Page 50 of Breakout Year
Akiva scanned the area around them for Dave or any of his paparazzi friends, for the telltale wave of a phone that meant they were being photographed. The only thing looking at them were pigeons, and even they seemed like they had better things to do. “Sure.”
So they walked the long blocks north back to Eitan’s apartment. New York in the summer was half trash smell, half paradise. Tonight, they got the latter. Akiva had lived in the area long enough not to have romantic notions about Manhattan—the rent was too high, the streets too gray with concrete—but with each brush of Eitan’s shoulder against his, he wondered why anyone would ever live anywhere else.
When they arrived at Eitan’s building, Eitan gestured up toward his apartment. “It’s late. You could stay over. The housekeeper changed the guest room sheets.”
A guest bed would only remind Akiva of the wall between them. “Sorry,” he said, “Sue’s in the middle of editing, so I’m in the middle of editing. And besides, it’s almost Shabbat.”
Eitan frowned, possibly because it was Wednesday.
For a second, Akiva wondered if he was going to insist. It was late and the train to another train to Akiva’s car to his house would take more than an hour. Akiva didn’t mind the travel. Trains were good for clearing his head. Unlike standing next to Eitan on the sidewalk, in the shade of his building’s awning, watched by the doorman, the security cameras, and the pale city moon. I should kiss him. An item that was easier to recast as part of his to-do list, something to be checked off neatly. Akiva should kiss him, brief enough to be all business, long enough to be convincing, then begin his journey home.
So he cupped Eitan’s neck, brushed the short hairs there, the skin tanned from hours in the sun. “How come you don’t wear a necklace?” Akiva asked, because most players rocked elaborate chains and pendants.
Eitan’s laugh vibrated Akiva’s fingers. It was hard to keep business as business when Akiva knew how that felt.
“It’s distracting,” Eitan said, and Akiva was about to remove his hand, to give Eitan the barest peck good night, when Eitan continued, “Having a necklace on. Even after I take one off, I can never un-feel it.”
Briefly, Akiva tightened his hand on Eitan’s neck. Eitan’s eyes widened. Akiva pressed his fingers ever so slightly and watched a puff of air exit Eitan’s mouth. Surprise, possibly. Do you like when people do that? A question Akiva couldn’t ask standing out on the sidewalk. Do you like when I do that? A question Akiva definitely couldn’t ask on the sidewalk or anywhere else.
Instead, Akiva did a sweep of the surrounding street. “Is Dave watching us?” he asked.
Eitan didn’t so much as glance from side to side. “Probably.” He stretched up to kiss Akiva, and Eitan was the least shy person Akiva had ever met, but there was something almost hesitant in that kiss, like a question mark sitting on the end of Eitan’s tongue that stayed firmly, appropriately, infuriatingly in his own mouth.
“You want a ride home?” Eitan asked, after.
“You don’t have to.”
For that, Akiva got another kiss, a playful nip of Eitan’s teeth. And when he clasped Akiva by the wrist and pulled him toward the parking lot, Akiva let himself be led.
Inside the lot, Eitan backed Akiva up until he was almost against the passenger door, then reached around him to unlatch it as if Akiva couldn’t do that himself. “You know you don’t have to do that either,” Akiva said.
Eitan’s forehead momentarily wrinkled. “Because you’re a man?”
Because this isn’t real. Even if the reality of it felt as unavoidable as the door behind Akiva’s back. “Because you don’t need to go out of your way.”
“I know. But I want to.”
Flirting was easy when you didn’t mean it or when you really, really did. “Is that all you want?” Akiva asked.
Eitan didn’t answer, not directly, just clasped the front of Akiva’s shirt between his fingers and tugged him down.
“I don’t think anyone’s watching here,” Akiva said.
Eitan’s smile glowed under the garage lighting. “They could be.” And drew Akiva to him.
This is a bad idea. Seven years ago, Akiva had gone for a run on a warm Arizona evening. Halfway into it, a thick mat of clouds knitted themselves overhead and proceeded to squeeze out all their water. He ran back in that rain, feet sloshing in his sneakers, then burst triumphantly in the door of his shabby Fall League apartment, his pulse racing with effort.
Kissing Eitan, he was reminded of that rain, of how everything in his body condensed to the next step, the pleasurable burn in his lungs, the work of his muscles. His hand found the back of Eitan’s neck. A distraction except for how Eitan looked up at him, dark brown eyes wide and focused.
When he smiled, Akiva bit his mouth just to hear him moan. “Shh,” Akiva admonished as if someone would overhear—as if the entire point of this wasn’t to be overheard—then bit him again.
Eitan’s tongue slid back into his mouth; his hands wrapped the span of Akiva’s ribs. “You’re too thin,” he muttered.
Akiva laughed. “You gonna take care of me?” He wanted another kiss, for Eitan to pull him into the backseat of his vehicle and do just that.
Not what he actually got: Eitan’s blink. His adamant, “Yes.”
As if that was what this entire thing was about—his pity at Akiva’s situation. Akiva’s head cleared. It was late. He did have to work. He hadn’t been lying about any of that. He just wanted to not care about it for a little while.
