The Blueprint, page 13
It was sobering.
Some of what I was feeling must’ve shown on my face because he joked, “You should see the other guy.”
Blue, you can’t keep doing this.
It was on the tip of my tongue, but I would never say that to him, especially not with maybe-Ivan sitting right there. “I’m sure it looks worse than it is.”
“I don’t know about that.” He grimaced but then sent me a grin. “You see that block in the last quarter?”
Ivan grinned. “Best fucking tackle of the season, Blue. I think he’s still laid out back there.”
I had no idea what they were talking about or why they were grinning about Blue using his body as though it were made out of brick instead of flesh and bone. But I murmured my assent. “You guys looked good out there.”
“I can’t wait to get out of here and get some food.”
“You should come home with me,” I blurted. “To my house, I mean. You should come to my house.”
God, could that sound any more like a pickup line? Why didn’t I just ask to make out with him again while I was at it? My face went fire red.
I tried again. “Yum. Food. Good?” Damn. That wasn’t quite as coherent as I was aiming for. “I could eat you. Food! I could eat some of your food. Or my food.” I blew out a breath and tried to stop acting like the supreme leader of the weirdos. “I will get food,” I said grimly. “And we will eat it.”
He furrowed his brow. “You okay?”
I kind of wished he’d get out of that ice bath. I could see his nipples through the fitted tank. The frigid water had made them hard and pointy, and I wanted to lick them. Bite them. I shook my head in pure disgust. God, I was such a pervert.
“I’m fine.” Perverted but fine. I wiped sweaty palms unobtrusively on my ripped jeans. I’d paired them with an Outlaws jersey with Montgomery on the back, but I was wishing I’d opted for something sweat-wicking. “We can have pizza, and I’m pretty sure I have beer.”
“God, that sounds good. I could say I’m not going to drink the beer, but we’d both know that’s a lie.” Blue yawned. “As long as Coach doesn’t find out, it should be all right.”
I averted my eyes as Blue lifted out of the tub and ice water cascaded down his body as though he were in a fucking Flashdance video. He stepped into a pair of Nike sandals and took a towel from one of the waiting trainers. “We should go to my place, though.”
I looked at him to protest, and my mouth went Sahara dry as he began to rub himself with the towel. I looked away again. Jesus. How much was my queer heart supposed to take?
“What’s wrong with my place?” I asked the ceiling.
“You never have any good food.”
I scowled. “I said I’d order pizza.”
“What about in the morning? Pizza isn’t breakfast.”
“No one said you could stay over.”
He ignored me. “And you don’t have my protein powder or fruit for my morning smoothie.” He thought about it briefly. “Or a fucking blender, now that I mention it.”
I glared at him. “I wouldn’t want you to clog up my blender with that green chunky crap, anyway.”
“The blender you don’t have?”
I didn’t know what was in that smoothie he was always so insistent on having, mostly because, when I asked him, he started with wheatgrass. I tuned out after that. My breakfasts started and ended with bacon. Crispy bacon.
“Well, aren’t you a princess?” I mocked. “I don’t have any fruit. I don’t have my powder. I can’t live without my smoothies.”
He sent me a look of outrage. I wasn’t sure how much of it was mock. I’d called him a princess, after all. He lunged for me, and I held in my manly squeal as I jumped back and danced away. Even as I tried to get around maybe-Ivanovich’s tub, Blue grabbed me. He lifted me as though I were a sack of potatoes—not even the sturdy Idaho kind. A sack of red potatoes. Fingerling potatoes, even. And he held me over the tub he’d just vacated.
“Say you’re sorry,” he said calmly, not the least put out by my struggling.
I thought I should probably be mature at that point—mostly because it was the right thing to do… and because I didn’t want a face full of ice water. My sorry came out as “Eat dirt and die.”
He lowered me a little more, and I couldn’t hold back a bit of a screech. His resulting laughter made me laugh almost too hard to speak. “You motherfuc—”
“That doesn’t sound like sorry,” Blue said loudly over my cursing. “What do you think, E?”
Evan Ivanovich. His name popped in my mind with that little clue. I felt smug. My brain wasn’t quite the sieve I thought. I just needed a little help to plug the holes. From what I remembered, Evan was a pretty good guy.
Even from my upside-down position, I could see the big Russian looked amused. “Dunk him,” he advised.
Sonofabitch. “Come on.”
“Last chance,” Blue said implacably.
“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. Now put me down, you Neanderthal.”
“I’m going to ignore that Neanderthal bit.” He let me down, and not gently either. “I’ll be out in ten.” He slung his towel over his shoulder and headed for the locker room as though he hadn’t threatened a full-grown man with an icy dunking. Barbarian.
After a minute I realized I was watching him walk away like a lovestruck fool, and I blushed. I glanced back to see if Ivanovich was watching, and thankfully he wasn’t. He was staring at his shoulder as he rotated it with a grimace.
“You play?” he asked when he saw me watching.
“Not exactly.” And by that I meant never. Not even under presidential decree. Not even if the executive orders actually read, “Kelly Cannon, put on this helmet or die.” In the resulting silence, I searched for some common ground. “I did play soccer, though.”
