Page 39 of The Fake Divination Offense
“I don’t—wearen’t, though? Like how far do we—”
Is he coming home with me? No. No, that’s…nope.
Is he going to get in my car? Will it smell like apples when he’s gone?
Treva gestures again, and I trudge along, Seb and Thio in tow. “We want some photos of you two walking out, hand in hand. Justgo past the gate into the player lot.” She leans in as we duck around some reporters. “It’s for show, remember.”
Just walking out. It’s for show.
Simple. Easy.
We make our way through the stadium and to a side door that opens into the balmy September night. The player lot is ahead, behind a gate and a brick wall, while an exclusive crowd of fans lines one side of the walkway between the stadium and that gate, held back by security and fencing. They’re already screaming and calling out names as my other teammates leave. I spot Darian signing a jersey.
Movement by the open doors has all my attention swinging over.
Alexo steps forward. He’s changed, too, but where I’m in sweats, he’s in chunky white shoes, baggy jeans, and another crop top, this one a white tank. No belly chain, thank the gods, but as he crosses the space to me, I’m stuck staring at his navel, the little line of hair on the lower part of his stomach that disappears into his jeans.
Fuuuuuck. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
I pry my eyes up to his.
And then realize that Seb and Thio are still with me and Treva has abandoned us to make the pictures morenatural.
So, like a very mature, professional guy in complete control of his faculties, I stand there. Staring.
And Alexo stands there, too. Only his eyes keep darting away, back to me, his hands clenching and unclenching on the strap of the backpack he’s got hanging off one shoulder.
Seb, bless him, breaks the silence by thrusting himself forward. “Well, hello there, cutie. You must be Alexo. O’s told mesomuch about you.”
I have?
I barely know anything about him, so what things Ihavefound out I’ve hoarded like a greedy little dragon protecting its gold.
“He has?” Alexo echoes my thought, but he shakes the hand Seb extends.
“He has.” Seb beams at me and props one elbow on my shoulder. Only he’s nowhere near my height and has to do this tugging shimmy move to get me to bend down, so by the time he’s relaxed on me, any sense of casual coolness is dead. “I’m Sebastian. And that’s my fiancé, Thio. We’re Orok’s found family, and by extension, we’re yours now, too. Welcome to the nuthouse.”
Seb doesn’t know this thing with Alexo is fake. He thinks the photos he’s seen online and all our dates are the start of a sweet romance. I haven’t had anything even resembling a romance in… ever. It makes sense he’s immediately trying to adopt Alexo the way I did Thio, and turn us all into one big, if not dysfunctional, family.
But this isn’t real. Alexo won’t get to fit into my life, not this way, and the image of him sitting curled up on the couch in my apartment next to me while Seb and Thio argue over cooking dinner has the breath going out of my chest in a sudden free fall of need.
I shrug Seb away. “Give me a sec,” I tell him. “I’ll walk him out, then we’ll go.”
Seb frowns at the energy coming off me. I’m stiff, hands in fists, my tone flat. He sees right through me, he’s always seen right through me, andthisis why I’ve avoided him, too—because he’s going to make me confront this. He’s going to be the killing tap on the fissure, and I’ll shatter.
I extend my hand to Alexo, eyes on the carpet they’ve rolled out for the players.
After a beat, his hand slides into mine. Just his fingers resting on my palm.
I curl my fingers around his and walk, pulling us farther past the doors and out into the area with the crowd.
Cameras flash. Voices call out to us. But we don’t need to stop for any interviews; we just need to walk. Get to the gate for the player lot, and go our separate ways.
His hand is warm. Delicate and thin. He doesn’t cling to me, just lets me hold him, and I risk a glance down at him, using my body to shield him from the worst of the cameras and crowd.
He’s staring straight ahead, at the gate, his jaw set, discomfort clear in the lines around his eyes and lips. He notices me watching him and only flicks his eyes to the side, not all the way to me, before he faces forward, shoulders pulling back.
There’s that free-fall sensation again. Tumbling down, down, because I lost my grip on something I was never supposed to touch in the first place.
