twenty-one wins, half court,” Sal announced while bouncing the ball a few times in a big puddle. “Since you’re my guest, you shoot first.”

  He threw the ball at me. Water flew off it when I caught in, peppering my face. Sal moved to defend the hoop. There was no net, just the hoop. I should have suggested we play skins, but that would have shown just how badly I wanted to see his body.

  “You going to shoot, or are you waiting for someone to come in and move me out of your net, papi chulo?”

  I chuckled. “Oh, okay, so it’s going to be that way.”

  Sal rose to his toes and swayed left then right, reminding me of a cat waiting for the mouse to move.

  “What does papi chulo mean? Is that a Canadian chirp?”

  “It means hot boy,” he explained, then lunged right when I went left.

  He had long arms and big hands. I ducked under his left arm, jumped, and sunk the ball soundly. Sal caught it and gave me a look.

  “Looks like the hot boy just deked you good, eh?”

  Things escalated quickly after my first basket. Sal went on to win, but only because he was one of the grabbiest players I had ever gone up against. His hands were everywhere, and while I really enjoyed the grunting grabs, it threw me off enough to cost me a couple of easy shots. We ambled back to his place, ribbing each other as we went. We were both soaked with sweat. His ebony hair was flat to his head. Sal dropped the basketball on his patio and we went directly to the kitchen.

  “Water or sports drink?” he asked while standing in front of the open refrigerator door.

  “Water.”

  He tossed me a bottle, then shoved the fridge shut with his hip. We both twisted open our water bottles and drank thirstily, emptying the bottles quickly. Sal tossed his into a small trash can lined with a white trash bag. I did the same. When my bottle landed neatly among the other recyclable plastics, I grinned proudly at my host.

  “Aug, I really like you.” He stayed on the other side of the kitchen, his expression guarded.

  “I like you too,” I replied, because I did. “I’d kind of like to kiss you.”

  “Good, that’s good. Yeah, I’d like that too.” He smiled, but it was pretty paltry and didn’t reach his eyes. He folded his arms over his chest, swallowed, then lifted his chin. “I was hoping we could discuss this over dinner, but somehow we got sidetracked.” Clouds of anxiety surrounded him. “Okay, so here it is. Remember I told you about the morning I told my family I was gay?”

  “Sure, it was right after you got plastered on your twenty-first birthday.”

  “Right, exactly. God, this is always the worst part,” he said weakly, his head moving slowly back and forth. He lifted his sight from h
is bare feet. The pain in his gaze made me ache. “That night I hooked up with some guy in the club we went to. It was just a hook-up, right?”

  I nodded, because he really looked like he wanted me to get what he was working so hard to tell me.

  “Lots of sloppy, not-so-great sex. I was drunk, he was drunk. We didn’t use any condoms. I ended up contracting HIV that night. Happy birthday to me, huh?”

  My mind shut down for fifteen seconds. Or hours. It could have been hours. It sure felt like hours with Sal looking at me, waiting for me to say something.

  “That dickhead,” I growled.

  Sal blinked as if he were surprised by my anger. “No, he didn’t know,” he quickly explained. “When I found out, I spent weeks tracking him down. He’d moved from Elmira to Akron, to work on gas pipelines. When I told him, he cried. Like I did when the lab results came back.”

  “Sal, I don’t even know what to say…” I shook off a couple of stupid things that wanted to come out. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay? I mean, are you sick?”

  “No, I’m good. I take my meds, eat right, work out, drink in moderation, and don’t smoke or do drugs.”

  “Good, I’m glad you’re feeling good.” That was the truth.

  “So what are you feeling right now?” He was still standing way across the room, holding himself around the middle, as if he was expecting a roundhouse kick to the sternum or something. “I would totally get it if you walked out and didn’t come back. Most guys do, and I get it, I really do.”

  “I’m a little…you know…”

  “Nah Aug, I really don’t.” He looked like he was in actual pain.

