Page 10 of Trick Play (Playing the Field #4)

CHAPTER

NINE

Zeke

Then

“No wonder Tahegin didn’t want to come with you,” Micah mutters as I finally call an end to the line of fans wanting to kiss me. I have enough pictures for a massive photo dump across all my socials. This was a spur-of-the-moment trip, one I knew I had to make once I saw the scrutiny coming down on an eastern division player after his return to the field following his second concussion this year. The decision to return should ultimately be up to him and his medical advisors, but of course, everyone and their mother thinks they should have a voice in the matter.

I’d asked Tahegin to join me at the theme park today since he has always been my go-to guy, but he’s too busy pursuing Hendrix or cleaning up after dogs at the animal shelter. Who knows. Maybe Micah is right. Maybe after years of being photographed with me, Tahegin didn’t want to have to deal with the endless fans trying to get a piece of me.

I need this crowd, though. Posting pictures of me kissing countless strangers always catches the media’s attention, and I can only hope it will take some of the pressure off the newly returned Baltimore player.

Micah and I have been hooking up for a few weeks now, but this is the first time I’ve asked Micah to accompany me on a public outing. We’ve been at the theme park for several hours now and have yet to do anything other than crowd work. It’s obvious Micah is chomping at the bit to do something else.

“Sorry, bunny,” I tell him, wrapping my arm around his waist and beginning an aimless meander. “Let’s do something you want to do now.” My free hand makes a sweeping gesture over the booths of games and caricature artists, inviting him to choose.

“Ooh, can we go on a roller coaster now? There’s one just over here.” For the first time since we got here and were immediately swarmed by my fans, Micah actually sounds excited.

I don’t have the heart to turn down those big brown eyes full of excitement. Swallowing around the lump of this morning’s breakfast in my throat, I mutely nod and allow him to drag me toward the line. I’d given him free rein at admission, and he’s spared no expense when selecting passes that will let us jump the line entirely.

The roller coaster is in front of me before I have time to adequately prepare myself.

Scratch that. I don’t think an entire lifetime would be able to prepare me for the feeling I get when I catch sight of the drop. Despite being a themed ride rather than a thrill ride, it’s still entirely too high at its peak for my comfort.

“Zeke? Whoa, are you okay?” Two delicate hands land on my chest, right over the scratches he left there last night. The small reminder is enough to pull me somewhat out of my spiraling panic. Enough to register the heaviness to my breathing, the adrenaline zapping my veins, and the roiling in my gut. Enough to lock eyes with Micah but without the ability to compose myself whatsoever. “Hey, hey,” he murmurs, concern filling his eyes as he gives me his full attention and ignores the attendant trying to usher us forward. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m not good with heights,” I manage to grit out without parting my teeth. I might puke if I do.

“Oh my God. Why didn’t you say something? We don’t have to ride. Come on, let’s go.” Taking my hand, Micah leads me off the platform with a quick apology to the attendant, who I don’t think could care less. The further we get from the death trap, the easier it becomes for me to breathe and think clearly. Focusing on Micah’s ass in his tight blue jean shorts helps too.

I had him just last night—even if he had to leave after only one round because of a promise to feed his neighbor’s dog—but I’ll be damned if I wouldn’t take him right here and now in one of these park bathrooms, public or not.

Every hookup with him only gets better. I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to.

The concerning part is that I don’t want to. I’ve done the friends-with-benefits thing in the past, but it’s never lasted very long. I’m not good with commitment or remembering to say the right thing at the right times. I haven’t become the playboy of the NFL for the fun of it. Everything I’ve done with my image stems from being very promiscuous in my earlier years. Behind closed doors, I’ve toned down some, but in public, my reputation has only grown.

“Why did we go to a theme park if you don’t like rides?” Micah asks softly once we’ve driven far enough from the park that I can breathe comfortably again. He’s taken the wheel in my stead, letting me slowly recover from the panic that encased me, body and soul, earlier, though I’m not sure if that was the best decision. The transmission grinds as he shifts gears, but at least it doesn’t stall again. We’d barely made it out of the parking lot of the theme park.

“I don’t like heights,” I correct, even though I know what he’s truly asking. “The teacups would have been fine.”

“Zeke . . .” He trails off when I don’t offer any more explanation.

Thinking he’s decided to leave it alone, I begin the painstaking process of cropping photos from earlier and choosing which ones to post where. There are over a hundred, which is admittedly exhausting, but knowing the purpose behind them makes the discomfort worth it. If I can take the heat off my fellow NFL player for even a few hours, I’ll feel like I’ve helped.

I’m torn from posting on my socials when the car comes to an abrupt and jerky halt.

“What is this, Zeke?” Micah asks, gesturing at my phone. Looking up, I realize we’re already at my house. I must have been pretty zoned out to miss most of the drive, save for a few overcorrections and spun tires. “Is it narcissism? Did you take me to a crowded place just so you could get your rocks off kissing people and getting internet clout from it?”

