Not Another Bad Boy(3)

"Same," another says while shaking my hand. "Take it easy on us."

It's been a few years since I played, but it's a bit like riding a bike.  It isn't long before I find my stroke again and they can't stop me one  on one.

With the next basket, my team will win. Mauricio hands me the ball and  gets into defensive position. I fake to my left and dribble to my right.  I get the step on him and head to the open basket. Right as I jump for  the layup, Mauricio's arms wrap around me and drag me to the ground. I  land softly on my stomach thanks to Mauricio helping brace my fall.

He collapses on top of me. With a laugh he says, "Foul."

We're all exhausted after several minutes of running around like crazy.  He makes no effort to move. I feel his legs against mine and his  muscular chest against my back. His arms are on either side of me. I am  completely trapped.







I struggle to roll over, but that makes it worse. His crotch presses  against my belly. Thoughts flash through my head of things that should  not happen at the gym with a man who is already in a long term  commitment. Especially while I'm still with Tom.

I swallow. The weight of my relationship with Tom is suffocating me even more than Mauricio.

With a smile and a wink, he stands up and pulls me to my feet.

"Shoot the free throws and end this thing. Put us out of our misery."

I only need to make one free throw. Distracted by Mauricio's wide smile  and flirty wink, I nearly airball the first shot. The laughter of even  my own teammates helps me regain my composure and swish the next one.

I collect high fives, slaps on the ass, and chest bumps from the group before Mauricio and I head to the showers.

Mauricio strips with his back to me. I can't help but stare at his wide  shoulders and tight ass. His legs are sculpted from years of heavy  lifting at the gym. He has a giant skull tattoo on his left shoulder and  a myriad of other tats covering the rest of his back. I could spend  hours just trying to identify all of the images.

"I didn't know you had tattoos."

He looks over his shoulder like he doesn't know what I'm talking about.  "Yeah, I went through a phase back in high school and right after. Some  were for the gang I used to run with. Some were from just depression  stuff. My dad died when I was a sophomore. Fucked with my head. I made  some bad decisions. Got lucky to get away from the gang shit before  getting charged with anything more than a little marijuana possession.  Very lucky considering the shit we used to do."

"Oh, you were a bad boy, huh."

He flashes me that smile again. "Yeah, I guess. Not that it did much for  me other than help me get laid. Shit, that was back before I knew I was  gay. The first time I ever fucked a man was in some shitty bathroom at  this biker bar that used to let us bangers in. I had just turned  eighteen. Some dirty, older biker thought he was going to get to have  his way with me. I turned the tables on him, though, and showed him  what's what."

I turn away to avoid staring at his muscles and tattoos while listening  to his bad boy stories. He's everything I crave. He strokes every  weakness I have.

"How are you and Tom doing these days?"

"Excuse me?"

Is he hitting on me? Is this going to happen here in the showers right now? Will I have any hope of saying no?

"Sorry to pry, but Tom says you've been a little quiet. He's worried  about you. Is something going on at work that you haven't told him  about? If so, just tell him. He's a great listener."

What's going on here? This seems to be drifting very far from a shower fuck.

"Frankie and I were talking about you guys the other day. We can't have  you breaking up because we were planning on you being our best men when  we get married in a few months."

I'm literally dizzy. I want to restart this night and just stay home on the couch with a beer.

"Hey, I'm going to skip dinner," I start to say. "Wait, did you just say...?"

A smile erupts across his face. He holds his finger up to me showing a wedding band he must have had stored in the locker.

"I couldn't wait until the big day to start wearing it."

"Holy shit, Mo. That's amazing. Congratulations. We'll be there."

I don't add that I can't promise if we'll still be together.

"I must have told Frankie enough times that he better make an honest man  out of me before I give up on him and elope with you. He must have  finally felt threatened and finally asked me."

I feel sick to my stomach. Had I really had a chance at Mauricio? He is  such a flirt with everyone that you can never tell when he is serious or  not. Am I imagining a look in his eyes hinting at what could have been?

