Page 17 of Catching Kyle (Football Heartthrobs #1)

Kyle Weaver

I’m in the foyer of my home pacing back and forth waiting for Michel to arrive, anxious as hell.

When I was back in Glamour Springs, I said the words in my head. I admitted that I liked men. That I was gay.

I pause to look again at the cover the Cat Sebastian book we had to read for book club, the one that made me come to my senses back in that lesbian bookstore. Since that day, I read it again, and it hit just as hard the second time.

Me. Kyle Weaver. A gay man.

I start pacing again.

All those feelings around women finally make sense. It’s not that I get all moody and down around them because I’m a misogynist, or because I’m mentally unstable or something. I just don’t swing that way. Like at all.

But I’m terrified for what this means now. All this talk of me being single for so long, the speculation as to why—it’s all true. It is because I’m gay.

What does this mean for my new contract?

For the NFO? For the Championship Game? My promise to Dad?

Sure, some players in the NFO have come out in the past, but none have been as established as I am in my career.

Plus, my whole goddamned reputation is the Southern heartthrob gentleman.

How would me being gay change that? I’m getting my heartburn again thinking about it—no, these are emotions. I think this is anxiety .

Michael is gay. I’m thinking I can tell him about this. My whole situation. My agent Timmy is the only other one who knows in detail, but he doesn’t know the gay part. I need someone else on my side.

I freeze. But I can’t tell Michael. With how many videos of his I’ve jerked off to over the years?

Sheesh. If I were to break this secret, what’s stopping me from telling him that he’s the most handsome man on this planet?

That I’ve fantasized about plowing those globes he has as ass cheeks?

I may be able to say I’m gay but no more than that.

I don’t know what to do about my football career, but I sure as hell am not ready to give it up just for some hot redhead with a mullet.

My doorbell rings, and I just about throw the book into the air.

My heart is racing just like it does before kickoff.

Breathe, Kyle . What did Dad use to say?

He said things always work out for those who try.

But Mama also told me he said integrity was the most important thing we have.

And I definitely don’t have integrity the longer I keep this secret.

Gah! I can’t keep teetering back and forth.

I gotta just open the door and deal with what’s coming.

Which sure as hell won’t be me and Michael. Damnit .

I open the door, and Michael’s there holding one of those big grocery tote bags. It looks like it’s filled. Now what the hell is—

“I wanted to say that I’m sorry,” he says, his shoulders curling into his chest, which he does to make himself small. I used to like it—I thought his shyness showed how into me he was. But it just makes me think he doesn’t like himself. And I hate that.

“Sorry?” I ask.

“For how I acted last week,” he says. “I was a total jerk.”

Jeez. After all that’s happened, last week feels like a year ago. I have a hazy memory of him getting upset after I gave him the feedback about his novel.

I scratch the back of my neck, already damp with sweat. “That’s nothing to worry about, Michael. I understand how hard getting feedback can be.”

He sighs, tension melting from his shoulders, and part of me thinks it was me saying his name that got him to relax like that. If I had him in bed, how else would he react to me saying his name?

No, Kyle. Focus .

“It wasn’t just the feedback,” he says. “Lots of other things too. But thanks for understanding. Can I come in?”

“Oh, what am I doing? Of course,” I say, pulling the door open for him. “That bag looks so heavy. Sorry to keep you standing.”

Once we’re inside, I take the bag from him and carry it to the coffee table. I peak inside and see some containers with the Clucker’s logo on them.

“What’d you bring?” He asks.

“Well,” Michael says, drawing out the vowel as he walks into the room.

“I brought some food as an apology. I was thinking of flowers instead of food, but then I remember how we usually eat, and I was wondering what use a football player would have for flowers. I figured you eat a lot of protein, so I got us both a lot of chicken tenders.”

The words spill out of like they’re burning his mouth, and I just stare at him with my mouth open, a grin forming on my face.

I want to go over, kiss him on the cheek, and call him babe, just like real couples do, but I can’t.

Damnit, I feel just like that baseball player—confused inside, unable to accept what I want.

What would Dad do? He would definitely be against doing anything gay.

And ma? She would say to be honest. But right now, those are at odds with each other.

“Are you okay?” Michael asks. “You’re staring into space.”

I shake my head and blow air out my mouth. I clap my hands and rub them together. “Just hungry,” I say. “Let’s eat!”

I hand a container to each of us. When I open mine, I’m intoxicated by the scent. It’s filled with chicken tenders and crinkle cut fries.

“I know I’m supposed to be dieting, but damn am I excited for this,” I say.

Michael smiles shyly. “I’m glad.”

