More Than the Ball (8 page)

“Definitely,” I answered, intoxicated in a way I hadn’t been since that night in college.

It was a long way back to my hotel, so really, Elliot was going to share a cab with me more than he was going to walk. I was okay with that. I wasn’t sure I could handle a walk like that in my current state.

The back of the cab seemed far too spacious, and the cabbie recognized Elliot, so we spent most of the ride listening to a recount of the Spurs last game, and I fidgeted with my shirt sleeve, anxious to have Elliot to myself again. That’s what I’d wanted last night as well. I’d wanted something more like meeting him on the pitch in the quiet, early morning sunlight. Just me and Elliot like the times he’d dragged my ass out of bed to jog through the silence of a snowy, Easter Oregon winter.

Those were the times I felt most at peace, most myself. I could always be myself around Elliot.

I watched as he talked to the driver, saw the pleasure in his eyes when the cabbie complimented him on his game. When we finally reached the hotel, Elliot took the time to sign the tiny soccer ball the cabbie had hanging from his rear-view window and give him a pass for free tickets to the next match.

Neither of us mentioned him walking me up to my room, but he did it anyway.

“That was cool,” I said as we rode the elevator up.

“What was?” he asked, a hand at my back keeping me mostly steady and on my feet.

“With the cabbie. You were really cool with him.”

He shrugged. “What, you treat your fans any different?”

“I don’t really get recognized by fans,” I admitted. I wasn’t
that
famous, and most people didn’t recognize a director’s face.

“Shame,” Elliot murmured, smiling warmly at me. I shifted closer, our hips touching. I wanted to say something, to kiss him, to touch him in a way that was more certain than this incidental brush of hips and hands, but the elevator dinged, and we were deposited on my floor.

“Wanna come in for a drink?” I asked, feeling my front pockets for my wallet for entirely too long before Elliot rolled his eyes and reached around me to take it from my back pocket.

The movement brought us dangerously close, and when he whispered, “I think you’ve had enough,” I could feel his breath on my lips.

I’m not sure I could have resisted that sober. Drunk, I stood no chance. I leaned forward, my hand coming up to curl around the back of Elliot’s neck as I pulled him in for a kiss. I threw myself into it, letting myself get lost in the vaguely familiar spice of his mouth, the hard press of his body against mine as I leaned back on the door, pulling him with me.

For a moment, as though on instinct, he returned the kiss, and he pressed me back, our hips slotting together perfectly. I could feel the hard length of his cock through his pants, set firmly against my own. His hips gave one excruciatingly perfect roll against mine, and then he stepped - jumped really - back, shaking his head.

“Fuck, Dev,” he muttered, not looking at me, taking long backward strides away. “I can’t. I... I just can’t.”

And then he turned and ran down the hall, disappearing around a corner and leaving me with a hard on and a deep sense of hopelessness.

B
y the time
I got home, my heart still hadn’t stopped pounding. I felt the beginnings of a panic attack building. I hadn’t had one since I first started playing professionally, and I didn’t know if it was because I felt so guilty for kissing Dev, or if it was because I had run out on Dev in the middle of something hotter than I’d ever been a part of.

I had texted Jemma that Dev and I were going to get drinks, so I wasn’t expecting her to wait up for me. I still felt a wave of relief that she was already in bed. Sneaking in as quietly as I could, I immediately hopped in a scalding shower, hoping that the heat would sooth my tense muscles, giving me at least some chance of sleep that night.

But as the heat seared my back, I closed my eyes and all I could think about was Dev’s nails raking along my spine. I turned the water to cold and the transition happened so fast that it startled a yelp from me.

The noise must have woken Jemma up because when I came out of the bathroom with my robe on she was sitting on the side of her bed with her bedside lamp on rubbing her eyes.

“Hey you,” she said with a raspy voice. “Closed out the pub, huh?” she laughed just a bit. “That’ll hurt tomorrow.” She smiled blearily. “I’ll make you a proper fry-up, though. You’ve the day off tomorrow, haven’t you?”

I listened to her sleepy babble, and my heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vice. She didn’t deserve this. She didn’t deserve me. “Love?” she asked, when I didn’t answer.

