Page 72 of Hush
During the final game, Mike was an animal, hurling the volleyball over the net, slamming spikes into the sand, and setting up brutal takedowns for Kris. They won handily, and Kris leaped into Mike’s arms after the last score, throwing his hands over his head and cheering. They both jogged to Tom, sandy, sweaty, and grinning.
“We’re going to the finals.” Mike high-fived Kris. “That was the eliminator.”
“Congrats!” Tom debated, wrestling with himself for a good minute, but, after Mike wiped his sweaty face and beamed at him, he took the plunge. Leaning in, Tom pressed his lips to Mike’s, a chaste, simple kiss.
The court went wild, cheering suddenly, no longer pretending they weren’t all spying on Mike and his new man. Mike tried to block them, tried to cover his and Tom’s faces with his hands, but it was no use. Tom broke away, blushing and laughing, and Mike wrapped him up, holding him close.
“You’re drenched.” Tom tried to peel away from Mike.
“No I’m not.” Mike playfully wrapped him up again, rubbing the side of his once-again very sweaty face against Tom’s cheek.
Kris saved him, defending Tom from Mike the sweat monster, and then they all sat to watch the next game and the other teams play. Tom held Mike’s hand in his lap, and Mike wrapped one arm around Tom’s waist.
“You’re coming out for drinks after, right?” Kris was different, had seemingly ditched the snark. He stared hard into Tom’s eyes. Mike watched the final set, but Kris leaned in, speaking softly to Tom alone.
“Yes. I’m really looking forward to seeing everyone again.”
“They’re going to want to see you, too. Mike’s new man.”
Tom smiled.
“Hey, for real, though?” Kris pressed his shoulder into Tom’s. “You need to do right by Mike. He’s a good guy. One of the very, very few good men left. He’s been used and tossed aside more times than you would believe. He’s worked hard to get himself to where he is right now, and I know he wants this to work out between you two. He’s like a firehose to the face sometimes. Lord help me, I know.” Kris tried to smile, but it was sad, turned down at the edges. “Just… be gentle with his heart, okay?”
He couldn’t speak, not after that. He nodded, swallowing hard. “We, uh. We both want it to work.”
“That’s what they all say in the beginning.”
“I’m going to come out for him.”
“Come out foryou. And then beyouwithhim.”
“You guys okay?” Mike shoved his head between them both, looking wide-eyed at the two of them. “Plotting my untimely demise and conspiring against me already?”
“No, meathead, I had to give Tom the ‘hurt him and I’ll cut you’ lecture. What kind of best friend would I be if I didn’t?”
“Don’t listen to him.” Mike pretended to wave Kris off, making yapping motions with his hands. “All that hairspray, it’s gone to his head. He’s—” Mike whistled.
Kris punched him in his bicep, and they started bickering like old friends. They kept it up, all the way to the bar, but Mike bought the first round and Kris graciously accepted his apology.
As predicted, everyone wanted to meet Tom. All the players, the referee, who stared at Tom long enough to start to unnerve him, and even some of Mike’s bar acquaintances, all came over to see “the daddy Mike Lucciano found”. Tom blushed his way through the evening, shaking hands with guys who eyed him up and down, winking at him and sliding close, whispering in his ear that he was a lucky, lucky man. Mike sat by his side through it all, one arm wrapped firmly around Tom’s waist, and he shooed away the men who tried to sneak a feel of Tom’s ass.
“So, uh. I’m definitely different from your usual guy.”
Mike nodded. He sucked down his beer. “Yeah. And, I’m not gonna lie, I kinda like showing you off. Everyone in here is jealous.”
“Yes, of me! They all want you, Mike.”
“Nuh-uh.” Mike shook his head. “They’re all jealous ofme, and they all wantyou. You’re amazing.” Mike tugged Tom close and pressed their foreheads together, smiling. Tom kissed him sweetly, and then less sweetly, and Mike wrapped his arms around Tom’s waist.
“Mike?”
Mike stiffened. He stood, keeping his arms around Tom’s waist. Tom turned in his hold and came face to face with Mike’s ex, the man from the photo Mike had shown him months ago.
“Silvio.”
Silvio. Well, that name fit. He was slender and short, only up to Tom’s chin, and wore skinny pants and a violently-lime button-down with a black three-button vest over the top. His hair was spiked, his lips glossy. He looked painfully put together, like a movie actor without a set. Out of place, overdressed, and trying too hard.
Silvio looked Tom up and down. “I wanted to call you, Mike.”
