More Than the Ball (3 page)

I
t was raining
when I jogged up the steps to my flat. It was always raining here. At least, it was always raining when I had finished training for the day and was looking forward to a long, leisurely run.

I’d managed to get halfway through my regular route before the downpour came, but I was still soaked through and probably dripping on the hardwood stairs enough that my landlord was going to bitch at me when I stopped by to pay the rent.

“Well, hello, ducky.”

Of course there was one person who was not sad I’d been jogging in the rain. Mrs. Hennessey was a middle-aged divorcee who lived down the hall and liked to make inappropriate comments about my appearance.

“Hello, Mrs. Hennessey,” I said.

“How many times am I going to have to ask you to call me Lizzie?” she said, leaning against her door frame.

“As many times as it takes for Jemma to be okay with it,” I teased without thinking. “You know how jealous she gets.”

“Well, can’t blame her for that,” Mrs. Hennessey said, pushing her door open. “I’ll be in at the first sign of an opening, love.”

“I’ve no doubt you will, Mrs. Hennessey,” I said, and then she disappeared into her flat, and I headed down the hall to mine.

When I opened the door, I heard a voice from a kitchen-ish direction saying, “Are you using me as an excuse not to be propositioned by Lizzie again?”

“As long as you’ll let me,” I admitted easily, stopping in the entryway to toe off my shoes and peel out of my wet socks.

My girlfriend, Jemma, stuck her head into the hallway with a grin. “A little while longer then, if you’re going to show up with your shorts clinging to your arse like that. It’s no wonder you make the old girl randy.”

I smirked and took my time pulling my shirt over my head, just to give Jemma a show. “She’s not
that
old,” I protested, carrying my drenched shirt into the kitchen to wring it out in the sink.

“Should I be worried?” Jemma teased, leaning against the counter as she watched me.

“Always.” We’d been together long enough now that I knew she wouldn’t take it amiss. It was easy to tease Jemma, and she did the mock-appalled look so well.

“Well, I’ll know who to blame when my life falls apart without you in it, then,” she said. “Mrs. Hennessey and her irresistible leopard-print track suits.”

“What can I say? Velour really does it for me.”

“It’s all right, Elliot,” Jemma said, walking her fingers up my spine in that way she knows gives me goosebumps before turning to the stove to finish whatever she was making for dinner. “I know you only became a footballer so you could eventually be some pensioner’s boy-toy. I don’t want to stand between you and your dream.”

“I thought I was your boy-toy,” I protested, dropping my shirt in the sink and moving behind her, letting my arms slide around her waist before shoving them quickly up under her skirt, pressing cold, wet fingers to her belly.

“Elliot!” she shrieked, attempting to pull away, twisting in my arms with a laugh. I was just lifting her off her feet when my phone buzzed from inside the duffel I’d dropped at the door before heading out to run.

“You get that,” she said, squirming out of my grasp with a grin. “I’ll get supper.”

“Fine, fine,” I said, dropping a kiss to her temple before I let her go and went to find my phone.

It was easy, in moments like this, to forget how rough things had been between us lately. Jemma was my best friend. She’d supported me through the last year, after an injury to my ankle made playing tenuous. I honestly didn’t know what I’d do without her.

But things were so busy with the club, and with the end of the season coming up, it would only get worse. I hardly saw her anymore, tonight being a rare evening that found us both at home. Jemma loved to be out, drinking and dancing and all the things that came with being young and beautiful in London. Between work and therapy, though, I couldn’t remember the last time we’d been out together.

Sometimes I worried that she’d meet some other guy while she was out with her friends, but what was worse was that sometimes I thought that might be better for us both.

Really, though, we just needed a vacation. Once the season was over and I had a week or two off, we’d go somewhere by ourselves and relax, settle back into each other. I was determined to make that happen.

I could hear her bustling around the kitchen as I rummaged in my bag for my phone. I saw the email notification and made my way to the bathroom while I thumbed it open.

I read the email a couple more times. I hadn’t heard from Dev since a few months after graduation. We’d always meant to stay friends, but we’d just sort of drifted away to do our own things. He was living it up in LA, and I was off to play the European circuit for a while. It just got a little difficult to stay in touch.