We both dig in, and I manage to convince myself that maybe I was acting weird because of the hunger. Because now I feel a lot better. I don’t even remember if I ate after my workout this morning.

“Sorry again. I appreciate you being so understanding about how I acted,” Michael says, finishing off a fry. I peer over at his container, and it looks like he’s hardly made a dent. Me, on the other hand …

I finish off a chicken tender, and I’m sad that there’s only one left.

“I got some extra,” Michael says, pointing to the bag.

I look him dead in the eye. “You are my hero, Michael Cunningham.”

He blushes, and I get chills at the sight.

How in the hell am I supposed to have this man over every week and not leak that I’m into him?

And on top of this, I still have to find a girlfriend.

Luckily, with the book club info that Michael’s been giving me, I’ve been able to keep Timmy at bay.

He thinks I’ve been faithfully attending.

But what’s going to happen when July 1 st comes?

All I have to show is a schoolboy crush on a hot gay pornstar.

“You got nothing to worry about,” I say, referring to his apology. I dip my last chicken tender in their special spicy sauce.

“Thanks,” Michael says. He’s holding himself small again, trying to pull in his large frame, and it looks unnatural. It looks like he’s got something on his mind. Maybe he wants to talk about this.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” I say, closing my container and opening up one of the extra ones. Inside, there’s another whole load of chicken and fries, and I offer a silent prayer of gratitude to God.

“Yes?” Michael says. He’s sitting on the edge of his seat, making me think he’ll answer anything I ask him. I wonder if this obedience extends to other areas…

Kyle, stop it. For fuck’s sake.

I clear my throat. “What got you so upset anyways? You said it was more than just the feedback.”

He leans back and rests his elbow on the armrest, propping his head up. He sighs, ready to explain. “Your feedback was deeper than you realize,” Michael says. “A few years back, I started dating my ex, David.”

Just the mention of his ex makes my heart burn. I don’t like the idea of him being intimate with someone else.

“He wasn’t good for me in a lot of ways, and he really wore me down.

Our relationship was mostly superficial.

And his drinking was crazy, which led me to recovery in Al-Anon.

I slowly discovered parts of myself there.

One of those big things was that I like to write romance.

Because I only came to such a conclusion away from my ex, I figured that my best writing would be done as a single man, away from the distraction of any unhealthy relationship. ”

I marvel as he speaks. This man—he knows himself so well. It’s like his mind is a freaking snake and he’s got a flute, charming the snake and making it dance however he likes. And the way he says it out loud… he’s so damn smart. I can’t describe what’s going on inside my head like he can.

“But I still haven’t been able to land an agent.

Hearing you come in and so clearly break down my writing weaknesses—which, thank you so much, by the way—was illuminating.

To say it was because I was single made sense, but it went against everything I knew about myself.

For years, I thought that being away from a relationship was making me a better writer.

Now I had to be in one? And hearing this news after I had a horrible run in with my ex at the bar? ”

My heartburn worsens. He saw his ex. Does he still like him?

“But I was able to work all that stuff out with the help of my support network, mostly my sponsor,” he says. “And you didn’t deserve me running out on you like that.” He shrugs. “In short, I took my insecurities out on you, and I’m sorry. Hope that all makes sense.”

I exhale through my nose. Make sense? I woulda never guessed this was how he felt if he didn’t say it so plainly.

“Well you clearly have a talent with words,” I say. “Because you made something really complicated make total sense. Thanks for explaining. And you have nothing to worry about.”

“Thanks,” Michael says, blushing again. “You’re welcome.”

Goddamnit. I have to look away from his gorgeous face before I say or do something I regret.

“And you have a way of critiquing,” he says. “Your feedback was spot on. I went and applied it to my writing and—holy shit—you were right. I shared it with a couple of writing friends, and they said it was the best of mine they had ever seen.”

Pride swells in my chest. “I was just being honest. And for all that you’re doing for me, you deserve my honest help. I can’t wait to see your next installment. ”

He leans forward and starts eating again. “You’ll be getting it soon. Can’t wait to hear what you think.”

I resume eating as well, finally feeling satisfied, both in terms of hunger and my feelings.

I’m glad that Michael and I are good again, and I’m glad that he’s happy.

As long as all this is going well, it will be a little easier to finally get a girlfriend.

And, I have to say, I’m happy he’s truly single.

I lean back into the couch and rub my belly, contented. “Glad you’re doing good,” I say. “’Cause when I saw your latest video, you looked so sad. You had me worried.”

Michael nods, chewing, and then he freezes entirely.

And that’s when my body goes as still as stone, as cold as ice.

He looks at me with wide eyes, mid-chew.

I want to sink into the couch and disappear.

I may have just revealed that I watch his videos.