Page 37 of Catching Kyle (Football Heartthrobs #1)

Michael Cunningham

After the Hustlers’s first down, 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.

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.

The players get into position, and I steadfastly watch Kyle. When the game comes down to a wire, he has a tendency go into beast mode.

The ball snaps, and the quarterback steps back to throw the ball out.

Amani and I hold our breath.

And then it’s like Kyle can tell the future .

The Hustlers quarterback looks like he’s throwing it to his tight end to his right, but he really throws it to the left. The same direction that Kyle is already running.

The quarterback sees him too late. The ball already in the air, Kyle leaps for it.

And he catches it.

The crowd goes berserk as Kyle runs toward the opposite end of the field, almost unopposed. Amani and I scream his name, and my chest is hot with pride. That’s my man.

The timer just about to reach zero, Kyle runs out of bounds just as it hits zero, ending the game and securing the Tigers a win. Now they’re in the playoffs.

Amani and I scream and hug each other. I kiss her cheek, and then we see ourselves depicted on the giant stadium jumbotron. I pull away from her quickly. I don’t know what’s worse: showing everyone I’m gay or doting on the Sexiest Man Alive’s girlfriend.

Blurry words appear at the bottom of the screen. When they come into focus, they read ‘Weaver’s lucky girl’. She cheers and waves, and my stomach curdles.

I know this whole situation is fake, but it hurts my heart every time. Why can’t it be me? That jumbotron should be focused on me. It should say ‘Weaver’s lucky man’.

This season can’t end soon enough. I need some sort of reprieve, a vacation. Thanksgiving is coming up. Some teams do play then, but I don’t know about Kyle. Maybe I can ask him if we can have alone time. I think I’ll need it to make it to February.

The jumbotron focuses on something else, and Amani sighs. “Gosh, that’s exhausting,” she says, but she’s still smiling.

Exhausting is right. I wish I could fault her, but she’s the one making a sacrifice for me. And I’ll always love her for it.

“Come on,” I say, putting my hand on her shoulder. “Let’s go greet your boyfriend.”

We shuffle up the steps and make our way down the stadium. I console myself with the thought that, at the very least, I get Kyle all to myself tonight.