That, and hearing Dev talk about guys he was meeting only made me think of that night when we were packing. I didn’t like the way it burned in my gut to hear about whoever Dev had met, whoever he was talking to, flirting with. It was stupid, I know, but I sort of felt like if he was really gay...

I don’t know.

I read the email again, and as I was going through it, another came through.

I didn’t read this one again, but I did stare at it for a while, sitting down on the toilet lid, still in my dripping shorts. I tried to think about when the last time I’d talked to Dev was. I think I liked a Facebook picture of his a while back, but other than that, Dev had slid into the periphery of my life. The only time I thought about him was when I saw he had a movie coming out or, sometimes, when Jemma was gone, and I’d been out with the boys, and I was drunk, and...

I shook my head to clear it, standing up and turning on the shower. I was still cold and clammy from my run, and I really didn’t need to think about this right now.

I peeled off my wet shorts and took a moment to wring them out in the bathroom sink before stepping into the heated spray. I let the hot water seep into my skin and through my muscles, loosening things along the way. I stuck my head under the water, closing my eyes and trying to focus on my immediate surroundings, the way I inhabited my body. It was something Dev had taught me, back when we were roommates. Something his father had taught him for dealing with exhaustion and frustration and anger and anything else that didn’t have an immediate outlet.

“That shit just sits in your body, man,” Dev had said. “It eats you up from the inside. It’s like swallowing acid. You gotta push it all away until all that’s there is you. Who you are inside.”

Dev had been spectacularly stoned on that particular night, but it was good advice, and I’d tried to follow it.

It was difficult, this time. I could narrow my surroundings to my own body, but I couldn’t seem to push my conscious mind out of the picture. I saw Dev, between my legs, his wide, brown eyes blinking up at me, his thick lashes fluttering. I felt his hair under my fingers, the warmth of his hands on the heat of my skin...

“Supper’s on!” Jemma called from outside the bathroom door. I jumped and nearly slipped on the wet tiles of the shower floor, scrambling to keep my footing. “Everything all right in there?” she added.

“Yeah, fine!” I called back. “I’ll be out in a minute, hun.”

I pushed my face under the spray to shock myself out of this train of thought. Jemma was waiting outside. She deserved better from me.

By the time I’d tamed my cock, and turned off the water, quickly dried myself off, and stopped by the bedroom to pull on a clean pair of shorts and warm-up pants, Jemma had dinner on the table.

“Smells good,” I said, moving to the sideboard to find a bottle of wine.

“Thanks.” She smiled up at me as I filled her glass, and I felt even worse about my little daydream in the shower. Jemma was so damn good to me. I knew I’d been a shitty boyfriend lately, but she was always patient, always understanding. “Was the email anything important?” she asked.

I settled in across from her and took a quick sip of wine, not enough to bolster my courage but enough to give me a pause before I had to answer. “University teammate,” I said, shoving aside the image of Dev on his knees, lips stretching around my cock, fingers squeezing my balls just slightly, that popped into my head. “He’s making a documentary on our coach and wanted to know if I’d be in to do an interview or something.”

Jemma nodded. We’d talked about my college career, about Coach Youseff. She knew how much I respected him, how much he’d done for my career both while I was in school and after I graduated. “And?”

“And?” I repeated, spearing a piece of chicken idly on my fork.

“You’re doing it, right?”

“Oh.” I shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe? Things have been so busy lately...” I trailed off. I had no better excuse that wasn’t admitting I was afraid of what might come out if Dev came to London.

“Sure, but you should do it. It’ll do you good to have something in your life that isn’t related to the Spurs.” She paused, and I thought that was it. I was just going to nod and go on with my dinner, but she added, “Besides, from what I’ve heard, your coach deserves to know how much he’s meant to you all.”

It was almost a low blow, guilting me into it like that, but I could see from the look on her face - hopeful, sincere, concerned - that she really thought it would be good for me. “Okay,” I said after spending some quality time thoroughly chewing a bite of pasta. “I’ll see if I can make it work.”

