Page 11 of Catching Kyle (Football Heartthrobs #1)

Michael Cunningham

A few weeks later, it’s a busy night in Portland’s gay district, and I’m shivering underneath a streetlight.

Amani said she wanted to do something different, perhaps go somewhere else for our weekly catchup.

Before I could throw out an idea, she suggested this street.

I wanted to protest—I hate going out to the gay bars.

I feel it’s just a place where men eye one another and treat each other like sacks of meat.

I’ve always wanted more than just carnality.

That’s why I write romance after all. It just sucks that a good relationship can only be fantasy.

Amani wraps her arms around me in a side hug, sending a satisfying wave of warmth through my body. “Thanks for coming out here,” she says as she pulls away. “I know you’re not a fan of the bars.”

I spot a group of jacked, bearded men walking up to what is usually the busiest bar, and there’s an uncomfortable tug on my stomach.

“Come on,” Amani says, pulling my arm. “There’s a new restaurant out here I want to try.”

I feel as if I’m a tourist being swept through the streets of a foreign city. We slip through crowds of people and pass by multi-colored buildings and lights. It’s been ages since I’ve been out here. I think the last time was when I was dating David. I shiver at the thought .

“Here we are,” she says. I’m overwhelmed, but her excitement is infectious. She pulls me into this Japanese restaurant, one I never knew existed down here. And the walls are covered in anime.

“You have got to be kidding me,” I say, the widest smile forming on my face. “Amani, this is your dream come true.”

“Don’t I know it!” She says as we approach the hostess. “Table for two, please!”

A Japanese woman wearing an elegant pink kimono bows and gestures for us to follow her. She takes us to a table just in front of Naruto slurping up a bowl of ramen on the wall.

“Isn’t. This. Amazing?!” She says in a manic whisper as I sit down.

No longer moving, I have the bandwidth to look around.

Banners with Japanese characters hang from the ceiling.

To our left, there’s a sushi bar with a ruggedly handsome man preparing sushi for several women eagerly watching him create their rolls.

Each table is filled, and the sound of boisterous conversation buoys my mood.

“I’m glad you suggested this,” I admit. I look up at the Naruto drawing again. “Though we could have gone with better seating.”

She laughs. “Thanks for humoring me. I didn’t know who else could tolerate my anime obsession.”

We both look over the menu, and I’ve already decided. The katsu ramen sounds divine.

“It seems like it’s more than just the restaurant. What’s got you so happy?”

She looks at me above her glasses. “I’ve been thinking. You’ve been working with Skye—that critique partner you met because—” She coughs.

I playfully roll my eyes. “Yes, because you suggested I go to Rucker’s romance book club. Thank you, Amani.”

She swirls her hand and gives a mock bow. “You’re welcome, you’re welcome. And there’s this whole mystery boy that you’ve been working with as well. I can see how it’s affected your mood. And your writing.”

My chest tightens. It’s been a month since I started going to the Rucker’s weekly romance book club and since I started meeting weekly with the Kyle Weaver—the top linebacker in the NFO and the Sexiest Man Alive.

It still blows my mind that I have his number and that he’s actually reading my work.

He says he wants to wait until he’s read enough of my novel to give me feedback, which makes me nervous that he’s just hoarding bad news until he can’t stand to keep it inside.

But he has emphasized to me that he wants to keep his anonymity. That’s why he doesn’t go to the Rucker’s book club himself, after all—he just has me bring his book and report what the discussion is about.

“I never told you he was a boy,” I say.

“It can’t be more obvious,” she says. “You just seem more hopeful now.”

“That’s just because editing my novel has been easier,” I say, trying to obscure the identity of this ‘boy’.

“And your writing,” she counters. “Has also been so much stronger. More compelling. You do realize that, right?”

The waiter comes to take our order, but I can’t help but think that Amani is right. Writing has become easier. Skye and I have been meeting after book club every week to do our writing together, so it’s nice to have an accountability buddy.

And then there’s Kyle Weaver. When he took off his shirt during our first discussion, I thought I was going to pass out.

And the look he gave in return somehow told me that he knew he had that effect on me.

