by Andrew Grey
“You know that isn’t necessarily true.” He met Obie’s gaze, wondering what he was getting at. “You have a big heart too, you know.”
Bri sighed as Obie glanced each way and then slid closer as Bri shifted fully around to face him. Obie’s hand slid upward along his neck, and he came close enough that Obie’s scent curled through his nose. He stiffened, his gaze latching on to Obie’s, his heart racing a little faster with each passing second. Was this really going to happen? He thought for a fraction of a second, leaning closer until Obie’s lips met his.
The touch was whisper light for a millisecond. Then Obie leaned in, adding pressure as sparks flew between them. He gasped slightly at the intensity, and Obie backed away. Bri wound his arms around Obie’s slender waist, tugging him close once again, this time pressing him to the wall so he couldn’t get away as he got the full taste of him. Peaches and cream, ambrosia, chocolate—all paled in comparison to the sweet heat that radiated off Obie and slid right across Bri’s tongue. He wanted more, his body screamed for it, and before he could stop himself, his hips rocked slightly because his jeans were suddenly way too damn tight.
Bri tensed as a throat cleared behind him, and he held Obie tighter, putting his body between Obie and whoever was behind him. He pulled away and turned, blushing in the light of his mother’s amused expression. “When you two are done, your father has asked for you.” She cocked her eyebrows the same way she had when he was twelve and had been caught sneaking back into the house after having spent the night in Jenny Wilson’s backyard telling ghost stories.
“I was just telling Obie about Gregory and Dancer.” He needed to say something, and he’d be damned if he was going to apologize—not for a kiss that was worth waiting an entire lifetime for.
“I can see that.” She turned back down the hall, and Obie blushed as red as the graduation gown in Gregory’s picture.
“Caught by your mother,” he whispered.
Bri smiled and tried kissing the embarrassment away. “That’s not the worst thing my mother has caught me doing.” He leaned closer. “I discovered the bathroom lock was broken once… the hard way, if you know what I mean.”
Obie sputtered and flushed even more. “I once walked in on my mom and dad… in the bedroom… in the middle of things.”
Damn, he loved that Obie could blush like that.
Bri shrugged. “What kid hasn’t?”
Obie shook his head. “It’s a real interesting way to find out just how kinky your mom and dad truly are.” He grinned and then laughed. “It seems that my mother and father have a thing for leather.” He rolled his eyes. “There are some things in my life I really wish I could unsee, and Mom in a leather brassiere and Dad in chaps—and nothing else—is definitely one of them.”
It took a second for the image to register before Bri covered his mouth. “Okay, you win.” He took Obie’s hand, smiling that he could do that now, and led Obie through the house to where his dad was watching television. He turned it off when they came in, and Bri sat down with Obie next to him.
“I think we need to talk about these messages you’ve been getting,” his dad said, sliding his chair nearer.
“What messages?” Obie asked.
Bri pulled out his phone and played the messages. “The sender is always blocked, and when I try to trace the numbers back, I get nowhere, so I think they’re being masked.”
“Do you recognize the voice?” Obie listened. “What about that Donald guy? He was being pretty threatening the other day, the skank.” Obie didn’t hold things back, that was for sure.
“It isn’t him, or at least it’s not his voice. That doesn’t mean he isn’t behind it, though.” Bri played the first message again and turned to his dad for some insight.
“What does he mean when he says you ignored the message? How long have you been getting these calls?”
“The first articulated threat was about ten days ago,” Bri answered.
“I was wondering about that too,” Obie said. “Did you get something in the mail or at work? Was anything sent to the team?”
Bri shook his head.
“I don’t think it’s that kind of message,” his dad mused. “It’s more likely something that happened, something meant to have meaning, only Bri didn’t recognize it. But what? Play the messages again.” He did, but Bri was becoming tired of this man’s voice and the cryptic way he spoke.
“Who else doesn’t like that you might be gay?” Obie asked. That seemed to be a point of contention for this guy.