“Good.” She was grinning and nodding decisively, and for some reason, it made me feel like an asshole.

“I’ll email him back after dinner,” I promised.

The rest of the meal was small talk and Jemma telling me about a project she was doing for work: a remodel of some barrister’s wife’s second home in Oxfordshire. When we’d finished eating, she got up to clear the table, and I moved to help.

“I’ve got it,” she said. “You’ve an email to write.”

It was too much to have hoped that she’d forgotten. I tried for a smile and nodded. “Yeah. Right. Thanks. I’ll see you in the living room in ten? Or are you going out tonight?”

“I’m all yours,” she said. “Trashy film and early bed?”

“We’re so old, Jem,” I teased, and she laughed.

“Yes, but we’re still beautiful. That’s all that matters.”

I laughed as well, and she disappeared into the kitchen, so I took my phone and settled myself onto the couch.

Answering Dev’s email should have been easy, but as I stared at the reply field, I couldn’t make any words come. I typed and deleted at least four attempts before finally settling on:

I stared at it for another five minutes and only hit send when Jemma dropped onto the couch beside me. I put the phone away quickly as though I’d been doing something I didn’t want her to see instead of something she had asked me to do.

“All set?” she asked, settling against me. I shifted to make room and slid one arm around her, reaching for the remote with my free hand.

“Yep. Let’s be a boring, old couple.”

“Sounds good to me.”

I turned my face to bury it in her hair and inhaled deeply, telling myself this was good, this was comfortable and right and exactly what I needed. Exactly what I had always wanted.

I wasn’t sure how convincing that was. Or how convinced I was.

“
H
aven’t
you gotten all your shots yet, babe?” Jordan asked, leaning against me from behind, his cheek pressed between my shoulder blades.

“I’m sorry, sweetie,” I answered, reaching back to curl my hand around his hip. “I know it’s boring. I just have a couple more I want from here, and then we’ll move on to the stadium.”

“We’re doing
more
somewhere else?” Jordan asked, and I could feel his pout through the back of my Henley.

“Just the stadium. Maybe the locker rooms. Don’t you want to see where I played?”

“Well, sure,” Jordan answered, pulling back to pout at me face to face. “But it won’t be nearly as romantic with all this company.” He gestured around to the small film crew I’d brought to get some establishing shots of the campus.

It was a light crew because I’d wanted to bring Jordan along, and it was the only way I could think of to justify the cost.

“Oh, I was going to send them back to the hotel after this,” I told him. “I’m just going to bring the shoulder rig and get some quick perspective shots. We’ll do the wide shots of the stadium tomorrow.”

“Hmm,” Jordan said, glancing over his shoulder at Colin, my assistant. “I suppose that’s all right.”

“Thanks, darling,” I said, leaning in for a quick kiss. “We’re going to wrap here in the next ten minutes. I promise.”

“I’m holding you to that,” Jordan answered, but my attention was caught by someone coming around the corner into the quad.

He approached us with a grin. “Dev Bandi,” he said. “I knew you’d be back someday, if only to show us how far you’d gotten. How many stars you’d named.”

“Hey, Dr. Adamian,” I said, returning his grin. “I was hoping you’d stop by. So great to see you.”

“You sent such a flattering invitation, how could I resist?”

Jordan was practically plastered to my side, and I laughed softly. “Um. Dr. Adamian, this is my boyfriend, Jordan.” I hadn’t been out at school, but I’d been extremely open since then. I figured Adamian already knew, but there was still a flutter of nerves at the introduction. “Jordan, this is Dr. Adamian, my favorite film prof here.”

“It’s so nice to meet you, Jordan,” Adamian said, with no hint of surprise. “And please, call me Tom.”

“I’ll try?” I said.

“I’ll give you that,” Adamian – Tom - said.

“So you’re where my Dev got his start?” Jordan asked, shifting a little away from me to sidle up to Tom.

“I suppose I am, though Dev was already talented by the time he got to me, and doing great things with that talent.” the older man said, leaning in to Jordan and looking conspiratorially at his curious face.