  “I’m just kind of shocked,” I blurted out. His haunted expression didn’t change. “I mean, yeah, that was the last thing I expected to hear tonight, but it’s…um, it’s okay.”

  He tipped his head slightly, his expression unreadable. “Okay how? What do you mean by that?”

  “I mean I’m not freaked out or anything,” I said, which made his fine eyebrows tangle. “Can I take some time to think about it—this? Us. Us and the HIV. I like you, and I want to see you again, but…”

  “Yeah, sure.” The tension lines around his mouth softened, as did the staunch set of his jaw and shoulders. “You’d be insane not to want to think it over. I totally get the ‘but’, trust me.”

  Awkwardness settled over us like a thick, suffocating fog.

  “I think I’ll just, you know, get changed and go home to think.”

  Sal gave me a feeble smile. “You should do that—go home and think, I mean.”

  Leaving him standing there beside his sink hugging his midsection was hard. I wanted to touch him and tell him I didn’t give two shits about him being positive, but I did. It was important. It mattered. And it made any relationship we might want to have different than if we were both negative. I crept into his bathroom to pull my clothes back onto my sweaty, tacky body. Then, like a real creeper, I opened his medicine cabinet.

  Prescription pill bottles, dozens of them, all neatly arranged with his name on them. The only time I’d ever taken a prescription medication had been when I’d had impacted wisdom teeth removed when I was sixteen. Now and then I’d take some Advil for the aches of hockey, or when I overexerted myself, so this sight was a massive “holy shit” moment. I picked one up, read the label and put it back, then read another and another and another. Why? I don’t know. I had no clue what they were or what they did. The names of the medicines were unfamiliar to me. Knowing I was really invading his privacy, I gently shut the cabinet, pulled on my jacket and tried not to look as guilty as I felt.

  Sal was standing by his front door with a container in his hand. “It’s some leftover chicken and rice. So you don’t have to eat boxed macaroni and cheese tomorrow.”

  He held the plastic dish out to me. I eagerly took it.

  “Thanks.”

  “Sure. It was nice having you over for dinner, August.” He extended his hand.

  Shaking hands felt wrong. I leaned in and pressed my lips to his cheek. His short beard hairs tickled my lips. I heard him inhale sharply. When our eyes met, I saw something like hope in the bittersweet chocolate depths of his gaze.

  “If I bring this back empty, will you fill it up with more of your mother’s great food?”

  “Yeah, definitely.” He smiled. Now that felt right.

  “Cool. See you soon, then.” And that felt even righter. Better? Well, whatever, it felt perfect.

  Sleep was hard to find that night. When I woke up at ten minutes after four, I gave up the fight and went in search of coffee and Spotify. Ten minutes later I had hot brown water that was supposed to be coffee in a mug, my laptop on, and Hozier singing in the background. Sipping on the stuff in my mug, I began reading everything I could find on HIV. It wasn’t as dire as I’d thought it would be. Most people with the disease now lived long, productive lives, although there were still HIV-related deaths. Seemed a lot of the sites made sure to shout about that, because people seemed to think that AIDS had been magically eradicated or something. New HIV cases were slowly climbing, which was scary. I learned about the meds. Some patients took one pill a day, others a cocktail. One dude, diagnosed a year ago, with a low viral count, took none.

  I watched videos online, listened to what people who had the disease and those who lived with and loved them had to say. I refilled my mug four times as the night gave way to the dawn, even though the brew tasted like water from a dirty goldfish bowl. Not that I ever tasted water from a dirty goldfish bowl as a kid or anything.

  Trading hot brown water for food, I continued reading bent over a bowl of bran flakes with extra raisins. I read, and read, and then read some more. Then I took a shower, dressed, and drove to the Rader for morning skate. The vibe in that barn, and the dressing room, was electric. Everyone was up, pumped, ready to go into the playoffs for the first time in years. Lunch was Sal’s leftover chicken and rice, and I swear it was even better the second time. Then I changed into old jeans and a Mumford & Sons T-shirt and headed off to see Heather. She was a nurse. She could help me figure out what to do, answer any questions that were still rattling around inside my head.