Her hair was disheveled, and she had a slight crease running diagonally across her cheek from the pillow. She looked at me so sweetly, so trustingly. I knew I couldn’t lie to her like this. I had to tell her the truth.

“Jemma…” I began, but the words caught in my throat. She stood and walked to me, clearly worried, but I stepped out of her reach. “No, listen... Dev kissed me tonight.”

“Oh,” she said, confusion obvious on her face. “Well, that’s... he must’ve been quite drunk? Where was Jordan?”

“Jordan left him.” I crossed my arms over my chest, encouraging her to keep her distance.

“Oh, god,” Jemma said quietly. “Oh, poor Dev. What happened?”

“I don’t know,” I said, shaking my head. “Does it matter?”

She looked at me, scrutinizing, and for the first time I saw the similarities between her and Dev, that same sharp observation. “A lot of things matter, Elliot,” she said gently. “Did you kiss him back?”

“Yes.” I admitted, looking down at the carpet.

“Oh,” she said again, and I could practically see the wheels turning as she tried to rationalize this. “I suppose he needed that. You did the right thing, for him. If he was hurting... I mean, he’s one of your oldest friends. It’s fine. I know you didn’t want to, but that’s fine...” God, she was still so sincere. She didn’t want to let us go. Hell, I didn’t want to let us go either. But I knew already: we were gone, and it was my fault. This sweet, brilliant beautiful woman was going to get hurt and it was my fault. I had to be honest once and for all.

“I did,” I interrupted her.

She stopped, frowning, looking at me with the same pleading eyes Dev had given me. She knew it too, but was trying not to. “You did what, love?” Despite this, her voice remained calm.

“I did want it. I wanted it, and I wanted so much more. I wanted him to fuck me. I wanted him to hold me. I wanted to... to... to go to a movie and hold hands with him.” I didn’t know what else to say. I didn’t know how to say it. Was I gay? Was I bisexual? Was I in love with Dev?

Jemma stood frozen, staring at me, horror and realization slowly spreading across her face.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered around the lump in my throat. “Fuck, Jemma, I’m... I’m so fucking sorry.” I was crying. I didn’t know when I’d started crying, but I was doing it now.

I could see the warring emotions on Jemma’s face - god, I knew her so well, I’d loved her so long - stuck between wanting to hate me and wanting to comfort me.

“I’m sorry,” I said again, my voice wrecked, the words coming between sobs.

“I know,” she said, and there was a hitch in her voice.

We just stood there, in the middle of the bedroom, me with tears seeping into my bathrobe, her standing statue-still in an old t-shirt of mine.

“I should go,” I managed when I’d gotten the tears under control a bit.

“You should,” she agreed, and I nodded, moving to pull on some clothes and grab a bag from the closet to pack a few things.

When I’d finished, she was still standing as I’d left her, staring at the floor. “I’m sorry,” I said once more. It wasn’t enough, it would never be enough, but I didn’t have anything else to say.

“Where will you go?” she asked, glancing up at me, her eyes red but her face dry.

“I don’t know. Petey’s, maybe? He’ll still be up.”

She nodded and folded her arms over her chest, a protective movement, protecting her from what? From me? From my betrayal?

I turned to go, slinging my bag over my shoulder. I was halfway down the hall when I heard Jemma’s voice behind me.

“I’m sorry, too,” she said.

I spun on my heel, frowning, confused. “For what?”

“For not realizing sooner what was wrong. I…” She trailed of and then her face set into a determined mask. “I’m angry with you, Elliot. You’re... you’ve broken something irreparable. But I don’t hate you. I can’t hate you.”

“Why not?” I asked. It would be easier if she did. Hate was so much easier to deal with than pain.

“Because you’re hurting too, and you have been for much longer than I realized.”

“Jemma, I...”

She cut me off. “Goodbye, Elliot.”

I nodded and turned again. She didn’t stop me this time.

I
meant
to go to Petey’s, I really did. He was almost definitely still up. Whenever we had a day off, you could depend on Petey to be out all hours the night before.

Somehow, though, when the cabbie asked me where I wanted to go, I gave him the name of Dev’s hotel. He didn’t recognize me, which was a blessing. I wouldn’t make a very good celebrity just now.

