False Start (Eastshore Tigers Book 2) (14 page)

I
can tell
Mitch is inside his own head.

I may be a jock, but I’m not oblivious. Never have been. And I’ve been spending a lot of time with him over the past few weeks, so I know what he’s like when he gets quiet. This time, I even know the cause. It isn’t his shitty family. It isn’t midterms.

It’s me.

He’s pissed at me for outing us. I can understand that, though it isn’t as big a deal to me as I thought it would be. Anderson’s an asshole, and you can’t skirt around an issue with assholes. You have to confront them with whatever they fear, make them face it, and force them to back down.

It’s more than that, though. It’s easy for me because this whole thing with Mitch has been surprisingly easy. Once we got past those initial pitfalls—and once I got over myself and admitted I definitely wasn’t straight—there wasn’t anything to hold either of us back anymore. We’re having a good time, and I don’t give a shit if anybody else knows it.

But maybe Mitch isn’t in the same place. I don’t even know if he’s out to anyone besides his family, and as we park outside his place, I start to feel a little sick. I follow him inside, and notice the subtle differences. He’s not smiling, for one. He walks through his kitchen in a bit of a daze. He doesn’t ask me if I want anything, just grabs a soda from the fridge and tosses it to me.

I pop the top and look at him. No sense dancing around it.

“You’re pissed at me.”

“What?” That cuts through whatever fog he’s in. Blue eyes shine at me in confusion. “What are you talking about? Why would I be pissed at you?”

“For outing you. Outing us.”

“Oh.”

He doesn’t say anything more to that. Instead, he opens up his Coke, takes a drink, and leans back on the counter. When he looks at me again, it’s with a sense of bemusement.

“You think I’m angry?”

“Well, yeah. I don’t know if anybody else knew you were gay, or if you even wanted them to know.”

“They didn’t.” He doesn’t answer the second part right away. “I’m… I mean I guess I should be angry. Things are going to change for me with the rest of the team. I guess I’m just more… astonished that you’re taking the fall with me.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re a senior. The guys know you. They respect you. And you just basically admitted that you and I are… together.”

“And?”

He looks at me like two extra heads have sprouted from my neck. “And… it’s not a big deal to you?”

“No, it’s not. None of the guys give a shit when someone starts dating a girl. As far as I’m concerned, it shouldn’t matter.”

“I…”

He looks completely flabbergasted. I set down my soda and step closer to him, putting my hands on his shoulders. My palms smooth over them, finding the sides of his neck. I could kiss him right now and end this conversation, and a part of me wants to.

But instead, I try to reassure him.

“I
am
sorry for outing you. It was a shitty thing to do, no matter what I believe. I just don’t want you to be surprised by the fact that I don’t feel like I need to be ashamed of this or something.”

“I am surprised,” he admits. “I guess… I just haven’t ever known anything different. I couldn’t ever afford to be really out; not with my family’s status. So I always dated guys who I thought were in the same situation. Only… the guys I dated ended up still being closeted, so whenever we were around their family or friends, they always acted like they were straight. And with you just recently figuring out you
aren’t
straight…”

I slide one hand behind his neck, then finally bridge the gap between us to kiss him. “I get it. You don’t have to worry about that with me.”

But I start to realize I may have to worry about it with him. Shit, if his family doesn’t accept him, what’ll they think of me?

“So does that mean we’re… what? Dating? Am I allowed to call you my boyfriend?”

He asks it playfully, but I can hear the edge of insecurity in his voice. I kiss him again.

“I’m cool with that if you are.”

But even as I say it, an alarm sounds in my mind. I don’t really know what all of this means to him. If he’s looking for something longer than this season, I don’t know if I can give it to him. I’ll be in the NFL, and unless I get drafted by the Jags, we probably won’t see each other much.

Even if we could, I have a feeling his family won’t welcome me into the fold.

