Page 17

FIFTEEN

SANTA

“Fuck,” Charlie says again. This time, though, he doesn’t shout.

From my frozen position I see him cover his eyes, and after a long moment he peeks at me again, then he turns and seems to try his hardest to yank out his hair.

“I’m going home,” I say, when my mouth works again, then I decide it’s a great fucking idea.

He turns around, eyes wide and panicked. Yeah, I need to be away from here—from him—to process this.

“Yes.” I nod once. “I need to get my things and then I’ll come back.”

With that said, I spin on my heels and leave as fast as I can.

The ride to the strip is a blur. My thoughts are all jumbled together and the only things I can think about are what’s right in front of me—changing lanes, taking the exit off the highway, stopping and going at a red light, driving down into the garage of the Winner resort and parking.

It’s only when I’m in my room, pouring myself a tumbler of Vodka, that it dawns on me.

Charlie, a man , kissed me.

Right on the lips.

And I didn’t pull away.

He kissed me for at least twenty seconds, I think...

Oh, who the fuck cares how long the damn thing lasted? The important thing is, I didn’t pull away and— gulp —I didn’t not like it.

I down the huge mouthful of vodka in one go. It doesn’t help.

All I can do is think back on exactly how it happened.

I pushed and pushed him, antagonized him, said things I know aren’t true, and for what? To get a rise out of him? To have a reason to fight with him?

There’s always been a reason.

And with that the anger creeps in and settles right in place. Before it can grow and explode, though, my phone buzzes in my pants pocket and I see it’s Jules.

“Is it true?” he demands, and I have to shut my eyes tightly at the disappointment in his voice. I assume he’s talking about being benched, and not the kiss since there’s no way he could know about that .

“Yes.” I tell him simply.

There’s silence for ten seconds and then a simple command .

“Come to my house.” It’s an order, not a suggestion.

The line goes dead and I look at the bottle of vodka, seriously debating whether I should take another drink or not, then shake my head and screw it closed.

I’m for sure taking it with me to Charlie’s house, but if I want to be able to drive I can’t drink any more right now.

With that, I start packing. Deciding that taking the picture of my parents which is always on my nightstand isn’t embarrassing, I throw that into the suitcase too. Everything else takes me less than ten minutes, thanks to Caro who always has my closet looking impeccable and my bathroom organized.

I stuff it all into the passenger seat of my Vanquish and then drive to Jules’s place, which is a bit further away than Charlie’s but who the fuck cares. It’s not like I have a curfew.

As far as I’m concerned, the whole not leaving each other’s side thing starts tomorrow.

“Come in,” Jules tells me in a clipped tone I’ve never heard from him before—not directed at me at least.

He leads me to the living room where I find Bear as well. So this is officially a berating they’re about to give me.

I decide I don’t really feel like hearing all of that, so I nip that thing in the bud .

“Yes, Charlie and I are benched for at least a game. It will not be two if we manage to prove to Laney, Barlow, and Gab that we are no longer going to act like imbeciles. Yes, I know you are all very disappointed in me, and I am sorry. I am trying to fix it, I promise.”

I look from Bear’s brown eyes to Jules’s green ones, then back again while I speak. Sadly, when I’m done, I realize my words didn’t decrease their anger.

“This isn’t a fucking joke, Nikolay,” Jules snaps at me, and I actually flinch. He’s never called me fucking Nikolay. In the last seven years since my parents died, only Charlie has done it, which I preferred to him calling me Santa because that would’ve meant he’s actually part of my team.

“I know it’s not a joke,” I snap back. I know they have the best of intentions and they more than likely have their own feelings on it all, but right now I need something else from them, something more complicated.

What even is the protocol in a situation like this?

I have no fucking clue if Charlie is queer. I mean, I haven’t heard him say anything to Jules—who would be the man to tell if there was something to say—but that doesn’t mean anything.

We’re the only team in the league who has out players as far as I know, and fuck, is that why Charlie came to the Pirates?

To finally be able to be himself?

Once more, shame fills me at the thought that thanks to me he hasn’t been able to connect with anyone on the team. And if that was his one goal in coming here...

I shove that ugly-ass feeling away. I’ve got no patience for shame.

I just accept what is—that Charlie is probably queer—and move on. I’m simply not going to say it’s Charlie. And I won’t be able to tell them about how much I hate the person who kissed me, but that’s fine, it’s not really relevant to my side of it.

After they tell me how the fuck I should proceed, I’ll go to Charlie’s house and ask him what the fuck is going on once and for all. If anything, he has to know that I won’t hate him for being queer.

I’ve got more than enough reasons to hate him, and I’m not a fucking bigot, so he’s got one less thing to worry about there.