I strode across the lobby, jamming my finger impatiently against the elevator button. The ride up to Dev’s floor seemed interminable, and when I finally got there, I jogged down the hall and knocked soundly on his door. I didn’t know what I was going to say or do. I just knew I needed to see him, needed to know I hadn’t pushed away everyone I cared about in the space of one night.

There was no answer, and I knocked again, louder this time. He was probably out cold. The shower and the fight with Jemma had sobered me pretty well, but Dev had been nearly falling over drunk.

When he still didn’t answer, I went back down to the lobby, intending to at least leave him a message at the front desk, so I could see him tomorrow.

The concierge eyed me suspiciously, and I couldn’t blame him. I was dressed in sweats and a t-shirt, damp with rain, carrying a duffel bag on my shoulder like it contained all of my worldly possessions.

“Can I help you?” he said in that condescending way that only posh British people can manage, making me feel about two feet tall.

“I’d like to leave a message for Mr. Dev Bandi, please.”

His fingers clacked on his keyboard for a moment. “I’m sorry, Mr. Bandi has checked out.”

“What? No, I was here with him earlier tonight.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” the man repeated, looking down his nose at me, despite being almost exactly my height. “He checked out an hour ago.”

“Did he... leaving a forwarding address?”

That earned me an almost disgusted glare. “No, he did not. Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?”

“No, I… No, that’s fine. Thank you.”

As I left the hotel, I knew I should call Petey and ask to crash on his couch, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. How could I possibly explain to Petey, to any of the team, why I’d left Jemma?

It would be another couple hours before the sun rose, and I was a good two hour walk from the practice facility, but I shouldered my bag and headed out, hoping the quiet streets would clear my head.

A
fter Elliot ran away
I just stood in the hall, completely drunk and completely blindsided. I didn’t think he would run. Honestly, I hadn’t really considered the ramifications of kissing him. I just... did it. But I guess I would have expected him to shove me back or something, or laugh it off, before I expected him to run. Elliot was one of the bravest people I knew. Did that mean I was one of the most terrifying?

I stood there until a bellboy rounded the corner with a cart of late night room service. It was enough to shake me out of my shock, and I unlocked my door with the key card that Elliot had fished out of my pocket for me. That touch of his hand, that whisper that had taken me over and had spurred on the kiss, his hips, his cock, the delicious taste of his lips… I couldn’t get any of it out of my head. It was as though my brain was determined to play it on loop until I went mad.

I flopped on my bed, too confused and intoxicated to cry. I just knew that I had to get out of here. I couldn’t stay in this room, not with the memories of both Jordan and Elliot haunting my every step.

When I finally managed to pull myself upright, I called the airline to change my flight. There was one leaving in four hours. Perfect.

I shoved my things into my suitcases and called down to the front desk to arrange a ride to the airport and inform them that I would be checking out early.

“Anything wrong with your stay Mr. Bandi?” The young lady on the other end of the line asked.

“Nothing at all, miss. Nothing that this fine establishment is to blame for, at least.” Even as I spoke, I could tell I was still drunk given how much I was babbling on. “Just want to get home and finish up my project. I got everything I’m going to get here in London.”

“Very well, sir. I’ll get a car for you. Should be here in twenty minutes.”

“That’s fine. Thanks.” I hung up and looked around the room, feeling distinctly disappointed by this entire trip.

T
he plane was crowded
and there were more than a few babies onboard who would no doubt be wailing their way to the US. Damn, I had the worst luck on airplanes.

But it was okay. I upgraded my flight to first class at check in and when I boarded the plane, I took a sleeping pill. I accepted the mimosa that the flight attendant offered me, quickly put in some ear plugs, and laid back my seat. I slept for a good portion of the flight.

When I woke up, I drank as much water as I could without making me have to use the lavatory. I hated using airplane bathrooms, but I didn’t want to be hungover when I saw Jordan. If I saw him.

When we landed I got off the plane, gathered my luggage, and caught a cab back home. Despite everything, I was glad to be back. Something about being home made the fiasco of the last two days easier to deal with.

I was still terrified that Jordan would be waiting for me inside, so I just stood outside my own door for at least five minutes, trying to get the courage to open it.

