Page 12 of Catching Kyle (Football Heartthrobs #1)

Michael Cunningham

Since it’s a weeknight, I’m thinking the bar won’t be busy, but I’m dead wrong.

A group of younger guys, mostly twinks, line the dancefloor, checking their phones periodically.

The dancefloor is filled with both men and women—probably just as many straight women as there are queers—and they jump and dance to the thumping music.

Older men sit at the bar as the shirtless bartender races from one end to the next, obviously stretched thin but belying his stress with a smile.

As we make our way to the bar, I spot Greg—a friend of mine I used to film content with.

I wave to him, and he holds his drink up to me.

He’s got a receding hairline with a stocky build, and he’s a monster in bed.

We hooked up a few years back when I was still into that sort of thing, and then we started making content shortly after.

He’s a nice, down-to-earth guy, and I was immediately interested in dating him.

But of course he was already married. Bill, his husband, is a wonderful man, but it always seems like I fall for the guys who are never available.

Luckily, I don’t have feelings for him anymore, and it’s been a while since we’ve filmed anything.

“What can I do for you, baby?” The bartender asks Amani as she approaches the bar.

“One shot of fireball for me,” she says, and she turns to me.

I grimace. “Fireball? ”

Amani shrugs.

“Just an Aperol spritz for me.”

He checks me out, then starts pouring our drinks.

Three drag queens dressed to the nines with even larger personalities stroll onto the dance floor and make their way to the DJ’s stage.

They wear clashing shades of yellow and green, and I swear I recognize these colors from somewhere else.

But it’s not a good kind of familiarity.

And looking around the room, nearly the entire crowd is dressed in the same colors.

And I think I can even recognize some of the faces.

“What’s going on tonight?” I yell into Amani’s ear.

A guy leans over from the bar. “It’s the gay rugby team’s fundraiser,” he says. “They’re doing something every night all week.”

And that’s when my stomach sinks to the floor. It’s the rugby team that David played on.

“Rugby,” Amani says, pulling on my arm. “Does that mean David is here?”

My knees go weak. Memories of my ex flash through my mind.

Sneaking away with one of the members from a visiting team and then lying about it.

Him getting shitfaced, then angry at me for not keeping him in check.

Promising he would stay sober and then caving in at the slightest provocation.

Any and all rugby events were torture for me.

And I just walked right into one.

Though we broke up two years ago, the thought of us being in the same room makes me nauseous. He always knew how to push my buttons, how to make me anxious. He’s the whole reason I went into recovery.

But I doubt he’s here. I heard he moved a year ago.

“It should be fine,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant. “There weren’t enough guys to sleep with in Portland, so he moved to LA.”

She squeezes my arm, seeing right through my bravado. “Are you going to be okay?”

I look at her, wanting to give her a reassuring look, but it just comes out as a wince.

“I’ll take my shot, and then we can get out of here,” she says .

The bartender hands me our drinks, and I slap enough cash for us and our tip on the counter. I don’t want our cards holding us back when it’s time to leave.

“No,” I say, handing her the shot. I smell the cloying cinnamon gasoline drink and have to resist a grimace. “You supported me through that hell of a breakup. Now just let me support you. You’re going to start writing again!”

She wraps her arm around me, then holds her shot up. “To making it big!”

I clink my glass to her. “To getting published!”

She somehow takes her shot in one go, while I just take a big sip of my spritz.

The carbonation burns my throat, and I love the almost medicinal taste.

It reminds of staying home as a kid from school and taking that liquid medicine from a cup.

I know, it may sound disgusting. But God it was so nice to just have a day to myself as a kid.

And an Aperol spritz is that feeling distilled into a drink.

“Okay,” Amani says, wiping her lips with her sweater. She sets down the glass. “I’m ready to go.”

With perfect timing, the DJ starts playing our favorite: Pink Pony Club.

I look down at her with a raised brow and pursed lips. “You sure you want to go now?”

As the bridge leads into the first chorus, Amani looks at the crowd, then back at me. Then she grabs my arm. “Come on!”

I laugh as she pulls me into the crowd just in time for all of us to scream the chorus on the top of our lungs.

We dance together, and quickly, I forget about it all: David, my writing, even Kyle Weaver.

I’m here to support a friend—to support myself—and have fun.

I may not know how to write romance well, and I keep falling for the wrong guys, but at least I have this moment right now.

Toward the end of the song, someone taps my shoulder. Having lost sight of Amani, I turn to what I think will be her. But it’s not.

It’s David.

It’s as if my confidence is punctured like a deflating Macy’s Day Parade float.

My mood gradually drifts to the depths as David grabs my hand and pulls me closer to him.

He gestures for me to leave the crowd, to follow him, and I can’t stop myself.

Even after all this time, I’ve been curious: did he miss me ?

When we reach the bar, I hope my ears are too shot for me to hear. But, just my luck, he somehow finds the quietest spot. And his voice, ever so soothing, is crystal clear.

“I didn’t know you came out to the bars,” he says.

I pause, hoping I’ve just conjured this all up.

He puts his hand on my upper arm, and that warm touch seeps through my sleeve. This is, unfortunately, real.

“It’s good to see you,” he says.

I sigh. “I thought you had moved,” I say.

He laughs and puts his hand on the counter, flexing his arm in the process. Of course he’s gotten more muscular.

“I did,” he says. “But someone brought me back.”

My stomach turns over itself. “Someone?”

