Page 47 of Futbolista
I open my eyes and pick my head up again so I can look at him. Really look at him. And let myself take in the feeling of him on top of me. The way his hand brushes a couple blades of grass off my chest. The way his eyes slowly take in all of my skin. The way our legs tangle together.
How easy it would be to reach for his face and pull his lips to mine.
I’m so fucking bi.
And, yeah. That scares me. Being this self-aware scares me. Because I also realize that, when I said I didn’t want this, that was a lie. Even if it can’t matter, the truth is I could easily want something like this.
And I wish it could matter. In a good way. I wish I had a choice about this. I wish I didn’t feel so powerless. I wish I could give in to how powerfully my heart feels for Vale.
Because when I let that realization exist, it’s so fucking powerful.
But so is the fear. What if a teammate saw us like this? What would Nguyen or Ahmed say? Or, incredibly worse, what would Barrera say?
Nothing about how I feel about Vale seems wrong. I like this so much. And I want this so badly. I wish I could have him. I wish I could change. Frondizi and Pops didn’t think about this situation.
What if I’m not allowed to change?
“You alright?” Vale asks, his voice soft. And only then do I realize that he’s laid his head down too, resting right over my heart.
“I … yeah. Just—can we stay like this for a few minutes?” I ask him. “Please.”
“Whatever you want. And as long as you want.”
“Have the rest of my raspa,” Vale says, handing me his Styrofoam cup with about a quarter left of strawberry-and-mango-flavored ice, chamoy, and tajín.
He gave me a bite (and his tamarindo straw) on the way back and I don’t know who’s been gatekeeping the fact that we’re allowed to mix flavors, but that’s not something my parents ever let me do. I might never get pineapple again.
Or maybe pineapple and mango? Yeah, for sure that.
“Thanks,” I reply before taking it from him and tilting the cup up to my mouth, letting the raspa slide in. “You want to shower?”
“What?”Swear, Vale’s head almost pops right off his neck with how quickly he turns. And it’s in that second that I realize he took those three words very differently than I meant them. But now I’m thinking—nope.
“Sorry. I meant, like, if you want to shower, go ahead. And I can go after you.”
“Oh. I, uh … I didn’t bring any extra clothes with me.”
“You can borrow some of mine. Here.” I start going through my closet, picking out a long-sleeve navy tee from my high school days withSeagulls Socceron the front, and a pair of gray cotton shorts. The fabric at the bottom of the legs curls from when I cut them even shorter.
And I try not to think about Vale wearing my clothes. About how he holds the shirt and shorts close to him, like he’s trying to be careful with them. About the way his mouth opens like he’s going to say something but then he just gives me a smile and heads to my bathroom, pushing the door behind him.
Except, it doesn’t close all the way. If he doesn’t notice or he meant to leave it a little open, I don’t know. And I don’t move to close it because then it’d probably be obvious that I was watching him or maybe give off some kind of energy that I’m uncomfortable with the door open in agot to be at least five feet apart otherwise it’s gaysort of way, which isn’t at all the vibe I’m trying to put off; if anything I would like to be zero feet apart. I would like to see what that feels like.
Vale immediately focuses on his phone and putting on some music (and I’m going to need to ask him the name of this band later) and he doesn’t do anything when the door starts slowly opening a bit more, his phone louder than the quiet squeak ofit moving. Eventually it stops, but, from where I’m standing, I get a good look at him as he starts taking off his sweaty shirt, exposing his smooth, lean back. And then he’s going for his socks. And finally—oh my fuck.
I turn around as quick as I can, catching my breath, realizing that I don’t think I was breathing for a minute. I shouldn’t have been looking. I should’ve walked out of my room or put myself in a corner and stared at the wall or done anything except look. I shouldn’t have seen him just now, pulling down his shorts and underwear in one single motion, seeing a part of him I looked at no less than twenty times while we were at the park but this time with nothing covering him. I shouldn’t be thinking about how, if I was convinced his butt was nice in those shorts he was wearing (which it was), this was … I can’t even describe it. I shouldn’t be trying to.
Finally the water starts and I can take a breath. Think rationally. He might’ve done that purposefully. Well, not purposefully, but maybe he thought nothing of needing to close the door. He knows already how modesty isn’t something that we’re super big on in this house. When we were playing FIFA, Pérez was talking about how all of us see one another showering on the daily after practices. How we’ll fully walk into each other’s bathrooms when they’re midshower to grab some toilet paper whenever we run out. He and Ahmed were sitting there in their underwear. If I hadn’t been studying with Vale, I probably would’ve been shorts-less too.
The only difference is that Vale isn’t them. I can admit that all three of my roommates are good-looking guys. That Ahmed’s got social confidence and Nguyen’s got that quiet-dude charm and Pérez has a humor and this weirdly infectious charisma and they’re all catches. They’ve all got really nice bodies. But they’re my bros. And Kat made a good point: they aren’t Vale. They don’t cross off my checklist like he does. The way he has today.
I can’t stop thinking about every time he smiled at me today. How it’s honestly one of my favorite things.
And I like it when he teases me. When he got some surprisingly good footwork in and kept me from stealing the ball from him and said this is why they keep me at the goal.
I like how things feel easy with him. How I could spend an entire afternoon with just him, doing another one of my favorite things. That he’s this space away from the world, someone who sees me when I’m stressed and in my head and says, Let’s go fix that.
I like how it feels when he’s lying down with half his body on my torso and his head on my heart.