“He’s not there, honey. Moved out yesterday.” I looked up to see Ms. Anna, our elderly neighbor, walking up her drive with a few grocery bags. She put them down and walked over to me, handing me Jordan’s keys. “He had me water the plants for you.”

“Thanks, Ms. Anna,” I said. And then, out of nowhere, she hugged me. She was surprisingly strong for someone who must have been in her early seventies and who looked like she would blow away in a strong breeze.

“You’ll be okay, honey. There will be another one soon.” The embrace was a little shocking. Ms. Anna had been my neighbor for about five years now, and though we had a mutual agreement to water each other’s plants when we were out of town, she had never once hugged me.

She hadn’t been sure about Jordan when he first came around, but she’d warmed up to him after he’d done some interior design work for her just for fun.

Something inside me broke at her sweetness, and I found myself crying. I didn’t know if it was for Jordan, or for Elliot, or for both of them, but she just continued to hug me. “I’m on your side,” she said finally. “Never was sure if I liked that boy. He was nice enough, but a little too young for you, I think. I know there’s another boy out there for you. What about that nice young man who comes over to play your piano?”

“Kelly? I think that ship’s sailed, Ms. Anna. Thanks, though,” I added, finally pulling away from her hug. “I think I might just need to go sleep and then work on my movie.”

“Of course you do. Of course you do. Maybe I’ll check in a little bit later and see if you’re hungry. I’m making lasagna.”

It was impossible not to smile at Ms. Anna. “Sounds amazing,” I said. She walked over, picked up her groceries, and went into the townhouse adjoining my own. I turned toward my door and, armed now with the knowledge that Jordan wasn’t there, opened it easily. Walking in, I went directly into the bedroom that I had so recently shared, flopped down on my bed, kicked off my shoes and pulled the covers up to my chin. Without giving myself any specific time to wake up, I slept.

I
woke
up three hours later to Kelly’s booming voice saying, “Baby, if you don’t get that beautiful ass out of bed right now, I am going to finish every last bite of this delicious looking lasagne, and it will go straight to my thighs. It will be all your fault, and you’ll never be able to live with the shame.” I could almost hear his eyes twinkle as he said it.

I groaned and pulled a pillow up over my head. “Go away,” I mumbled.

“On second thought, I might just dump it out on your pristinely white duvet here. Serve you right for not accepting that sweet old lady’s break-up carbs.”

“Fuck off,” I tried, knowing it wasn’t going to work any better than my first attempt.

“Fine,” Kelly said with a sigh, and I heard him tramping down the hall. “I guess I’ll have to drink all this tequila too. I’ll make a beautiful corpse. You can make a movie about my tragic end. Call it “Most Beautiful Man In The World. Subtitled: I let my best friend down and he drank all of the tequilla cause I wouldn’t get out of bed.”

Kelly, despite his unfortunately loud voice and complete inability to see when someone just wanted to be left alone to wallow in misery and sleep their life away, always knew just what to bring to cheer me up. Tequila was a good start.

I didn’t hear him coming back, but it was clear his head was again in my bedroom when he said, “Did I mention I brought Chantilly cake?”

The pillow shifted a millimeter off my face. “From Lou’s?”

“Who else around here makes Chantilly cake, darling?”

He thundered off down the hallway again, and I dragged myself out of bed with a groan.

“I suppose,” Kelly was already saying when I finally managed to make it to the kitchen, “that I should be serving this with a nice Chianti, but that is not nearly strong enough to cover the eviction of that unfortunate creature from your life.”

“Be nice,” I said, scrubbing a hand over my face and dropping onto one of the stools by the island. “And he evicted me, not the other way around.”

“Then he is even more foolish than I’d thought,” Kelly said, humming as he maneuvered his broad frame around my kitchen, finding plates and glasses and silverware.

“Foolish?” Kelly was the only person I knew who could use the word foolish and not sound like somebody’s grandma.

“Foolish. Unwise. Irrational. Witless. In short, a silly little boy. Emphasis on the little.”

“He’s twenty-one,” I tried to argue, knowing it didn’t actually help my case.

“Oh, pardon me,” Kelly said, a hand over his heart. “Ancient, then.”