In high school. For like six seconds of my junior year before I sprained my ankle and hobbled off the field into the Hall of Fame of Obscurity. But he didn’t need to know that.
“Then you know.” He rotated his shoulder again. “Fuck. Worse part about these guys is they report all your fucking injuries on the news. So next time they know exactly where to hit to make it hurt.”
“That’s horrible.”
“You bet your ass it is.”
I mentally patted myself on the back for maintaining small talk with a football legend when I barely knew which end of the field was which. But his next words stopped me in my tracks. “You shouldn’t come back here.”
I blinked. I’d admit my personality could be a bit like a licorice jelly bean—either you loved me or you hated me—but I’d never had someone dislike me quite that fast. “Excuse me?”
“You can’t be here. With him. Not unless you want to make things harder for him.”
“I don’t… I don’t understand.” Had I really been that obvious? I liked to think I was pretty cagey about my crush on Blue. I certainly had a lifetime of practice.
He shook his head. “It’s kind of obvious,” he clarified.
“We’re not… we’re not together that way. We’re just best friends.”
He looked at me hard, as though he thought I might be lying. “That’s not what it looks like.”
“And you care so much why?”
“I don’t give a fuck who Blue sleeps with”—he looked annoyed—“as long as it doesn’t affect the game. You fuck up his game? You fuck up my game. Other than that? We’re cool.”
“Well, you don’t have to worry about that. Because there’s nothing going on.” My jaw tightened despite my determination to look relaxed. I was coming to the realization that nothing ever would be going on either. Ivanovich was on Blue’s side, for Chrissake. What would the guys say who did care who he slept with?
“I knew you’d be trouble the day he brought you to the Fourth of July cookout.”
I glared. I remembered Ivanovich even better then. He had a huge, sprawling house on five acres in the suburbs, a nice wife who was a teacher, and two or three kids who’d been absent from the gathering, but their photos were everywhere in the house. He wasn’t new football money. He was old football money, the kind who no longer spent their money on fast cars and oversized jewelry, but on stocks and investments and football camp for underprivileged kids.
I thought he was a pretty nice guy. Then.
“Yeah? And why is that?” I asked belligerently.
“The way he looked at you then. Hell, the way he looks at you now. Like there’s no one else in the room. His eyes track you like he’s scared you’ll leave.”
I didn’t know if that was true or not, but it made me feel… confused. “I don’t see why that would be a problem,” I finally said.
“You don’t?”
“No. Believe it or not, there are gays in the NFL,” I sneered. I wasn’t outing anyone specific, but goddamn. He and I both knew I was right, and not just because of Michael Sam. Hell, even if a few hadn’t slipped me their numbers, statistics alone demanded I was correct.
He inclined his head to acknowledge my rightness in general. At least that’s how I interpreted it. “I’m not saying there aren’t any gays in football.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“I’m saying there are a lot of closed-minded people around here—closed-minded people who could make Blue’s life very difficult.”
I glared at him. “Well, how is anything ever going to change if no one does anything different?”
His mouth turned up a little. “You know, you’re not as much of a pushover as you look.”
There just wasn’t a good way to respond to that, so I didn’t.
He didn’t seem to care as he went on. “As long as he’s in the game, playing at this level, the guys will give him hell. He’ll lose endorsements. Funding. Maybe even his contract.”
“That’s illegal.”
“What the commission says and what they do are two different things.”
“There are other things he could do.” The words were out of my mouth before I could censor them. You’re supposed to be creating plausible deniability. Not collecting signatures for Blue’s float in a Pride parade.
“He’ll never do anything different. Football is Blue’s life… our lives,” he corrected with a grimace, as though they were in the same boat.
Ivanovich got to have the person he loved in his life, out and proud. He got to bring his wife and three cute redheaded kids to all his work events. He never had to wonder if someone wasn’t going to block for him because he was gay or would ambush him because they thought they could get away with it. He never had to wonder if his team was looking for a way to can him because they didn’t need the hassle. He didn’t have to risk losing camaraderie and friends and being one of the fucking guys just for daring to have a different sexual preference.
I didn’t say any of that, even though I practically had to bite my tongue off—mostly because I didn’t relish getting pounded in the face by someone who had fists like honey-baked hams. I liked my teeth, and I’d already bought that whitening voucher on Groupon. But mostly?
I knew he just wouldn’t understand. How could he?
Ivanovich lifted out of the water, and it rushed down his body like a waterfall off rocks. He was still wearing socks—a lot of players did that in the ice baths to keep from getting too cold. He held out his arms like the Christ the Redeemer statue as one of the trainers rushed forward to dry him off. We didn’t say anything until he waved the trainer away as though he were a gnat and stuck his giant sock-clad feet into the canoes he called sandals.
“Think about what I said.”
About what? Absenting myself completely from Blue’s life? I bit my tongue again and wondered how I would to talk or eat or give good head when it finally fell right off. “Have a nice night. Hope that shoulder feels better.”
“Thanks. Nice to see you again, Kelly,” he said as he walked off, clearly all right with the fact that he’d ice-bucket challenged all over my hopes and dreams.
