Page 141 of Loving the Legend
I fill up a wheelbarrow with compost and wheel it over to the plot we’ve set aside for kale, collards, and mustard greens. Kneeling, I get to work mixing the compost into the soil. Before partnering with this organization, I hadn’t gardened since my parents passed away, and I’ve missed it. It feels like falling into a portal where it’s just me and nature working with the sun and water to create new life.
“Hey, handsome! May I join you?”
I arch my head up. My gaze meets wolf-shaped eyes and a dimpled smile. Phil, my agent, stands over me, looking like an Italian model in olive green joggers and a cream Henley. His back is to the sun, casting him with a golden halo.
I came out to him a few weeks ago. In the event I’m outed, I needed to make sure he wasn’t blindsided. I also wanted his perspective on what being out would mean for my career and brand. We had a long conversation in his Beverly Hills office. He acknowledged that times have changed, and while some people may take issue, my being out in the league would most likely be supported. The NBA has made strides to be more inclusive by fining players who post homophobic content on social media, sponsoring Pride night games, and marching in Pride parades. It’s a start in the right direction. He thinks it would strengthen my brand and create new opportunities, especially with more money pumped into LGBTQIA advertising. I didn’t disclose my relationship with Sid, though I think it might be time. Phil shared that he was pansexual when I came out to him, and his last long-term relationship was with a man.
“Hey! Jump in as long as you don’t mind the smell of manure.” I extend a pair of gloves to him.
He kneels in the dirt facing me, a trench of soil between us. “Oh, manure doesn’t faze me. I have an eleven-year-old dog at home who has daily accidents in the house.” He smiles ruefully. “It’s devastating actually how quickly she’s deteriorating. She sleeps all day these days. I’m not sure how I’ll cope when she pass—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to unload on you.”
I put down the hand shovel and remove my gloves. “Come on.” I open my arms to him, inviting him in for a hug. “I'm sorry your fur baby is sick. What’s her name?” I ask, as his chin rests against my shoulder.
“Bob Dylan.” He pulls back. “When I first adopted her, she’d lie on her back, offering her belly up for a rub whenever one of his records was on.”
“Any favorites? Tell me it's ‘Boots of Spanish Leather.’”
“That one. Though she’s especially fond of ‘Girl from the North…’” His voice trails off as his gaze flicks past my shoulder. “Hey, Sid.”
My head whips around to find Sid’s gaze leveled between us.
I know that face. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Got a minute?”
“Yep. Be right back,” I tell Phil.
I trail Sid to the empty side of the lot.
He crosses his arms and looks out at the neighboring yard before turning to face me. “Everything good with Phil? What was that about?”
I stuff my hands in my pockets to counter the urge to reach out and touch him. “His dog is sick. He’s pretty torn up about it.”
“Oh. That sucks. I’m sorry.” He uncrosses his arms. “Is he still calling you handsome and flirting with you?”
His uncanny ability to keep track of me while engaged in conversation never ceases to amaze me. And turn me the fuck on. He’s convinced Phil’s into me, but I don't see it.
“Bab-Sid,” I catch myself looking around. “There is nothing there. I’m yours,” I whisper.
He releases a heavy sigh. The tense lines etched between his brow softens. “I hate not being able to touch you in public.”
“You want to touch me?” I whisper, inching a little closer. “Where?”
His gaze trails down my face, pausing along my lips. I slowly swipe my tongue across my bottom lip. I grin inwardly at the look of naked desire igniting his eyes.
“See something you like?”
He hums and the husky vibration drums up my spine.
“Something you want to taste?”
“Yo, Ty! Over here when you get a chance,” Idris calls out.
Sid growls. “Go, troublemaker.”
I wink and push out my cheek with my tongue.
He chuckles. “Subtle.”