I push it from my mind for now, though. I don’t want to think about the future without Mitch. Even when we were just rivals, he pushed me to be something new. Something better. I don’t want to think about what I’m going to be when he isn’t in my life. I want to explore what I can be now.

So I kiss him again, and this time it isn’t a kiss of reassurance. His lips part beneath mine and I touch my tongue to his, searching and stroking. He relaxes, and then his arms come around me and I push him back against the counter, pressing our bodies together.

The erection I had at the gym comes back even stronger as we continue. Our thighs press together and I grind against him, groaning into his mouth. We both know the sorts of things we like and want now, and we’re okay with going after them. He doesn’t even hesitate to unlace the ties on my athletic pants. I don’t ask permission before I cup him through his.

We’re fueled by lust and passion and a strong desire to make each other moan. The stumbling walk to Mitch’s bedroom is one I know by heart now, so even while I’m distracted with trying to get his clothes off, I can steer us there.

By the time I push him back on the bed, he’s in his briefs. He lands with a huff and grins up at me, probably expecting me to pull down my boxers or drop to my knees.

And as much as I’d love to have his mouth on me again, I’ve got something else on my mind.

“I want you to fuck me.”

The words send a sizzle of heat through me even as I say them, and Mitch’s shocked expression is immediately gratifying. His hand halts in midair, hanging there after being in pursuit of my waistband.

But the longer he goes without speaking, the more I begin to wonder if my request is too far out of left field.

“I mean, I’m guessing you mostly top?”

He licks his lips, and his voice cracks. “Actually, I usually bottom.”

I raise a brow. Damn. I guess the idea of having someone take charge appeals to him as much as it does to me. I shouldn’t be surprised.

“But I’ve topped before,” he quickly adds. “I just figured
you’d
want to top.”

I grin at him. “Yeah, maybe next time. Or we could wrestle for it, see who comes out on top.”

I’m not going to tell him I might have fantasized about that very thing. Nope.

He laughs, and the sound of it cuts through my haze of lust and folds something deeper into my heart. He smiles—maybe a little shyly—and that feeling hits me even harder.

“Probably not the first time. Sometimes you have to work up to it. But if you’re really sure…”

“I’m sure.”

The words go unspoken, but I hope I’m conveying them with my eyes. He looks up at me and seems to understand my meaning.

I trust you.

He pulls me down to him and we explore each others mouths and bodies. I kneel on the bed beside him and his hands caress me, eager and tender at once. I can feel that tension start to build, even from this, and I start to wonder if I should ask for more already.

But he gets my boxers off and, after paying some attention to my cock, he moves his hands around and grips my ass. He pulls me against him while we kiss, and his finger starts to trace around my hole.

It’s a weird sensation at first—just enough stimulation to be noticeable and strange, but not enough to do anything else. When he stops, I wonder if that’s all he’s going to do. But he smiles at me, leans over the bed, and grabs a little tube from the drawer.

Right. I’m glad he’s thinking of that, because I wasn’t.

“Should I be… positioned a certain way for this or something?”

They make it look easy in the videos, but I have a feeling it’s not going to be too easy for a first-timer. I can feel my muscles start to clench a little, and I start to get nervous. Mitch has been with other guys before. What if I just don’t like this at all? I’m the one who asked for it, what’s he going to think if I hate it?

“You can just lay on your side.”

He flips the cap open and squirts some clear lubricant into his hand, rubbing it between his fingertips. I do as he says, but when his hand moves back to my ass, I start to hold my breath.

Mitch lays down beside me, and presses his lips to mine in a gentle kiss. “Relax,” he breathes against my mouth. “And if it ever hurts, you’d better fucking tell me.”

I laugh at that, and when Mitch smiles, I do ease up a little. He distracts me with his lips and tongue, his hand sliding over my cheek. I feel it when he starts to probe me again, but this time he makes progress. Having his finger inside me isn’t as strange as I thought it would be, and it doesn’t really hurt. Not with him going so slow.

