Page 41 of Wood

“Got a text from my agent,” Ben says, trailing his fingers through my hair. I probably need to shave the sides again. “Marcus wants to meet up before we leave, in Belfast.”

“Mm?”

“Yeah, guessing the top five placing is gonna change up some things,” he continues.

“Hm,” I hum.

“No opinions?” He tugs on my hair.

“I don’t know anything about agents, Ben. We can go wherever you need to go.” I huff a laugh. “Your plane.”

He hrmphs. I sense something else under the grumble, so I rotate and prop myself up on an elbow beside him, taking a moment to kiss his abdomen above his sleeping cock, then looking up to meet his eyes.

“Mmm,” he purrs.

“Something bothering you?” I ask.

His forehead crinkles. “Just a feeling.”

I wait, sprinkling more kisses until his cock stirs. He pulls my hair with a laugh. “Bad boy, stop that.”

“Mmm, so bad,” I smirk, then press up to sitting and give him my full focus. “What feeling?”

“A top five, it could mean more attention.”

I consider this for a bit, turning over some possibilities. “That’s good, right?” I ask. “Sponsors, interviews…?”

“Mostly good,” he agrees.

“But?” I wait for him to gather his thoughts. His fingers tap on his thigh.

“Right now, the press leaves me alone. I get interviews during tournaments, but no one is looking for other stories about me. I have always been careful to stay in the closet.”

“And that could change,” I start connecting the dots. My heart plummets into my feet. “I should move out,” I whisper.

“No!” he exclaims. “That’s not what I meant!”

“But it puts you at risk,” I say, pulling away, wanting to crawl away, fast. Oh, fuck, this hurts. I can’t see right, things are all blurry, shit, where are my clothes. I scramble off the couch towards the bedroom. There are clothes in there. Why is my chest so tight? I can’t breathe and I need to breathe, need to find clothes. I’ll take a taxi to the airport and get on a plane to Denver, and he will be safe. I have to protect him. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“No!” he snaps. “Nononononono.” He reaches for me, but I spin away, sobbing, finding the bedroom door.

I pull on a t-shirt and find some jeans on the floor, tug them on without underwear. He barrels into the bedroom and pulls me into his arms.

“Stop, Geoff, just stop,” he growls. “Let’s talk about it.”

“I put you at risk,” I sob. Snot is running down my face, charming. I swipe at my eyes and nose with a hand, wipe it on my jeans. “Someone could see us and then you would lose sponsors, lose money.”

“Fuck that,” he snarls. “I have enough money already, dammit.” He is holding me so tight, I can’t get loose and I need shoes. Need shoes. I need to protect him. Guard Dog. Need to leave. Shoes.

I must have said that aloud because he shakes me. “Dammit, Geoff, look at me.” Fuck, I have to look. He told me to look. I have to.

“I want to come out.”

I can’t move. I’m paralyzed. I am staring into his beautiful brown eyes, like he told me to. I didn’t hear right, that must be it.

“You heard me right, Geoff.”

Am I speaking all of my thoughts aloud now? How annoying.