Page 89 of Matched By My Rival
Daniel tossed the rubber gloves in the trash and made tracks before I could change my mind. Rob was wiping down all the counters with a cleaning solution, and Linc had tackled the sofa with an upholstery cleaner.
As soon as I finished the floors, we’d move the furniture back to the center of the room, and I’d call it good. It wasn’t reallygood,I thought, as I eyed the walls that were speckled with dry food, the dusty ceiling fan in the kitchen, and the smudged appliances. The windows probably hadn’t been cleaned properly in years. But it would have to do.
We were all exhausted, and I was hoping to catch a catnap before Grandma and Grandpa arrived.
I should have chased Parker down last night and made sure we were okay. I’d felt torn between my urge to talk to him and my responsibilities to the party—not to mention my stress about the mess I’d have to tackle.
I’d texted him last night, letting him know that I wanted to talk soon. But he hadn’t replied yet. Every time I pulled out my phone, my last message to him mocked me. It sat there, unanswered, practically a neon sign screaming,He doesn’t want to talk to you! You screwed up.
Just to torture myself more, I’d opened the Thrust app for the first time in weeks. Once Parker and I had become regular hookups, we’d exchanged numbers to bypass the dating app system.
The first unread message from a random dude reminded me why I’d happily ditched the app as soon as Parker and I met. It came from someone who actually thought SwalloworUnfollow was a good idea for a user name.
Hey, your pics are hot! Wanna satisfy your curiosity with a pic of my big dick?
I grimaced and clicked block on the match. Requests had continued to flood in from horny guys with no tact. Maybe my standards were too high, but dick pic offers did nothing for me. I wanted someone who would put in a little time and effort. Maybe ask a question or two about me. Hell, even a flirty come-on would be an improvement.
Maybe Parker had spoiled me. Because no one else even attempted the funny, witty lines that had amused and intrigued me when HotPan22 first talked to me.
Hey BiCurious! How about we find out if you like sucking dick? I volunteer as tribute.
I snorted. Well, there was a smidge of humor in that message. His name was more humorous than offensive too:Bottomosaurus.Maybe if Parker dumped me, I could take him up on it. That thought was incredibly depressing.
I didn’t want another guy. Even if things didn’t work out with Parker, I couldn’t imagine casually hooking up with strangers. Maybe I just wasn’t wired that way. Parker had wooed me with flirtation and gentle nudges, and by the time we did hook up, I felt like I knew him.
Not the football player I’d antagonized and blamed when things went to shit with the coaching staff. But the patient guy who’d coaxed me out of my straight-guy shell to explore a new side of myself. Someone who’d shown interest in my day, as well as my sexual preferences, and who’d made me smile on more than one occasion when I’d been in a crappy mood.
No. No one else would do.
In the end, I deleted the app.
I wouldn’t be replacing Parker, ever. If he really wanted to give up football, I wasn’t going to stand in his way. I still didn’t fully understand it, but I’d try. I’d try anything if it meant I could stay with him.
Even come out with him, face down the football team, and build a new dream together.
* * *
PARKER
“I don’t understand.”
I was beginning to hate that phrase. First Simon, now Mom.
Not that she even knew the worst of it yet. I’d only told Mom and Dad about the change to my education degree. I figured it was best to give her the news in stages. Maybe blurting it all out would be more akin to ripping off the Band-Aid, but I wanted Mom and Dad to have time to process.
Or maybe I was just too cowardly to lay it all out. I needed to hedge my bets. Give myself time to backtrack if it went to hell.
Like you should have with Simon.
I couldn’t think about him now. I’d woken to a text message that he wanted to “talk.” It had twisted my stomach into even more knots. I didn’t have the emotional fortitude to deal with my parents, the coaching staff,andface Simon. I’d hidden my phone and tried to pretend he wasn’t about to dump me.
Mom, Dad, and I sat around a pub table at The Fieldhouse for a late lunch/early dinner before my evening game against the alums. I’d spent most the day with them, but I hadn’t gotten up the nerve to approach the subject until now. And once I was done here, I still had Coach Jackson to face.
I wasn’t sure who intimidated me more: him or my mother.
Mom was already wearing her Haymakers jersey with my number, 22, on the front and my last name, Reed, on the back. Dad was dressed more casually, sporting a regular T-shirt and jeans, but with a Haymakers championship cap circa 1998.
To say my parents were fans was an understatement.