I HEADED out to the vestibule and ignored the jockeying of reporters and fans who waited to catch a glimpse of their favorite players. Usually the hubbub amused me, but Ivanovich’s words swirled around in my mind. I jammed my hands in my pockets as I waited outside in the back of the building. And then I thought better of it and just headed for my car.
I didn’t want to risk seeing any of the other players. Maybe they saw something that wasn’t there too. Maybe they saw me as Ivanovich did—likable enough but a possible liability.
As I sat in my idling car, I couldn’t decide what to do. It seemed like the smart thing would be to push Blue away for his own good. I didn’t think he wanted me that way, but it just looked bad. I didn’t want him to decide I was too much trouble and he didn’t want to be my friend at all.
Not having him sexually I guess could deal with. Not having him in my life at all made my breath come short, and I suddenly wondered if twenty-nine was too young to have a heart attack. Considering my love of bacon and how my doctor usually frowned over my labs and used the word borderline a lot, it probably wasn’t.
The wide metal double doors clanged open, and I saw him suddenly framed in the light, waving at someone still inside the building. He looked around the parking lot, and I knew he was searching for me. He should’ve easily spotted the car—it was the only one in the lot that didn’t cost as much as a house.
I honked lightly, and he made a beeline for my car with that easy, long-legged, graceful stride. He’d changed into white jeans and a black button-down shirt. His jacket was folded across one arm, and he carried his team duffel in one hand. I loved it when he wore that jacket. It was a well-worn and battered leather bomber that made his shoulders look impossibly wide.
Even in the gathering dusk, I could see the grimace on his face. I grinned. He always gave me grief about the small interior of my car, and I thought maybe when I upgraded, it should be something bigger. At least a crossover. Although buying a car that would allow him to be more comfortable would not achieve distance.
I wiped suddenly damp hands on my jeans. I wasn’t ready to give him up. Worse yet, I didn’t know if I’d ever be.
He got in the car and tossed his duffel over the seat in the back. “Sorry to keep you waiting. I was just talking to Big Diesel. He invited us both to a gathering at his place.” He buckled his seat belt. “You in?”
“A gathering?” I gave him a dry look. “Since when do you guys use the term ‘gathering’?”
“Since now.” He blinked innocently, but his mouth curved with amusement. “A gathering is different than a party, Kel. Just in case Coach asks.”
I started the car but stalled for time. I didn’t want to go to the “gathering.” I wanted alone time with Blue so much it almost scared me. I wanted to stay at home together and have him all to myself. I wanted to get pizza and pig out in comfortable clothing and thick socks. Then I wanted to watch a movie on the couch where Blue always let me snuggle up against him. I think he liked it, even though he grumbled about there being plenty room on the couch for me to have my own seat.
I met my own guilty gaze in the rearview mirror. That was exactly the kind of closeness Ivanovich was talking about.
I glanced over at Blue to find him thumbing through his phone. He didn’t seem to notice that I hadn’t answered him. I cleared my throat. “Nah, I’m good. It doesn’t really seem like my kind of thing. And I have work tomorrow.”
“So do I,” he said, his tone a little put out. “I know you wanted to just veg at home, but it might be fun.”
Fun. I knew from experience what those after-game NFL parties were like. There was a lot of expensive alcohol, a lot of gorgeous girls, and a lot of “fun” to be had. And if I had to watch Blue getting his swerve on with some chick in a backroom somewhere, I couldn’t guarantee anyone’s safety.
I stared out the windshield. A slight rain had started, just a few drops at a time, not even enough for windshield wipers yet. “You should go,” I finally said. At his doubtful face, I tried to infuse a little cheer. “Really. I don’t mind.”
“Are you sure?”
He still looked hesitant, and I said a little desperately, “I’ll even drop you off.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to.” My voice was a little loud, and his eyes widened. Okay, take it down a notch. There’s a thin line between excitement and mania. “It would make me feel pretty lousy if you didn’t go because I didn’t want to. What are we, attached at the hip?”
He sent me an annoyed look. “No. You don’t have to be a jerk about it.”
“I’m not being a jerk. And if I recall correctly, you said the same thing to me not so long ago. With those exact words.”
“I didn’t say it like you just said it.”
I gaped at him. Maybe I’d blacked out and forgotten we were dating. For a minute there, he sounded just like my petulant ex. “Look, if you want to go to the fucking party, you should go.”
“I will,” he said coldly. “Not that I needed your permission.”
“For Chrissake….” I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The rain got a little heavier, and I clicked on the windshield wipers. “Why are we even arguing right now?”
He blinked at me for a minute. And then he laughed a little and wiped a hand down his face. “Hell, I don’t even know.”
I hit him on the shoulder. “Give me the address. I’ll put it in the GPS.”
We were quiet on the way to Diesel’s house, which was deep in some high-priced subdivision in Aventura. Only the faint instructions of the GPS interrupted our mutual silence—and the rain, of course. It came down in sheets at one point and obscured my vision enough that I fumbled for my headlights.
The road was suddenly awash with illumination as I turned on my brights and glanced over at Blue’s contemplative profile. I was seeing everything a little clearer lately.
Chapter 14
Blue