The more he does it, the more I start to relax. It helps that he presses his lips to my jaw, my neck, my chest, and even my shoulders, too. Everything we’ve done has been pretty quick and rough so far, but this is something else.

I can’t say it’s really mind-blowing, though. Until he does… something. It’s so intense that my hand grips hard on his shoulder, and I just let out a gasping moan.

“Fuck,” I hiss, and press back against him.

He keeps it up, and I can feel my cock stiffen again, tension winding through me. It’s almost too much for me to bear.

But then he stops, and I practically growl.

“Ready for more yet?” He murmurs against my lips.

“Is it going to feel like that?” My voice is hoarse and strained.

“If I have anything to say about it, yeah.”

He reaches back into the drawer, and I hear the tearing of a condom wrapper. Mitch doesn’t tell me where to lay, but instead keeps his hand on my hip as he uses the other to slick himself up. I stay where I am, and he settles in behind me this time.

My muscles start to tense again, though more from anticipation than anything else. This time, he kisses the back of my neck and shoulders, his stubble scraping against my skin and sending a shudder through me.

And then I can feel him against me. He enters slowly, but I still have to adjust to his size. Jesus. Even in my mouth, he doesn’t feel
that
big. But it gets easier, especially as I relax. And then he’s sinking deeper into me, touching that one spot again and any discomfort is swallowed in a blinding flash of pleasure.

He nibbles my ear, making me shiver, then kisses a trail down my jaw to find my lips. As we kiss, his hips continue to press forward, until I can feel his skin against mine.

Then he starts to move inside of me.

It’s just a gentle rocking at first; this position doesn’t seem to allow for anything too rough. That’s probably why he chose it, and the care and consideration in that choice is astounding. I told Mitch I gravitated toward gay porn because it seemed like the guys could be a little more direct with each other, but this tenderness speaks to something deep inside of me.

At this point, he probably doesn’t even have to touch me to bring me to the edge, but he does it anyway. Firm, confident strokes push me past the breaking point. White hot pleasure sears through my body and I groan, the sound catching in my throat. I feel Mitch’s pace become erratic, feel his breath against my neck, and then he comes, too, with a full-body shudder and the sexiest moan I’ve ever heard.

I feel the loss of him when he withdraws, too, and it takes all too long—at least in my opinion—for him to come back to me, his body pressed against mine. I turn to face him, and we do something I’ve never done with anyone before:

We just sort of lay there, lazily touching and kissing. It’s exploration with no other purpose than exploration. It feels like the most natural way to come down from the high I’m riding, and it surprises the hell out of me.

“So. Do you think it’s for you?” he finally asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

I chuckle, tracing the curve of his arm. “I dunno. I guess I could learn to live with it.”

I can’t keep a straight face, especially when he nips at my chin in response.

“Still wouldn’t mind the wrestling, though,” I say with a wink.

I feel his laughter rumble through his chest. We talk and tease for what seems like hours. It’s probably way too fucking late for two guys who have 6 AM practice, but neither of us care.

And later, when I finally fall asleep with my arms around him, I feel like something’s changed, and it’s not at all subtle. It seems like it started when I stuck up for us in the gym, and it’s hit a crescendo now.

I’m not sure anything’s ever going to be the same between us.

“
Y
ou aren’t paying movers
, Ma. Not when I can do it for free.”

I’ve been on the phone with my mom for the past half hour, trying to convince her.

“You have one day off, you don’t need to spend it lifting boxes for your poor mother.”

And she’s used this same argument—in one form or another—since she told me she was finally moving out of the old place.

It’s not hard to see where I get my stubbornness from.

“Mom, seriously. I was going to come see you anyway. I’ll get one of the guys and we’ll help you move everything in. It’ll take an hour. Two hours, tops.”

Silence greets me on the other side, and I know I’ve won. She’s out of arguments to make. A smile tugs at the corner of my lips.

“Fine, but I’m cooking you boys dinner as soon as I get my kitchen set up.”

I can practically feel the rumble in my stomach at that suggestion. I’m never going to turn down a home-cooked meal. Especially one from my mom.

