Page 91 of Catching Kyle

I love watching Kyle play, but it’s not all great. In public, he and I have to pretend like we’re only acquaintances, and even then it’s risky. Timmy, his agent, became wary of me when he found out I was gay. So I just try to give Kyle all the space I can in public, especially when Timmy is around. Luckily, though, he hasn’t suspected our whole ruse.

In entering Kyle’s world, I expected that we would have to be extra careful. But what I didn’t expect was how hostile the football environment would be to people like me and Amani. I mean, sure, gay people aren’t banned from being here, but I hear at least one slur every time I come to a football event. No wonder Kyle has been closeted for so long. He’d have been met with nothing but scorn if he was an out player.

The Hustlers snap the ball, and one of the Tigers’ linemen breaks through the offensive line. Everyone around us gasps, then exhales in relief when he manages to tackle their quarterback.

“Think we’ll win?” I ask Amani.

“Don’t even ask that,” she says, clutching her lucky anime pendant in her hand. “Don’t jinx us.”

“Fine,” I say, throwing my hands up in defense with a nervous smile.

My stomach is in knots as all the players get into position. Even from here, I can see Kyle’s perfect bubble butt, and blood threatens to swarm my groin. I hope we get some intimate time tonight.

This football season has been hard. He’s either practicing, out in public with Amani, or preparing for a game, let alone all the travel he has to do for an away game. I hardly get to see him once a week, and I’m lucky if I’m able to sleep over. I wish we could have some sort of vacation, just the two of us. Even if it’s just a day.

On the bright side, Kyle’s has been trying to be as open as he can about what’s going on in his head. Mostly, I feel close to him. But there is one thing I don’t understand. Any time I bring up the Championship Game, his jaw locks and shoulders tense. He doesn’t look me in the eyes, and he’ll bounce one of his legs furiously.

I try to ask what’s wrong, but he uses our safe phrase we came up with, ‘it’s too hard right now’. Out of respect for him, I don’t inquire further, but the tension always lingers after that, sometimes ruining the little time we have together. So I just don’t bring it up anymore. But my concern only grows the closer the Championship Game comes. What is on his mind?

The Hustlers snap the ball again, and the quarterback manages to throw it. Luckily, Kyle’s able to tackle their tight end before he takes off too far. Amani puts her hand on my shoulder to collect herself.

“These games are gonna take years off my life,” she says.

“That and this arrangement,” I say. “The Championship Game can’t come soon enough.” Once we’re past that, we won’t have to live our lives in secret anymore. Plus, he’ll have no reason to be tense about the Championship Game anymore.

“Amani!”

I turn around and see Ricardo, the very same reporter that tried to out Kyle last year before the Championship Game.

Amani turns, sees him, then snaps right back to the game. Timmy has instructed her to not speak to Ricardo unless she absolutely has to. He knows how to get people into embarrassing, potentially career-ending binds.

“Amani,” he says again, coming down the stairs to us.

“Ricardo,” she says without looking at him.

“How is it being a football girl?” he asks. “Dating the Sexiest Man Alive.” I glance over at him. He’s wearing a coat over his all black suit, a Hustlers tie hanging from his neck.

“It’s fun,” she says with a smile, still looking at the game. “I’ve come to love the sport.”

He smiles, but there’s something on his mind. Something devious. “Tell me,” he says. “How is it you two met again?”

Amani’s smile falters, and I look right back at the game. I don’t want to blush, breathe heavy, or give away any inkling that I’m invested in the conversation. But I’m worried the fact that my tongue intimately knows Kyle Weaver’s asshole, that he’s seeded me more times than I can count, will somehow betray that I’m the one very much in love with Kyle Weaver.

“At a book club,” she says.

“Ah, yes,” he says. “Ruckers, was it?”

My stomach sinks. Kyle never went once to that book club. It was only me coming over that gave him the knowledge of what happened so he could prove to his agent that he was going. If Ricardo finds that out…

“Yes,” she says. “And if you’ll excuse me, I’m watching the game.”

“Apologies,” he says. “I’ll let you and your friend keep watching.” And then he disappears up the stairs.

“That was smooth,” I say, my heart racing.

“That’s one thing I’m looking forward to being over,” she says. “I’m done talking to sleazy reporters.”

Both of us resume our watch of the game. Two plays have happened, and now the Hustlers are only ten yards from the touchdown line. They could go for a field goal, but they need a touchdown to tie.