And he just swaggered on as if nothing happened, but I could see the lingering smirk there every time he looked at me. Like he was playing with me.

And I fucking loved it.

No wonder my romance seems to be improving. I have a real-time crush.

“Fine,” I say. “You got me. There is a boy.”

She pulls herself in and squeals. “I knew it! I can always tell!”

But as she congratulates herself, bitter dread pools in my chest. I can’t be developing feelings for Kyle Weaver.

I just can’t. When I went through the twelve steps with my sponsor, I had to make amends in Step Nine, which included myself.

I promised myself that I would never let myself fall for someone emotionally unavailable.

Especially if I want my romance writing to keep improving.

And a straight guy—a smoking hot football player of all people—is the most unavailable person on the planet.

Even if he was the most mature person in the world, he could never like me back.

So Kyle is not an option for me. I will nip this affection for him in the bud.

My writing will thus improve because I’m not chasing an unhealthy affection.

And then I’ll get published and have my writing community back.

“But it’s nothing, really. We’re just friends. And it has to stay this way.”

She pouts and sticks out her bottom lips. “Really?”

“Really,” I say with a sigh.

In the nick of time, our food arrives, and both of us eat in silence.

Amani and I came up with an agreement years ago.

When one of us says something crazy or out of left field, and the other asks ‘Really?’, a response of the same word means it’s really true.

It has saved both of us plenty of breath.

“Well, I brought all this up to mention,” Amani says, blotting her lips with a napkin. “That I contacted my agent again.”

I set down my chopsticks. “Really?”

She nods. “Really.”

“So you’re writing again?”

She takes a deep, almost cleansing breath. “It’s time. Seeing you blossom in your work has inspired me. I threw out an idea to her this morning. I hope to hear from her soon.”

“That is so awesome, Ams,” I say, my chest warming. “I’m so happy for you. What’s this idea?”

“I can’t jinx it!” she says. “Once I’ve fleshed out the idea more, I’ll tell. I’d also like to join your little group with Skye.”

“We’d love to have you,” I say.

“Thank you,” she says. “And thank you for the inspiration.”

I feel heat behind my eyes. “I never thought I was inspiring, so that’s nice to hear.”

“Oh, hush,” she says. “You are plenty inspiring.”

As we finish up our food, I think back to my argument with Kyle several weeks ago, how he said that fantasy was the only inspiring genre.

He and I challenged each other to read more of the other’s genre, and I have to say that maybe that’s also partly explains the improvement in my writing.

He challenged me to read Brandon Sanderson’s Stormlight Archive , which, in the main books alone, is over six thousand pages.

Not wanting to seem like a coward, I took on the challenge.

I was daunted at first, but I soon fell in love with each of the characters, so much so that hundreds of pages have flown by, and I haven’t even noticed.

I’m almost finished with the fourth book.

But as payback for giving me so much to read, I’ve tasked him with reading the entire backlists of Emily Henry and Abby Jimenez, which, by the way, are still less than what he’s making me read.

As long as I keep my emotions in check, I can make a good friend in Kyle. Maybe after this whole book club agreement is over, we can keep reading together. I just need to remember to not catch feelings.

“Besides coming out to this lavish establishment,” Amani says, gesturing to the whole restaurant. “I did want to celebrate.”

I raise a brow. “Celebrate?”

“Yeah, you know. Go to a bar. Take a shot or two.”

I sigh but can’t help but smile. She’s convincing.

“You know I don’t love to drink.”

“Then you can just watch me. If not, that’s totally fine. But hell, I’m happy for myself. I think I deserve this.”

We pay our bills, and I chew over invitation in my mind.

I don’t love going to the bars, but this is a special occasion.

Amani is writing again for Christ’s sake.

After she got that feedback from an editor, she never thought that she could make it as a black author again.

But to see her excited—it makes me excited too.

Plus, maybe going out will get my mind off Kyle. And I don’t need to worry about hooking up with someone. I can just let loose and have fun.

I rise to my feet, Naruto watching me from the wall. “Then let’s go.”

“You’re serious?” She asks with wide eyes. “Really?”

I flash her a silly grin. “Really.”