“Deal.”

We talk a little more, mostly about football and her job search. As the conversation loops back around, she asks me who I’m going to bring with me, and whether or not he eats meat. I’m pretty sure no one on our team is a vegetarian, but her question does get me thinking.

Maybe I should bring Mitch.

Things between us are progressing further than I thought they would. Spending the night in his arms has made me think a little deeper about what we actually are, and it’s probably time for him to actually meet my mom.

I should also probably tell her I’m seeing a guy.

“Actually, Ma,” I say, in answer to a question that has nothing to do with this. “There’s something you should know.”

She gets quiet again. “Should I be sitting down for this?”

“No, it’s nothing like that.” I hope. “Just… You know how Jason… I mean…”

Do I need to explain all the details? The rational side of me knows she’ll be totally accepting of it. But her opinion means more to me than anything in the world.

I draw in a deep breath and then decide to just come out with it.

“I’m dating one of the guys. Mitch. He’s an LB.”

“You should bring him with you on Sunday!” she says, without missing a beat.

It’s pretty anti-climactic, honestly. There isn’t even a pregnant pause, except for the one I create afterward. But it’s a lot better than the alternative.

Even still, I suddenly get cold feet.

“I don’t know, Ma.”

She scoffs. “What don’t you know? You were planning on bringing someone to help. Bring this boy. I’ll feed you both.”

And probably interrogate Mitch. He can take the heat, but there’s more to it than that. I can’t quite put my finger on it.

“He might already be doing something.”

“Dante Mills, if you didn’t want me to meet him, why did you tell me about him?”

Instantly I know that’s not the issue. Mom meeting him isn’t a problem. Mitch meeting Mom might be.

He already paid for her rent. I just worry that once he sees where and how she’s living now, he’ll decide he has to step in. I can’t handle that again; I’m pretty sure our relationship can’t handle it, either.

I don’t want to give him the chance to fail. But… maybe it’s better to know now.

“If he’s free, I’ll bring him,” I finally say.

And I really hope he passes this test.

* * *

M
itch agreed
to go pretty much immediately. He seemed excited about it, but there’s still a part of me that’s worried. It felt like I got through to him last time, but there’s no getting around the fact that he and I come from different worlds.

We pick up the U-Haul together, leaving Mitch’s car there, and I take us to Mom’s old place. The radio drones on softly as I drive back across town, and out of the corner of my eye I see Mitch fiddle absently with his phone.

“I’m glad your mom was able to find a new place. The old one was insane.”

My body tenses, my hands clenching around the wheel.
Insane how
, I want to ask. But Mitch casually clarifies a second later.

“Can’t believe how much that landlord was trying to gouge her on rent.”

Oh. Insane because of the cost. I don’t disagree with that, though the wounded part of me hisses and recoils after putting words in Mitch’s mouth.

“Yeah.”

Mitch looks over at me. I can practically feel his concern, but he doesn’t say anything. I’m not sure what I’d say if he did, but the closer we get to my mom’s place, the more my stomach ties itself into knots.

As I pull up, I see my mom already waiting out on the sidewalk. I smile, though it falters a little as I pull into a parking space. Every time I see her, she looks older than she should. Life’s taken an unfair and shitty toll on her.

She waves at us, and I see Mitch wave back and smile. He gets out of the truck first, and I come around to the other side just in time to see her size him up.

“Sweet Jesus. They must feed you boys an entire cow before bed every night.”

“Sometimes two,” Mitch says, and she laughs at that.

It’s been a long time since I’ve seen her laugh.

I can feel the protective little wall I’ve built start to crack. It cracks even more when she gives Mitch a big hug. She only comes up to his chest, but she has an impressive bear hug.

“It’s so good to see you boys. Mitch, you’ll have to tell me all about yourself, since my son hasn’t told me a blessed thing.”

I cringe, but Mitch seems to take that with good humor.