His blunt question throws me for a loop, and I flounder for a minute, trying to think of what to say. No one has called me on it before. Tahegin just rolls his eyes and continues about his day, but Micah has a spark in his eye that says he’s only just begun with his interrogation and theories. “I, uh— It’s not?—”

“Do you want people to notice how many strangers you kiss?”

“Well—”

“A few strangers aren’t enough either? You kiss a lot of them. You take pictures of all of them. You post all of them. On purpose. You . . . make yourself seen. But why?”

“I don’t . . . Um . . .”

“And why didn’t you kiss me ?” His last question is spoken softly. Timid. As if he isn’t sure he wants to hear the answer or not. He stares at me from the driver seat, eyes big and brown and sad, bottom lip pushed slightly into a pout. “Why did you bring me there, Zeke? Not to kiss. Not to enjoy the rides. Why?”

“Shit. Bunny, please. Don’t think I didn’t want you there.”

“You did ask Tahegin first. I understand if I was just . . . a last resort. I know we’re only—well, whatever we are.”

I sigh and rub at the headache forming behind my eyes. “Hold on. Let me explain. Please. It’s just . . . It’s hard to . . . I haven’t told anyone. Not even Tahegin. Please. Come inside, and let’s talk, okay?”

Luck must be on my side because he agrees. And if he slams the car door a little harder than necessary, that’s okay.

Leaving our shoes at the door, I lead him inside my house and onto the living room sectional. It’s chilly, and Micah pulls a tan blanket from the back of the couch to cover his exposed legs, which he has tucked up, arms wrapped around and chin resting on his knees. “I’ll hear you out,” he says. “Don’t make me regret it.”

I can only hope it’s worth telling him. I’ve kept this secret so long I’ve never even been tempted to spill it to anyone, not even my best friend. What does that make Micah, then?

“My second year in the NFL, I didn’t think anyone knew who I was. I hadn’t made a name for myself or broken any records. No MVPs. Nothing important. I didn’t think people were interested in me, much less during the off-season. I was careless, went to a club, picked up a guy, and took him to the alley out back. We were just making out, but someone who recognized me followed us and took pictures. Those pictures ended up on all the gossip sites before going viral. Suddenly, I was the first out queer player in the NFL, and no one would leave me alone .

“Reporters and cameras followed me everywhere. They asked all kinds of invasive questions they had no right to ask. One gossip column even set up a monetary reward for anyone who could identify the man I was with.

“That was the last straw for me. How dare they come after someone just because I made out with him in an alley behind a bar? What happened to privacy? So, I decided to post scandalous pictures of myself on my own social media before they can. If I kiss one hundred people, are they going to try to identify all of them? No. I exposed so much of myself that I had no more secrets left for the media to try to uncover. I kissed anyone and everyone of legal age, eighteen or eighty, man or woman or non-binary, and I posted it before anyone else could do it first. They stopped following me around. Stopped asking me all those personal questions. Why did they need to when I was posting everything for everyone to see?

“Something extraordinary happened, though. One day, I was getting ready to post another round of photos, this one with pictures of me kissing teammates in honor of pride month, when I noticed a breaking news story posted less than an hour before. That story was about another NFL player whose wife had cheated on him with one of his teammates. It was a messy situation with a public confrontation that was recorded by someone nearby. I felt so bad for the guy. Then, I noticed not long after uploading my post, it started getting a lot of attention because it was the first time my teammates kissed me for my socials, and it started trending above this other player’s scandal.

“That player messaged me later and said that while he knew I didn’t make the post to purposefully overshadow his scandal, he was thankful my pictures took a lot of the attention off of his private life.

“I realized I could do something with my posts, and that’s why I needed to go somewhere crowded today to take a lot of pictures. That Baltimore player is getting a lot of hate from the media and fans. I want to give them something else to talk about. At least for a little while.”

By the time I’m finished speaking, Micah’s tears have begun to fall. They’d formed when I spoke of my forcing outing, but now they run in earnest, dripping from his long, dark lashes, over his high cheekbones, and down to the corners of his pouty lips. Something in my story must have resonated with him, or maybe it’s his selfless compassion making him as emotional as I was when this was a fresh wound for me.

“Don’t cry, bunny,” I murmur softly, voice thick as if I might cry, too, and caress my thumbs beneath his eyes to wipe the tears away. I pause with his face cradled between my hands, just holding him.

“Too late,” he chuckles, apologetic and wet, before placing his hands over mine. He meets my eyes and reflects everything I thought he was feeling. Compassion. Empathy. Admiration. “From now on, you better include me in these posts, Ezekiel Aleks. I may not be famous, but I want to be a part of this with you. I want to help. I don’t care if you visit the capital or the homeless shelter, I want to be there, too.”

Outwardly, I’m calm, but internally, I’m giddy that someone finally knows the truth, and it’s Micah, and he isn’t judging me. He understands, and he wants to be a part of it, too. How did I get so lucky to land a sexy bunny in my bed—and that he turned out to be the best person I’ve ever met?

I smile and plant a soft kiss on his lips. “You got it, bunny.”