Page 9 of Cherry Picking
“What? No girlfriend to keep you busy? You’ve been here, what, two years now? That’s what Hawks said. Not the commitment type?”
He gets a little quiet at that, and I look over to see his eyes down, lost in thought. They flick up to me, and a peek of that smile returns.
“Nah. I just like my solitude, that’s all. I spend most of my days with a bunch of sweaty hockey players all piled on top of each other. It’s nice to have a breather.”
“Fair enough. So, what, you pick up from that cereal bar? Doesn’t seem like the place chicks go to for hookups.”
He laughs, and the sound goes straight to the cluster of sparrows ramming around for escape in my gut.
“I have my resources.”
“Any of those resources happen to have some queer men to help a hard-up guy out?”
I’m only half serious, because I need to get laid but I’m also not in a hurry to re-enter the Tennessee gay scene. It was never that good to me.
I walk a few feet before I realize Riley is no longer beside me and look back to see him frozen on the sidewalk. His eyes are wide, posture tense, and his Adam’s apple bobs on a gulp.
“Does it make you uncomfortable?” I ask after a moment of us staring at each other without a word. “That I hook up with guys?”
Riley licks his upper lip, blinks out of his haze, and shakes his head. “No. I’m sorry.”
I step toward him, and he doesn’t back away. Only tilts his head when we stand toe to toe.
“You know that’s how it looks, right? Anytime me being gay is brought up, you get weird. Being a gay man from the south—being a masculine gay man from the south—leaves me having to wonder every single time if the issue is malicious or ignorant or something else.”
He stares right at me, eyes lost and floundering mouth speechless.
“So which is it?” I demand with way more force than I feel. My heart is hammering in my chest, adrenaline picking up speed in my veins.
Riley breaks our invisible connection, dropping his eyes to the ground and stepping back. He rubs a hand over the back of his neck and clears his throat.
“Not malicious,” he says with a scratch to his voice. “I promise.”
That doesn’t answer the question, but it quells the spike of fear that never quite goes away. About whether my teammates are chill or secretly wishing I’d wipe out on the ice.
It’s a toss up. A gamble.
But I believe Riley when he tells me he’s not the latter. Might not be the former, either. Somewhere in between.
I can work with that.
“I’m not contagious,” I say, continuing down the sidewalk. “Just honest.”
Riley’s footsteps pick up behind me, even if he’s still keeping a bit of distance.
“Honest? So, uh, does that mean you’re bringing this food back to your boyfriend?”
I throw him a bewildered look over my shoulder. “If I had a boyfriend, why would I be hard up enough for sex to ask if you know anybody?”
His freckled cheeks turn a dark pink, and he chuckles under his breath. “Fair. I just assumed. The guy gives you a ride each morning and picks you up each evening, so I just… figured, you know? Is he your brother?”
I laugh and flick my cap down to hide from the assault of sunlight coming through a break in the trees and buildings. “Locke? Nah. Might as well be at this point. Been friends since middle school. He’s letting me stay with him until I can find more permanent arrangements.”
If I end up needing more permanent arrangements. There’s nothing stopping the Hornets from trading me again if I don’t live up to expectations.
“You need somewhere to stay?”
“Need is a strong word. There’s no rush on moving out, but yeah, I hate feeling like a burden on my best friend, you know?”
