Page 90 of Catching Kyle

Suddenly, I look away, the bubbling in my chest turned to painful tightening, like all the bubbles have tripled in size, and I fear I may have just ruined everything. I shouldn’t have said that.

He grabs me by the chin and makes me face him again. Then he raises up to kiss me.

“I love you, too,” he says.

And then it’s like all the bubbles in my chest pop, providing me sweet release from the pain. I did the right thing.

“Thank God,” I say, laughing. I don’t know what else to say.

He laughs too, and we lay like that for a while, me on top and inside him. As I look at him, the feeling swells in my chest again.

“God, I love you so much,” I say. And the swelling subsides.

He moves his hand through my sweaty hair. “And I love you.”

I let my forehead collapse into his chest, and I take a deep breath, taking in our sweat and the earthy smell of sex.

So, this is what being honest with myself is like. What integrity is like. Michael strokes my hair, my heartrate calms, and I feel myself rock hard again. I’m so goddamn happy.

I lift my head and wiggle inside him, already hard again. “Ready for round two?”

He nods. “Vulnerability turns me on.”

I grin. “Well, from now on, there will be plenty more of that.” I gently thrust into him, and he moans. I laugh. “And much, much more of this.”

He wraps his legs around me again, pinning me against him. “What are you waiting for?”

I chuckle. “Just getting started.”

Six Months Later

Chapter 31

Michael Cunningham

AftertheHustlers’sfirstdown, Amani and I can’t take it anymore. We stand up from our seats and hover close to the ledge. The sun has just set, and snow is beginning to fall. Bright lights shine down on Portland’s football field. The Tigers are hosting the Hustlers on this cold November Sunday.

We’re at the end of the final quarter. The Hustlers are down six, so if they score a touchdown, we go into sudden-death. The Tigers have gone undefeated this entire season, but the Hustlers might end this streak. Yet if the Tigers win this game, their spot in the playoffs is guaranteed. And then we’ll be one step closer to the Championship Game.

The Hustlers snap the ball, and their quarterback throws it to their wide receiver. I see Kyle running to intercept.

But he misses.

Amani and I scream, fearing the wide receiver will break away. But he’s tackled by someone else just as he reaches the ten-yard line.

“Fuck,” Amani says. And I can’t help but laugh at her.

At the beginning of the season, she and I knew nothing about football. Kyle had to explain the basics to us repeatedly. But even then things didn’t really make sense until we started watching games ourselves. Now I can watch a game and understand almost everything. And I have to say, this has definitely earned me my ‘straight-card’. I’m like in the top tenth percentile of gay men who understand sports well.

The Hustlers are now less than twenty yards from a touchdown, and their downs have reset. I reach my hand to my mouth and start biting my nails.

“Look at us,” Amani says, her voice muffled by the scarf over her face. “A couple of football chumps turned fans.”

I grin. “Honestly, I feel like I’ve been missing out. This is fun.”

Nearby, an older man swears at the Tigers. “Do your damn job, defense,” he says. He spits, then takes a sip of his bear. “Fucking faggots.”

I bristle at the word. Back in July, the Tigers re-signed Kyle for one more year after they were convinced he was straight—that is, no longer a threat to the Tigers’ reputation. And since then, he’s been inviting Amani, his fake-girlfriend, and me, her gay best friend, to all his games.