He gestures, and this tall, hunky ginger man comes in and gives him a side hug. And stays there.

I want to melt into the ground. That’s Steven. One of the guys David was sleeping with while we were dating. And he’s like a more handsome version of me.

Pink Pony Club finishes, which couldn’t feel more fitting.

When I came out, I left my family’s religion behind, the one where I could never belong.

I thought I would immediately find love in the LGBT community.

But it never seemed like I quite fit in there either.

I was too feminine for David’s friends, including Steven, and any other attempt at a gay friendship just turned into the other guy peddling for sex.

Before long, I couldn’t help but feel that either I didn’t have a ticket to the Pink Pony Club, or it didn’t really exist. Seeing these two guys together, though, makes me feel that the tickets are only sold to select clientele.

And I’m not one of them.

“Good to see you,” Steven says.

I only nod back. Of course, Steven didn’t know that David was in a relationship. Only because David lied to him about us. I know Steven’s not to blame, but David has sucked up all my goodwill like the black hole that he is.

“So you came back to date him? ”

David looks up at him admiringly, which is no different than him punching me in the gut. He used to look at me like that.

“Let me get us a drink,” Steven says. He looks at me. “You want anything?”

I’m flustered. “I—”

“He doesn’t drink,” David says.

Steven kisses him on the cheek and leaves us.

David eyes me up and down. “You’re looking good.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re unbelievable.”

“What?” He asks, standing straighter, noticeably perturbed. “I’m just saying. Wouldn’t mind getting in those cheeks again.”

I blush, and it feels like one of those rugby events all over again. “David, you’re already drunk?” He always knew how to hide it well. Until he didn’t. But clearly now he’s given up on sobriety.

He shrugs. “You know I can’t resist you.”

I scoff. “That’s not happening. You have a boyfriend.”

He wrinkles his nose and tilts his head side to side. “That’s negotiable.”

I shake my head. “And does he know that?”

David says nothing.

I turn away. “I’m leaving.”

He reaches out and grabs me. I freeze.

“I am trying,” he says. “To stop.”

I don’t turn to him. But I don’t walk away either.

Stop what? I want to ask. Your drinking? Lying? Being an asshole?

“You know how hard it’s been for me,” he says. “And truthfully, I miss you.”

My heart thaws a bit at the words I wanted to hear. I turn slightly to him. “Really?”

He nods, his eyes sparking. “Yeah.”

Amani spots me from the crowd, then her eyes widen. She lets go of the girl she was dancing with and stomps toward us.

David looks toward the bar and lets go of me like I’m diseased. Just as Amani reaches me, Steven returns with their drinks.

“Here you go,” the ginger Steven says, handing David his drink .

“Michael,” Amani says, putting her arm on mine.

I glare at David, wanting him to say more. But his eyes are vacant, and he stares at nothing, as if he didn’t just try and get in my pants. As if he didn’t just try to apologize.

Some people wave to the two of them.

“See you around,” Steven says to me, and he pulls David away—who doesn’t even dare to say bye.

I clench my fists.

“Michael,” Amani says, rubbing my shoulder. “I’m sorry, I lost you. Let’s get out of here.”

My phone buzzes. I pull it out as I rub my burning eyes.

It’s a text from a number I don’t recognize.

“If you want to see me, let me know – D.”

And then my blood starts to boil.

I shove my phone back into my pocket.

“Michael, what’s wrong?”

“David’s what’s wrong,” I say, not even bothering to stop the tears.

“David lies,” she says. “You said to tell you that whenever—"

“I know what I said,” I choke out. “But I’m too goddamn stupid.”

She shakes her head. “Michael, no. That’s not—let’s go home.”

“No, I’m good,” I say, looking for a particular someone I saw earlier. “I saw you dancing with someone. You’ve said how hard it is to find someone you like. Go back and dance with her.”

“You don’t sound good,” she says. “I want to make sure you get home safe.”

“I’m fine,” I say, stepping away from her. “There’s someone I want to see.”

“Michael—”

“Really,” I say, turning to her. “Really, Amani.”

She sighs. She can’t argue with me now. “Please tell me when you get home safe, okay?”

“I will,” I say, wiping my eyes. “Just go have fun with that girl, please. Don’ t worry about me.”

But I turn around before she does. And that’s when I spot who I’m looking for. I march up to his group, not even caring how I may look or how they may see me. There’s only one thing I want to do right now.

“Michael,” Greg says when he sees me. “I was hoping to catch up with you.”

“You wanna come over?” I ask. I don’t have time for small talk.

He shuts his mouth, then squints at me, then smiles—surprised, confused, accepting. “Right now?”

I shrug. “It’s you or someone else. And I’d prefer it was you.”

He laughs, flattered. He sets his empty drink down on the table. “I’d be down for some fun.”

When we get to my apartment, I send a quick text to Amani and clean myself up.

“Please be safe tonight,” she responds. And I just send a heart back.

“You wanna record this?” Greg asks. “Could be cool.”

I look at my camera and ring light standing to the side of my bed. I shrug. “Why the hell not.”

And then we get to it.

Sex with Greg isn’t as great as I remember, but that’s probably because I’m sad. And furious. And so, so tired.

I should be over this. I shouldn’t be hurt by the asshole that David is after all this time. It doesn’t even feel like I’ve taken a step back. It feels like I never took a step forward.

I see the camera blink red as Greg rails me from behind. At the very least, I’ll get paid for my misery.