Page 31 of Breakout Year
Finally, Eitan forced himself to withdraw, ignoring the inquisitive tilt of Akiva’s expression, the way his tongue casually drank the remaining vodka from his lip.
“How was writing?” Eitan asked, because it was polite to ask how someone’s day had been after spending it apart and because he wanted to know. He pictured Akiva at a writing desk, fingers clicking agilely over the keys, drinking coffee and frowning. A romantic thought: a job where the biggest injury risk was a blister or repetitive stress.
“Not bad,” Akiva said. “I wrote an outline.”
Something that hadn’t occurred to Eitan that he might need. “An outline?”
“I like to know where I’m going with a story. You look surprised.”
“I figured you just sat down and, I don’t know, words came out.”
Akiva looked at him for a second then started laughing—not the closed-off little laugh he’d had on their date, but a full-bodied thing. “Words come out. Yeah, sometimes that happens. Mostly it doesn’t or only the wrong words do. There’s a difference between writing and telling a story.”
Maybe it was the shot spilling into Eitan’s bloodstream, or the adrenaline from their win, or being partitioned off from the rest of the world, insulated by the swell of good feelings and his teammates’ laughter. Whatever it was, Eitan leaned closer. “So what makes for a good story?”
Akiva’s tongue swept across his bottom lip like he was returning for another sip of vodka. “That’s a big question.”
“I read your book,” Eitan blurted. “Your boss’s book, I mean. I couldn’t sleep, and I stayed up way too late.” And then I bought two more before I even finished that one.
“Oh.” Now Akiva really did shift away. He looked over the profusion of cups on the table then selected his water and drank deeply.
“It was good,” Eitan said. “I mean, I liked it.”
“Yeah?” Hesitant, like Eitan was holding some part of him.
“I wasn’t expecting that twist.” Eitan lowered his voice even more, as if his teammates were going to yell at him for spoiling a book that none of them probably knew existed. “Or, uh, the scene on the train…”
Technically, he’d known Akiva for a long time. Years of interrupted friendship wasn’t enough closeness for, I nearly jerked it in a clubhouse bathroom because of your book. Because of you. Eitan needed to break away. Move, drink, let himself be photographed pretending to feel a certain way. A dazedly drunken thought that finally—finally—released him back to his own section of the bench. “We should dance.”
Akiva took a long drink of water. “Sure.” He got up. Eitan might have had control over his hands, but he couldn’t stop himself from staring at the narrow cut of Akiva’s waist.
“You’re not wearing your tzitzit?” Eitan asked. Are you afraid someone’ll say something?
“Oh, they, uh, get caught on stuff at a club.” Akiva adjusted his shirt, revealing a flash of his lower belly divided by a trail of hair a shade darker than what was on his head. I could kiss him there. Fuck. Eitan had either had too much to drink or not enough.
He sloshed vodka into a glass. Tomorrow he’d be fielding with a hangover. He took the shot anyway. Took Akiva’s hand, unnecessarily, not thinking about the vulnerability of his work-softened palm as they went downstairs. As Eitan did what he did best and threw himself weightlessly into whatever came next.
Some amount of time later, Eitan returned to himself. Sweat had gathered between his shoulder blades, at the brim of his upper lip. For some reason, his hand was on the small of Akiva’s back. He was talking—he had the sense he’d been talking for a while—words falling out the way they did even when he was sober. His mouth was very near Akiva’s ear. Their hips pressed together as they danced.
Something slotted in Eitan’s brain just then, a sense of things falling into place. How much he wanted to be here dancing. How much he wanted to feel the ripple of Akiva’s muscles under his fingers. How this felt right the way things hadn’t in a long time. Maybe ever.
He said something again or tried to. His lips made brief contact with Akiva’s earlobe. Not even a kiss. A nothing. Except everything within him said, Do it again.
Still, Akiva pulled back, then traced a hand down Eitan’s arm to grab his wrist.
Finally, we’re getting somewhere.
Until Eitan found himself being dragged to the edge of the dance floor.
“Wait here,” Akiva commanded, then he manifested two cups of water from…somewhere, one of which he shoved at Eitan. “We need to head out.”
“I’m good,” Eitan said. Now that they were standing still, the room stopped spinning. Mostly. “I’m sobering up.”
“I think people got whatever pictures they’re gonna get.”
Pictures. Right. The point of this. This was practice. Akiva’s shirt was sticking to the narrow lines of his body. Eitan couldn’t seem to stop looking at him. You can either do that or ask out Akiva for real, but you can’t do both. You can’t tell him this is just for show then try to kiss him. And fuck, for once, Eitan knew the good decision was also the right decision.
“You okay?” Akiva asked, like he could tell Eitan had gotten lost in his own head.