“That seems to be the trigger. But your preferences aren’t widely known, are they?” his dad asked, and Bri shook his head.
“I got one after visiting the club. I was there to help drum up support for AIDS research. Still, anyone could have seen me go in and made assumptions. But there were plenty of people there who came to help out. That didn’t mean that everyone there was gay,” Bri reasoned.
“I don’t think that’s the point. This guy is obsessed with you and who you’re seeing and where you’re going. And he isn’t happy.” His dad seemed to be thinking. “Play them all one last time…. Stop.” His dad paused. “Right there. That reference to knowing what you’ve done. It’s like you’ve hurt this person, or they think that you’ve done something to them.” He closed his eyes. “Perceived hurts can be just as damaging and hurtful as real ones.”
“But what could I have done? I don’t….” He was at a loss. “This whole thing is starting to freak me out. At first I thought it was just a crank call and didn’t pay it any attention.”
His dad’s eyes bored into him. “You have to take this seriously. You don’t know what this person is capable of, and I don’t want you to find out. Send me the messages, and I’ll give it some thought. Maybe there’s something in them that I haven’t considered.”
Bri agreed and set about sending the messages to his dad, as his mom and Renelda brought in slices of Obie’s chocolate dessert. They all settled in to eat, and thankfully the conversation shifted to lighter topics.
TOO STUPID for words! That’s what I am! And this fucking room is way too small. I need to get the hell out of here. I’ve spent too much time talking. Talk is fucking cheap! I stare at the phone in my hand. Clenching it tightly, my arms shake in rage. It has failed me. The time for action has arrived, and this time, I’m taking matters into my own hands.
Chapter 6
HEARING THOSE messages scared Obie to death. He agreed with Porter that Bri had to take the threat seriously. “Your dad is a pretty interesting guy.” As they rode home, Obie couldn’t help dwelling on the afternoon’s conversation. “You know, I’m sorry if this guy is after you because of me.”
“You?”
“Well, you got one after being with me at the club and then after we ran into Donald.” He really thought that jerk was behind this, but wasn’t sure how to prove it.
“I don’t think you have anything to do with it.” Obie wished that was true, but somehow, he doubted it. “I keep going back to who was at the club,” Bri continued. “There were plenty of people around. It could be anyone. Then again, given the club’s clientele, I’d think most of the people there would be supportive and not angry if I came out.”
Obie hummed as he thought. “The messages keep repeating that you’re a disgrace to the sport. But what if this doesn’t have anything to do with you being gay? What if it has something to do with your play? It’s well known that you’re aggressive and that you will do almost anything to make a basket. This could be some superfan—one who’s a little off his rocker—from another team who’s angry with you.” Obie kept running through scenarios in his head, but they all ended up at the same place, which wasn’t helping.
“Let’s talk about something else.” Bri flashed him a bright smile. “Like getting a cup of coffee.”
“Been through the wringer?” It was a little hard not to be slightly amused.
“Yeah.” Bri sighed as he continued driving. “I need to go home and
get my leg up for a while.” He continued driving past Obie’s exit, and Obie sat back in the plush seat. He didn’t have any plans for the rest of the day. “What were you going to do this afternoon?”
“Laundry,” Obie answered with a soft chuckle. “I lead such a wild social life.”
“What about the guys?” Bri asked. “I sort of thought you spent a lot of time together.”
“They’re my best friends and I see them a few times a week, but I like to think I have a life of my own, boring as it is.” He smiled and closed his eyes. “I was more than a little nervous about meeting your parents. I like your mom. My guess is that she can be a real hardass, but she’s one heck of a hostess. And your dad, what a hoot.” Obie had liked both of them immensely, especially Porter. He was an interestingly forceful man.
“Dad liked you. It isn’t often that someone can go toe to toe with him.” Bri made the turnoff and continued to his house, pulling into the driveway.