“I need to talk to you about something else.”

“What?” Jules asks, outraged. “You don’t think it’s important that we?—”

“I do think it is important,” I interrupt him. “But this other thing is important-er.” I decide to start speaking badly so Jules will focus on something else. “We can talk about me being benched some other time. I want to talk about how a man kissed me—which was unexpected—and I didn’t pull away. It was... nice,” I settle on.

Jules looks at me slack-jawed, and Bear just tilts his head slightly to the side.

“When you say nice...” Bear starts, leaning forward until his elbows are resting on his knees. “Do you mean nice like when you drink a new brand of vodka and are okay with only that glass, or nice like you want to buy a crate full of them?”

It always amazes me how well Bear knows me. This is the perfect analogy for me.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Jules mutters as he walks to the couch and plops down like he’s lost all strength. “Now I need a fucking drink.”

I think about mentioning how I have some in the car, but that might raise questions. And I don’t want to talk about moving in with Charlie because that might make them think he’s the man who kissed me.

And I don’t want that.

Getting back to the kiss, though . . .

“I meant nice like I definitely want another glass. Not sure about the crate yet.”

“Interesting,” Bear says, leaning back.

“What does that mean?” I demand.

He snorts.

“I have no fucking clue what it means. Only you know if you wanna bone the dude or just kiss him. Or maybe you were caught off guard and now can’t remember. In any case, I think you need to kiss another man.”

“Why?” I’m so confused.

“Because then we can see if it’s all men or just this man. Maybe this is a demi thing?” He looks at Jules when he asks that question, which I’m thankful for since I have no clue what demi means.

“Maybe.” Jules’s soft words don’t inspire a lot of confidence in me.

“Kiss him then,” Bear tells Jules while pointing at me.

“What?” I ask, slightly disgusted. Jules is like my brother.

“What?” Jules’s voice is much louder. He looks disgusted, and though I am too, I act all offended just to get him to lighten up.

“Oh, now I’m not good enough for you? I’m ten years younger than your husband,” I point out.

“So?” Jules asks, standing once more. “You’re not as hot as him. I sure don’t want to kiss you. Why don’t you kiss him?” Jules rounds up on Bear who holds both palms up.

“Drew would kill me. It was bad enough after the disaster dinner,” he says cryptically. Are they talking about the time when they all found out Chris had slept with them? Normally I would focus on the fact that my two friends, who are right in front of me, were attracted enough to Chris to sleep with him—however long ago that was—but all I can think as they bicker and as Jules’s shouts become screeches while Bear just needles him, is that I hope the kids aren’t home.

“And you think Sterling would be fine with me kissing Santa?”

“He sure as fuck isn’t,” comes the deep voice from the rock star himself, right behind me .

I spin and smile down at him.

“No worries, music man.” I pat his shoulder. “My lips have not touched your beloved. We are just talking hypothetically here.”

“You kiss him,” Jules demands, making me turn to him and hopefully find out who he’s offering my lips to now.

Aaaaand he’s pointing at Sterling.

I turn to see him again, this time with a critical eye, and decide that, yeah, he’ll do.

“Yes, I think this will work. If I am not attracted to Sterling who has been declared the sexiest man alive multiple times, then I think we can conclude I am not attracted to men.”

“No,” Bear says, and shakes his head as he too stands. “You need to kiss Sterling and then go back to the dude and kiss him again. Then if you don’t get a chubby from either kiss, then we can conclude you’re not queer.” Turning to Sterling, he explains. “It could be a demi thing.”

I’m about to demand they explain what that means when Sterling nods and looks at Jules. “You mind?”

They don’t even look at me to ask if I mind—which of course I don’t. All in the name of science and whatnot.

Jules shrugs. “What the hell,” he says and throws his hands up.

Sterling turns and then he just straight up grabs my cheeks, pulls me down exactly how Charlie did, and kisses me .

It’s... fine, I guess. A normal enough kiss, but I feel nothing but the need to pull back. So I do.

“Well?” Jules asks me, frowning.

“You can relax, Picard, because I never want to kiss your husband again.”

That has him smiling—fucking finally—and he snorts.

“We’re idiots.”

I couldn’t agree more. But at least we’ve got each other.

That brings Charlie, and my earlier thoughts about him, to the forefront of my mind, and I realize I need to go to his house.

I just have to get over his words from all those years ago and make things right with him. For his sake—if my suspicions are true—and for the team’s.

“All right, then,” I say cheerfully, and clap my hands. “I will go kiss the other man, then I will talk to Charlie and figure everything out,” I tell them, already walking back to the front door. And without giving them a chance to revisit the whole benched thing, I get out of there as fast as I can.