Page 11 of Cherry Picking
I look up from where I’ve been texting Locke with one leg taking up the other half of my bench seat and my arm thrown over the backrest. “I’ll hit Cap up at practice about it.”
Riley shakes his head, a sneaky little smile on his whiskered lips. He’s got a thickish red beard covering his jaw, too. “No, I was thinking. You think I’m homophobic.”
“I think you’re a little wary and weird, but?—”
“Hush, Foster.”
Quickest way to shut me up is to growl my name like an impatient animal while giving me the most salacious smile I don’t think he knows he’s giving.
“I rent a two bedroom apartment. Until about nine months ago, I had a roommate. If you need a room, I have one available.”
“You want to shack up with the sexually repressed queer player?”
The way he snorts and has to cover his face with a hand to fend off the coughing fit of laughter is strangely endearing. Enough to force out my own grin.
“Sexually repressed, huh? I think I can live with some rigorous jerk-off sessions.”
“Even if you know that picturing you naked has definitely been on my wank bingo card more than once?”
I swing my leg off the booth seat and drop my arms to perch on the table. “Can you handle that reality, straight boy?”
Riley doesn’t answer. His eyes land on mine, and they remain unwavering as unreadable emotions pass through his expression. There’s a tick of his jaw that eases with a swipe of histongue across the seam of his lips. He strokes his fingers through his beard with terse, contemplated movements.
“You aren’t the first gay man to fantasize about me.”
“Cocky are we?”
He chuckles again and smoothes his fingers down his beard.
“Okay, smartass. Let me clarify. You aren’t the first gay man toopenlyfantasize about me.”
I tilt my head, and his eyes follow.
Interesting.
“You want me to move in with you?”
“I want you to be where you need to be and be comfortable. I want you to stop thinking I have a problem with you.”
“Then stop watching me like you’re trying to solve a puzzle.”
His breath visibly catches, and his eyes flutter for the briefest moment before a soft, subdued smile spreads across his cheeks.
“Stop giving me something to look for.”
I don’t know what to make of that. Of the words. Of something deeper in his tone that makes me want to dig into him myself, take him apart and piece together the Rubik’s Cube that is Riley Easton. To make sense of his hot and cold behavior.
“That’s going to be a lot harder with our rooms only a few feet apart.”
His smile widens. “I like a good challenge.”
So do I.
CHAPTER 3
GRIFFIN
The first gameof the season is right around the corner, and Coach has run every last one of us into the ground.