I rolled my eyes, but gratefully took the - intensely strong - margarita Kelly had whipped up from whatever was lying around my kitchen. “It’s not his fault, Kelly.”

“Of course it isn’t,” Kelly agreed, dishing up the lasagne. “He’s foolish and young. It’s your fault for bringing him home like a stray puppy.”

“Ouch. Didn’t anybody ever tell you it’s not nice to kick someone while they’re down?”

“Going to give me a red card?”

I frowned into my drink, and then nearly spilled it all over myself when Kelly wrapped his massive arms around me from behind. “I’m sorry the twink ran out on you. I’m sure you deserved it, but I’m still sorry.”

“What makes you so sure I deserved it?” I leaned back into the comforting warmth of Kelly’s embrace. There were few things better. Except for Dev’s broad shoulders, thick forearms, and incredible biceps wrapping me up.

“If it were his fault, you’d be drunk already. Instead you were wallowing in guilt.” He kissed me firmly on the top of my head and circled the island to sit down on the other side. “Now,” he said, raising his glass to me, “let us drink to mistakes we will not be repeating.”

I reluctantly lifted my glass to meet his, and then we both took a long drink.

“And now, let’s talk about your stupidity.”

Laughing, I took a bite of Ms. Anna’s lasagne. “Can we talk first about what an amazing cook Ms. Anna is?”

“I will grant you two sentences toward her culinary genius, and then we are going back to your disastrous love life.”

I thought carefully, knowing Kelly would only allow me so long to put off the inevitable. “Ms. Anna,” I said slowly, “has brought the traditions of generation after generation of Italian grandmothers - how do you say grandmother in Italian? Never mind, and that doesn’t count as one of my sentences,” I was quick to add. Kelly nodded to allow it. “She has brought the traditions of generation after generation of Italian grandmothers to their perfect culmination in this delectable, boisterous dish.”

Kelly made a noise like a buzzer going off. “Foul. Dishes cannot be boisterous. You forfeit your second sentence.”

I stuck my tongue out at him, but contented myself with taking another long drink of my margarita. “I’ll relinquish it in return for another liberal dose of tequila.”

“Done,” Kelly said, pulling himself upright and moving to find the margarita makings. “I’ll mix, you talk.”

I nodded, but instead of immediately talking, I turned my attention to Kelly for a moment.

I’d met him when I first moved to LA and had no idea how to network or how to be out and anything like proud. He took me home from a club one night, and I just sort of stayed. He was good to me, good for me, and still one of the best looking guys I’d met in LA. He was tall and broad, dark hair and a full beard that he kept meticulously trimmed. What had really drawn me to him, though, was his eyes. Bright blue and perpetually twinkling with some sort of unknown merriment, it was impossible to feel sorry for yourself when he looked at you and smiled.

Right now, though, he was looking at me with concern, and I swallowed the last of my margarita before finally saying, “So... Elliot is still super hot.”

“Ah,” Kelly said, turning back to his mixing.

I groaned, feeling like the weight of everything was only just catching up to me. “God,” I said, putting down my glass to rub a hand over my face. “I really fucked things up.”

I got another head kiss as Kelly delivered me another drink and sat back down across from me. “Want to tell me how, or shall I Miss Cleo it for you?”

“I kissed Elliot,” I said.

“Wow,” Kelly said, sitting back to sip his own drink. “That’s spectacularly douchey of you.”

“I know, I know. I just...” I let my head fall back and gave a short yell of frustration. “It was after Jordan had left. I was drunk, and... Jordan practically told me he thought I was going to cheat on him.”

“At least you had the decency to wait until he was gone?”

I glanced over at him. I’d been sure he would be more upset with me, perhaps literally smack me upside the head. It wouldn’t be the first time. “I guess?”

Kelly let me eat for another moment or two. The lasagne didn’t taste as good as it had to begin with.

“Why did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Kiss the boy.”

“Like I said, I was drunk…”

Kelly cut me off with a wave of his hand. “That ship won’t sail or whatever that metaphor is supposed to be. I’ve seen you drunk. You don’t go around kissing people indiscriminately.”

“It wasn’t indiscriminate.”