Page 84 of Overtime Goal
Later, I pretended to read on a chaise while he was stretched out on the one beside me. He had AirPods in his ears and was probably asleep. As flashes from the night before played across my mind, I teared up remembering the feeling of his hands clutching my back, the crack in his voice while he begged for more, and the way he looked at me like I was all that mattered in the world.
I hadn’t known sex could be that good, so raw and hot, yet overflowing with emotion. Riley trusted me enough to give himself over without fear. After he fell asleep, I lay awake, staring at the ceiling and finally understanding we’d made love. With so many feelings in every touch, sex was a completely different thing than I’d ever had with sweaty hookups or even men I’d cared about.
Last night had changed things, and not only because we fucked. Ade had given me his heart in every way he could, and I swore I’d earn it every day for the rest of our lives.
I didn’t want to leave the villa with its spectacular view, or the breezy days filled with kisses and granitas. More than anything, I didn’t want to lose this version of us, one not shaped by practices and games. I wanted this new life to last.
“Logan?”
I turned to look at him.
“Listen to this great song, and then let’s go for a walk. We won’t be here forever.”
I took his AirPods, mindful of the way he was looking at me. My heart ached in the best way, and I wondered if his did too.
“A walk sounds perfect,” I said. “Later, let’s go into town for drinks and dinner.”
His smile made the world spin. “It’s a plan.”
How could talking about dinner be so perfect? As the music played, I understood the answer: it was perfect because we were planning our lives, one small step at a time.
The next week passed in a sun-drenched blur that was equal parts adventure, quiet time together, and an astonishing amount of sex. Riley was insatiable, not to mention inventive, and I wasn’t far behind. Years of pent-up longing poured out of us, flooding every slow thrust or frantic fuck against the nearest wall.
Sex became our language, giving shape to the things we were still learning how to say. Touch and fire led to more trust until the act felt less like release than a communion of our souls. It transformed lust into something whole and living, binding us to each other in ways I hadn’t thought possible.
With the distractions of home stripped away, we were building the only thing that mattered, anus. Some people say a relationship is two people learning to live together and care for each other, but I didn’t believe that anymore. A relationship is a quiet merging. It’s two people, still themselves, but overlapping in all the right places. Relationships aren’t compromises; they are becomings.
Besides the terrace off the kitchen, the villa also had one on the rooftop. One night, the stars were beginning to show when I carried a bottle of wine and two glasses up there. The air was still warm from the daytime sun, but a stronger breeze was comingin from the sea, carrying enough chill to make the sweaters we’d put on a good idea.
Riles was already there, stretched out on one of the double loungers. He’d tipped his head back and spread his arms as if offering himself to the moon. His preppy outfit, a peach-colored sweater and blue shorts, made him look even younger than he was. He reminded me of the guy I used to watch laughing when he came to the Warriors four years ago, before either of us had a clue about what was coming.
He looked over and smiled. “You brought the good bottle.”
“I figured we’d earned it.”
He moved over to make room for me, and I poured wine and handed him his glass before settling beside him. Our legs found each other on their own. After we toasted to our relationship and took our first sips, he leaned against my shoulder and sighed.
For a while, we drank and watched the lights come on down the cliff, orange and gold against the darkening blue of the night. I ran a thumb across the rim of my glass, savoring the moment and wishing our time here wouldn’t end.
“You always get quiet when you’re about to say something important,” Riley said.
“I’m enjoying the view.”
He slid his hand across my stomach. “Maybe, but your brain’s doing that humming thing.”
I gave him the same disbelieving look I reserved for guys on the ice who’d done something stupid. “My brain hums?”
“You have a tell when you’re thinking too hard. You get this crease here.” He brushed a finger between my eyebrows. “And your mouth does this crooked thing.”
“Okay, maybe I’m thinking a little.”
Our wineglasses were empty, and after taking mine, he set them on the table beside the lounger. Then he scooted closer and reached for my hand. “What’s on your mind?”
“Hoping this can stay as good as it is once we’re back home. The world there isn’t quiet, and it may not seem so made for us.”
“It isn’t quiet,” he agreed. “We stay busy most of the year, but we can reshape a lot of things so they work for us.”
We sat with that for a while, listening to the faint sounds from town and the crickets chirping nearby.