“I’m surprised you don’t have security. With the threats you’ve been getting, maybe it’s something you should think about.” Obie didn’t want to tell Bri what to do, but given his profession, living alone without some protection… it just seemed a little risky.
“I have a security system that I engage whether I’m home or away. I don’t really have much that’s worth stealing. You can see that Mom and Dad don’t live cluttered lives, so I never did either. I’d rather spend my money on travel and preparing for a life after basketball than splurging on fancy furniture and stuff.” Bri pulled into the garage, and Obie got out of the car, going around in case Bri needed help. He seemed to be managing well on his own, though, and Obie followed him inside.
The house was of moderate size, clean, and sparsely furnished. The living room had leather sofas with a bright geometric rug on the floor in front of a massive television. There were a few lamps and pictures on the walls, probably courtesy of Pamela. Obie stood near Bri and made sure there was room for him to stretch out. “I can make the coffee if you tell me where it is in the kitchen. You put your leg up and rest it. I hear you have a therapy session on Tuesday and the therapist is a real badass.”
“Tell me about it,” Bri teased, and Obie followed his directions, finding the coffee pods and putting them in the Keurig, then returning with two mugs of coffee and setting them on the glass coffee table. He sat down, watching Bri, wondering what could possibly be going on in his head, and thinking about the kiss in his parents’ hallway.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” Bri finally said. “I probably should have asked… or something, before I….” Obie stood and closed the distance between them, locking gazes with Bri.
“What exactly are you sorry for?” Obie didn’t look away or blink, keeping Bri in his sights. “You should be specific.” He leaned down, a hand on the armrest. “Was it this?” Obie asked as he kissed Bri, deepening it as he slipped his hand around the back of his neck, just as he’d done before. Bri’s eyes had glassed over slightly by the time he pulled back. “Or maybe it was this….” He brought their lips together again, straddling Bri, being careful of his leg, but letting him know that a little making out was not unwanted. “Was that it?”
Bri’s pupils had widened to saucers, and he nodded and half shook his head at the same time, as if he wasn’t too damned certain of very much at the moment. “I’m not sure. It seemed like the proper thing to say.”
“Okay. Let me let you in on a secret. When you kiss someone hard enough and with enough energy to curl their toes and take their breath away, you don’t apologize for it. You thank God for each and every second, and then do it again.” He raised his eyebrows, and Bri nodded, tugging him closer, strong arms encircling his waist. God, it was heady as hell being held like this, and when Bri’s lips took his this time, Obie added his own energy, feeding off Bri’s and sending it back until his head reeled and thinking became a chore. Not that it mattered. Thinking was fucking overrated. And all Obie cared about at the moment was how easily he could coax Bri off the sofa and up into his bedroom to see if sex with this intense man was as good as being kissed by him.
Instead, Obie pulled away, the passion that clouded his head fading just a little. He stood on wobbly legs, flopping down into the nearby chair and reaching for the coffee. “I think I need this to cool down.” Holy hell, what he needed was a cold shower that lasted for a month. Bri was a client, someone he worked with, and getting involved with him was unethical.
“Obie…,” Bri said, his tone resonant, settling at the base of Obie’s balls.
“Look, I’m your therapist, and….” He took a deep breath, releasing, concentrating on his breathing, hoping to clear his head, somehow. “We can’t do this. I need to be able to work with you as a client, so you can play again. You know that, I know that.” He sat back, wondering what kind of idiot he truly was. “I can’t do that if my head is wondering what your lips taste like or what you feel like under that shirt.” His belly did a little loop. “I think we need to take a step back so we can remember what the goal is.” He had to think about that a little himself. Obie forced himself to move away, trying not to let the disappointment in Bri’s eyes influence him. But damn, that was a lot harder than it should have been.
“You’re really going to hide behind that kind of old-fashioned thinking?” Bri countered.
