Page 40 of The Road to Home Base
WESTOODONthe doorstep of Rome’s house, my arms around his neck, his around my waist. I bent my neck back to look up at him while he pecked my forehead with gentle kisses.
“This is a good thing,” he told me between the moments his lips pressed against my skin.
“I really don’t know what’s more intimidating,” I said. “Coming out to an airplane full of bro-y dudes or talking on the phone to an abusive ex who had zero qualms slugging somebody in the face.”
Rome pulled back and his hands went to my waist. “You’re calling him?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Texting doesn’t really do the trick.”
Rome moved farther back but secured one hand around the back of my neck. “Promise me if you actuallyseehim, it’ll be somewhere public. Or at the very least have Devin around.”
I exhaled through my nose and let out a small laugh. “Rome, I said I wascallinghim.”
Rome shook his head. “No, I know. But if he’s been as persistent texting you as you’ve said, he’ll want to meet. Just don’t do that in private. Okay?”
I waved at his concerns. “Rome, please, don’t worry about me. You need to focus on what you’re going to say. Have you figured that out yet?”
He stared for a moment, unsure whether or not to give up on his argument about my safety. I would’ve swooned at his white-knight routine if I wasn’t too busy being scared at the prospect of talking to Ricky again. I knew what I had to do, though.
Finally, Rome relented. “Sorta. I have a few more days to figure it out. Are you talking to Ricky before the twenty-sixth?” He had let go of me fully and stood back with his arms crossed.
“Rome,” I said as I stepped in his guard and laid a flat hand between his pecs. “Let me do what I need to do. You focus on you.”
His lips pursed together, nostrils flaring as he huffed out a sigh. “Call me if you need me, all right?”
I ran my hand in circles around his chest. “That’s very sweet of you to offer. I will.”
He stepped toward me and pulled me into an embrace that melted into a passionate kiss, one I savored. His hard body against mine, the feel of the lazy curls of his hair running through my fingertips, how stiff his cock felt daggering into me. We had jerked each other off in the shower after waking up. And that was after doing the same thing at two in the morning. I couldn’t keep my hands off of him and he was magnetized to me.
I was the first to pull away. “It’s only a week. I’ll text you before and after each game. I promise.”
He pressed a soft kiss against my lips. “Be safe, Alex. Please. Be safe.”
“I will.”
A final kiss and Rome stepped back. Ever the gentleman, he made sure I got inside my car and that it started. I rolled down my window and waved at him as I pulled down the driveway toward the gate. I didn’t see him vanish inside his house; hewatched me the whole way until I was the one who vanished.
?
I performed rote tasks to help center my mind. The apartment wasn’t a mess by any means, but I still took the time to vacuum, scrub the floors, dust every surface imaginable, and put fresh sheets on my bed despite changing them only three days ago. By the time early afternoon rolled around, I settled into my workstation and put on some tunes while I determined my schedule for the next few days. I filled up every blank spot I could find with some of the more mundane shoots I had been putting off.
Rome stayed on my mind, like my penchant for him lived in the spaces between coherent thought and errant fantasy. We would have texted a dozen times by now and probably even a few calls. My fingers itched to find his message thread and send him a fun selfie. Our communication was littered with them and Rome always won the goofiest, like the one of him doing a handstand in cow pajamas, resplendent with an udder in the right spot and a hood with fuzzy horns.
After I figured out how to stay busy over the next week, I did the last thing on my to-do list: figure out Ricky’s fight schedule. I found his MMA page in three easy clicks. Cold electricity struck my body and the chips I snacked on earlier threatened to come back up. I could feel my heart beat faster in real time.
Ricky’s profile splashed across the stage. A wide nose, five o’clock shadow on a sharp jawline. Hardened, predatorial brown eyes I once found funny and kind. He buzzed his head short, a darkened outline along his skull. He was handsome, that I couldn’t deny, but seeing him in that moment made me think of him as anything but.
I swallowed bile and clicked on his upcoming fights. I audiblygasped as I saw an empty schedule. More than that, it showed hehadmatches but they had been canceled due to injury. I googled his name and searched news headlines. A local Boston paper detailed that Ricky’s management team had shared that he was undergoing several tests after he claimed he had rampant headaches. Nothing about aggression, nothing about fighting others outside of the octagon. Just “headaches,” as if that were the simplest way to state that he had gone crazy and battered the man he claimed to love.
He’s free, I thought. I could text him now. Hell, I could straight up call him. I looked at the clock on my computer. Rome would have arrived at the stadium by now. Probably dropping his body in a cold plunge after having a second lunch.
I stood up from the computer and paced my apartment. Half a dozen options presented themselves as I considered what the evening would entail. Now that I knew Ricky was off the fighting roster, he could probably be reached anytime. That meant I could wait until the next day. Or the day after. Or wait until the twenty-sixth, so Rome and I could face our fears together, but separate. So that we could grow together. To move on together. To focus on us, instead of one of us.
Rip the Band-Aid off, I told myself.Just get this over with.
I stalled. I found more things to clean (the refrigeratorandfreezer) and organized my dresser after refolding over half my wardrobe. Night had fallen. I poured a glass of wine from the box in the fridge and chugged it before getting another. I settled on the couch and turned on a pregame show. The sports anchors were highlighting the lineup of the Dayton Gems for the night’s game. Rome eventually popped up on the screen. He wore his blue Riders cap, a big, toothy smile on his profile video as he rocked his head back and forth, cocky, but boyish. He even raised his eyebrows as if he had a secret to tell.
I grabbed my phone and snapped a pic before the screen cutto the anchors. As promised, I sent Rome a text and also sent the picture, poking lightly at his overconfidence but then reminding him how fortunate he was to have me to bring him down to earth. As always, I told him good luck in Italian. I saw he read the text almost immediately. He typically didn’t respond, which was fine. But I knew he read it. That gave me the solace and the boost I needed for the next step.