  When she answered my knock on her door, I was kind of shocked. Jack looked like he was in a bad mood, and Heather looked exhausted.

  “Oh, hey, Augie,” she said, then yawned. She was still in her nursing scrubs. Her ponytail was all sorts of discombobulated. “What brings you over?”

  Jack started fussing around three fat fingers jammed into his mouth. Heather bounced him on her hip. Dark bags lingered under her eyes.

  “Is he sick?” I asked, nodding at the baby as drool ran out of him.

  “He’s teething. I’ve gotten like thirty minutes of sleep in something like two days.” She yawned, and Jack tried to cram his fist into his mouth. “I was just going to take him for a ride. Maybe he’ll fall asleep. Want to come along?”

  “Yeah, okay. You want me to drive? I’m not as tired as you look. Are. I meant are. You look good.” August, please stop making stupid words. Women don’t like to be told they look bad, doofus.

  Heather smiled weakly just as her son started crying. “It’s okay, Augie, I know I look like death. Let me grab his bag.”

  So, ten minutes later, with Jack buckled into the back of my Mustang in his baby seat, we pulled away from Heather and Brooks’ place.

  “Is Brooks working or sleeping?” I asked. She reached out to turn down Hozier, then sat staring at me. I gave her a couple of quick looks. “What?”

  “Sleeping. Why do you look so tense?”

  Jack shouted angrily. Heather fished around in a huge quilted baby tote and extracted a blue rubber ring. I pulled up to a stop sign, gave the road to the right a quick peek, then watched her slip the ring into Jack’s mouth. He gurgled pleasantly, then started gnawing on his ring like a hungry wolf.

  “I have some stuff on my mind,” I told her.

  Her nose wrinkled, but she said nothing, just sat th
ere with her tote on her lap.

  “Which way?”

  She pointed left. “Let’s head out to the country. It’ll be quieter. Hopefully he nods off soon. Car rides usually soothe him.”

  “Sounds good.” The thought of heading anywhere that didn’t have paved roads made me feel at home. Off to the farmlands we went, my disquiet easing more and more with every civilized mile we left behind. “I’m sorry Jack is keeping you up. If I’d known I would have let you rest after work.”

  Heather glanced from the rolling green countryside to me. Her eyelids looked heavy.

  “It’s all good, Augie. I like hanging out with you. And this way Brooks can rest without the baby waking him up,” she replied around a yawn.

  I hadn’t heard a peep out of Jack for about five minutes, so I assumed he had fallen asleep. The air coming in the windows grew cooler as we left Cayuga proper, so I rolled up my window, leaving it cracked just an inch or two, and Heather did the same.

  “Let’s go down this road here,” she said. “Brooks and I came up here a couple weeks ago. There’s this petting farm about ten miles down the road. Jack just loved the sheep.”

  I followed her directions. The dirt road was shaded by towering trees. The sun pushed early morning beams of light through the oaks and birches. My foot slid off the gas and we just sat there admiring the beauty of nature. Heather began rummaging around in her baby tote. I eased the Mustang forward a bit, crawling along at about twenty-five so as not to jar Jack when the tires rolled into a pothole.

  “So, what’s up?” Heather enquired as she pawed around inside Jack’s bag.

  “What do you think about dating someone with HIV?”

  She pulled a pack of gum out of the diaper bag and offered me a stick. I declined, but she popped a slice of peppermint into her mouth.

  “I think it’s perfectly okay. Is this about Sal?” she asked, and flipped her ponytail out of her face. I shot her a quick glance. She turned in her seat to look right into my soul. “He told me today that you and him were maybe going to see each other. Then he explained why there might be a snag.”