“Mitch is going to be moving boxes, Ma,” I remind her.

She waves that off, looking to Mitch. “You can lift and talk at the same time, can’t you? If not, I’m afraid you’re not good enough for my son.”

Good Lord.

Mitch just grins. “I’m probably not good enough for him anyway, but yes, I can lift and talk.”

We go into the house, and he does just that. Mom asks him where he’s from, about his family, his career aspirations, what got him into football. By the time everything’s loaded into the U-Haul, it feels like she’s asked him every question in the book. I’m not sure if she’s grading on a points scale, but she seems to like Mitch’s answers. They’re always truthful—at least from what I know about him—and he never acts bothered by it.

There’s a brief respite after we get everything loaded into the truck. Mom pulls her car out in front of us, and Mitch and I follow after her.

“I think your mom now knows more about me than my own parents do.”

There’s an odd edge to his voice. Annoyance? I guess that would make sense. But no, that isn’t it.

“Yeah, sorry. She can be overbearing with that shit. I’m her only kid, so she’s probably thinking she needs to protect me.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t mind the questions. Really. It’s nice to talk to someone who actually cares about the answers,” he says softly. “I just… hope they’re the ones she wants to hear.”

Now I can identify that strange note in his voice. Holy shit. He’s nervous about impressing my mom.

I don’t know why, but I feel a little bit of warmth spread through me at that thought. I reach over and grip his knee, giving it a brief squeeze.

“Don’t worry. She loves you. And believe me, you’d know it if she didn’t.”

My mom’s like a damn grizzly when she thinks somebody’s taking advantage of me. My last girlfriend learned that the hard way.

We get to her new place—an apartment instead of a house, which kills me—about twenty minutes later. It’s in a better part of town, and pretty close to her job, too. I guess that’s why she chose it.

Mitch and I unload boxes and move furniture, and Mom busies herself with getting the kitchen stuff put away, then immediately pulls it back out so she can start cooking. She dashes out to the store at one point and comes back with an armful of fresh shrimp, which gets a raised eyebrow from me.

“What kind of mother would I be if I couldn’t make my son and his boyfriend a nice shrimp and grits?” is the only answer I get.

To my surprise, when Mitch and I are done getting everything into the house, he pads into the kitchen.

“Anything I can help with, Mrs. Mills?”

I keep quiet, waiting to see what she’s going to do. She always kicks me out of the kitchen.

“Such a sweet boy.” She pats Mitch on the arm. “Can you de-vein shrimp?”

“I… can learn?” He gives her a brilliant smile, and she laughs again.

Then, instead of kicking him out, she actually teaches him how. I watch in amazement. His large hands have trouble with the fine details, but she’s patient with him and he eventually gets the hang of it.

“Can I do anything to help?” I ask.

“Just make sure you’ve brought your appetite. You’re taking home anything that doesn’t get eaten.”

I feel the lightest spark of jealousy, but it doesn’t take me long to realize Mom is trying to be accommodating to Mitch for my sake. And Mitch is responding a lot better than I thought he would.

He makes her laugh again, and those lines etched so deeply into her face seem to ease just a little. She smiles and even sings as she cooks. I haven’t seen her this happy since I was a kid, and I don’t know if I have Mitch to thank for that, but he’s definitely a big part of it.

Watching them together, it just feels… right. Like he could be a part of our family. Like we could come to Mom’s place for a hot meal and he’d fit in just fine.

It’s so unexpected that I’m damn near silent through most of the meal. I never expected this. I expected Mitch to make some well-meant gesture that would set me off again, and that would be that. Proof that he and I can’t really co-exist longterm.

But this gives me hope, even in the face of reality. I’ll likely be leaving for the NFL after this season, and I’m pretty sure Mitch’s family won’t welcome me as readily as my mom has welcomed him. But maybe we can find some way to make this work. And maybe I want to, because as my mom gives Mitch another hug and a kiss before we leave, I start to realize the most damning fact of all:

I think I might be falling for him.