"When are you and Tom going to be ready? Double wedding maybe? We could wait a couple months if you needed."

"Mo, I'm not feeling well. Must have eaten something that disagreed with me. I'm going to have to skip dinner and head home."

"Really, amigo? Want me to drive you?"

"No. Go home and kiss Frankie for me. Congratulations to the two of you."

I grab my bag and head home without bothering to change out of my sweaty gym clothes.





Chapter 5





The invitation arrives in the mail the next day.

"Hey, check it out," Tom tosses the card at me. "Mo and Frankie are getting hitched."

"Yeah, I know," I say without looking up from the book I'm reading.

"What? You knew and didn't tell me?"

"Oh god. I'm sorry. It just totally slipped my mind. I came home a little sick yesterday and then just forgot about it."

Tom musses my hair.

"My poor little scatter brain. Is work going okay? You seem a little, I don't know, off. What can I do to help?"







Wipe all the stuff on the table onto the floor and fuck me right here, I imagine myself replying.

"No. Work is fine," I lie. Things have gotten worse with the project  this week. "I must just be in a funk. Maybe I just need a shake up."

Tom looks at me skeptically.

"Hon, you know you can tell me anything. Don't try to handle whatever is going on by yourself."

I wrap my arms around his waist. With me sitting and him standing, the hug hides my face against his stomach.

"It's the truth," I say. "Work is fine. I've been thinking a lot about  needing to go wild and shake things up in a big way, though. Maybe  hearing about Mo and Frankie got me jealous that I don't have something  big going on to look forward to."

Tom pats my head.

"My poor baby. I know what you mean, though. Hey, I know what we need to do."

Has Tom finally figured out what I need? Is he going to take charge,  make demands of my body, maybe spank me for giving him the silent  treatment recently, or, dare I dream, something even wilder?

"Chris Isaak is coming to San Fran this weekend. Let's drive up Friday  and scalp a couple tickets. We'll sit wherever we get lucky enough to  find seats."

Wild. Crazy. Sigh.

"Yeah, that sounds great."





Chapter 6





The next night, I drive us to San Francisco after work. The drive is  fairly quiet, but that's easily blamed on me needing to pay extra  attention in the traffic.

We end up at an all-day-breakfast diner for dinner before the concert.

Tom sits down in the booth opposite me.

As soon as the waitress takes our drink order, Tom asks, "How's work?"  as if hoping that I will blame all of my problems on my job.

I know that answering that I don't want to talk about it will ruin the  night before it even starts. Besides, what else are we going to talk  about?

Taking a moment to breathe deeply, I am able to see the kindness in  Tom's question. None of the assholes I was with before Tom ever gave a  shit about my job or even asked if I had one.

"Rough. I wake up every day now, hoping that I've overslept. I check my  phone every five minutes to see if I have a new text or something to  distract me, but I never do. When I go to the bathroom, I go to the one  furthest from my desk just to have a few more seconds away. Every time I  get a new email, I flinch, expecting it to be from my boss saying he  just realized I haven't done a single bit of work this week. They don't  seem to care, though. Maybe they've got their own shit going on. It's  like this at the end of all of my projects the last couple months. I'd  quit, but each time I sit down to work on my resume, I instead end up  refreshing the same websites over and over, hoping they have published  something new in the last thirty seconds."

Tom silently endures my outburst. When I'm done, he doesn't immediately  start up with his own complaints. He leans back with his hands crossed  behind his head to let my words sink in.

"Wow, that's rough, Parker. You've been sitting with the weight of that  for the last couple weeks and I didn't even notice. I'm so sorry, hon."

No immediate suggestions to fix the problem, just sympathy and apologies for not helping.

I love Tom so much because of moments exactly like this. He can listen.  It's amazing how rare that is in the world these days. I don't even know  if my last boyfriend even knew that I had a job. It never occurred to  him to ask for anything other than for me to get into bed quicker.