Obie put his hands on his hips. “I have a professional reputation, and I’m good at what I do. But if word got around that I slept with my clients, then suddenly I’d have a ton of them thinking I was some kind of gigolo. I can’t have that.” He watched Bri’s eyes as the idea registered. “I think you can understand that.”
Bri nodded. “I can, and I don’t want to hurt you.” That was the truth; Obie heard it ring in Bri’s voice. But the longing in his eyes was palpable, mesmerizing, and made Obie want to chuck all his good intentions.
“Then we need to take things slowly. And the first part of that is to get you back on your feet. Once you’re no longer my client, we can talk about taking things in a different direction.” Go him. That was the sensible thing to do, and he needed to stick with it.
“I could just look for another therapist,” Bri offered.
Obie hardened his lips. “Is that what you really want to do? Put your recovery in jeopardy because you want to take me to bed?” He refused to believe that.
“Are you saying you aren’t worth it?” Bri countered.
Obie grinned slyly. “Oh, I know I am. You’d better believe it. But I can’t let that happen. If your goal is to continue playing, then we need to keep that first and foremost. Let’s get you well and keep the rest on the back burner. You are going to have enough challenges over the next few weeks without added complications.” He took a deep breath. “We both know that I’m the best one to help you regain your playing form, so let’s do that.” He leaned closer in the chair. “Besides, if things turned out badly, I’d never forgive myself. You’d come to resent me and you know it.”
Bri twisted his lips slightly.
“You know I’m right, whether you want to admit it or not.” Obie sometimes hated to be right, and this was one of those times. “So we can be friends, but we have to keep the rest at arm’s length.” It was going to be hard enough massaging Bri’s legs without thinking of the hardness that had pressed against him earlier, without daydreaming about how firm and strong Bri was. The man pushed all his buttons.
“You’re right. I know that.” Bri’s expression didn’t lessen, but it cooled somewhat, and he leaned over the table to pick up his mug of coffee.
“There’s more at stake here than just my professional reputation. There’s yours as well.” Obie hated to bring this up, but knew it had to be said. “You know I’m not in the closet in any way, but you still are. Everyone thinks Bri Early is settled and secure in his sexuality. But they don’t know the real you.” Obie sniffed because he couldn’t believe he was about to say what he had to.
“Is this about Donald?” Bri asked.
&nbs
p; “In a way. What do you think the rest of your team will say when they find out you’re dating another guy? That you’re dating someone like me? We were just at the game last night and some asshole gave me shit. Do you want to be on the receiving end of that kind of crap? Because it will come. Not everyone is going to accept you. I wish they would, but they won’t. There are plenty of assholes in this world.” Obie figured he’d said enough to throw cold water on Bri’s ardor.
“You’re saying I should keep quiet until I retire? Others have given me the same advice. But I didn’t think I’d get that from….”
Obie sighed. “Someone like me,” he added, finishing the sentence he knew was coming. “Because I’m a little twinkie and like to wear makeup and nice clothes, I should be marching in pride parades and screaming to everyone to come out of the closet.” He set his mug down. “Maybe that is what I think, but this isn’t about me. This is about you and what’s best so you can do what you love—at least until you truly can’t do it any longer.” Listen to him be all unselfish and shit. But it was the right thing to say, even if it hurt to say the words. “Do what’s best for you and what you want. What everyone else thinks or says is bullshit. And that includes me.”
“I’m a good player. The team isn’t going to cut me loose for being gay,” Bri argued.
“Probably not,” Obie agreed. “But what if your teammates stop guarding you or stop passing to you? It would be easy enough for them to cut you out. The team will suffer, sure… but in the end they’ll remove the single point of failure rather than changing the whole team. That’s just good business.” He softened his posture. “And what if someone hurts you? Are you prepared for that? You got injured in an exhibition game that was supposed to be just a friendly match, and the guy who did it….” Obie grew silent as a notion took hold, running like ice water down his back.
“What?” Bri asked. “Why are you as white as a ghost?”