“Hey boss,” came Colin’s voice over my shoulder. I turned to look. “We’re losing the light here. You wanna check these last shots?”

I walked over to where Colin was standing. “Oh, shit, yeah,” I said, giving Tom an apologetic look. “God, it is so good to see you, but, work is work.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I don’t want to interrupt you.”

Jordan grinned and slid his arm through Tom’s. I was amused at the look on Tom’s face and impressed that he didn’t pull back. “Yes, don’t worry, babe. Tom and I will be just fine. He can tell me all about what a ridiculously talented prodigy you were.”

I laughed. “It’ll be a short conversation, then,” I said, and I was already turning back to Colin, Jordan’s voice fading behind me as I turned my mind to work.

T
om had
to excuse himself just after we finished on the quad, and I dismissed the crew before taking the shoulder rig and heading for the stadium. We’d get actual stadium shots tomorrow when the light was better, but I wanted to get the old locker room’s footage tonight, and I wanted to show Jordan where I’d played. It was a side of me he didn’t know very well, and I wanted to share it with him.

When we got down to the locker room, a tall, handsome, older man rounded the corner in front of us.

“Bandi!” Coach said, grinning a wide, warm smile at me and holding out both arms wide.

“Oh man, Coach!” I said, stepping forward into his embrace, returning it gladly. We’d been scheduled to meet with him tomorrow, so I hadn’t expected to see him until then.

“
As-salaam' alaykum
,” he said, almost into my ear.

“
Wa 'alaykum salaam,
” I answered.

When Coach released me, he turned his smile to Jordan. “And this must be your young man, hmm?”

“Yeah,” I said, resting a hand on Jordan’s back. “This is Jordan. Jordan, meet Coach Youseff.”

“Hi,” Jordan said, civilly, but without the enthusiasm he’d shown for Tom. I frowned a little, but I supposed I hadn’t really talked that much to Jordan about what an enormous influence Coach had on me in college. Maybe that’s why Jordan had been so against the film. He didn’t really understand why it was so important to me.

Coach and I took a brief walk around the field before he had to go. Jordan waited by the entrance to the locker room.

We walked slowly and, for the first side, in silence. I knew what Coach was doing. He did this every night before going home. It was a leave-taking of sorts. He was saying goodbye to the pitch, bidding it rest and peace.

When we turned the first corner, he said, “They tell me you’re making a film about the team.” He shook his head as if in disbelief. “About me.”

“I am,” I answered. “They tell me you had a heart attack and jumped right back into coaching.”

He chuckled softly. “I tried to retire. I couldn’t stand the quiet.”

“Oh, yes,” I said with a laugh. I’d forgotten how Coach always managed to relax me. “I see.”

We were quiet again a long moment. “Your young man,” Coach said eventually. “He seems... nice.”

“I think he’s a bit bored today. He’s been stuck with the film crew all day.”

“He doesn’t like to watch you work?”

I shrugged. “Not really.”

“Hmm.”

That was all he said, and it made me wonder what he was holding back.

As we rounded the last corner, Coach said. “I always thought...” He cut himself off, shaking his head.

“Always thought what, Coach?” I asked.

He shook his head again. “Ah, it’s nothing. An old man’s delusion.”

“You’re not that old..”

“Perhaps, but I’m starting to feel it.”

We’d circled around the start again, and we stopped, standing still in the quiet stadium. I was unusually aware of Jordan, standing- sulking, really - by the entrance.

“Can I tell you what I wish for you, Bandi?” Coach asked, laying a hand on my shoulder.

“Of course,” I said.

“I wish that you will find someone who loves to watch you work.” He squeezed my shoulder then turned to leave through the side door. I watched him go and then headed back to Jordan.

“Hey, are you okay?” I said when I reached him.

“Yeah, fine,” Jordan said with a shrug. “Why?”

I took his hand to lead him into the locker rooms, picking up the shoulder rig from where I’d left it. “You just...” I took a deep breath. It wasn’t his fault, and it wasn’t fair of me to be angry with him for this. “That man is the reason I survived young adulthood. He’s so much of who I became. I thought you wanted to see where I came from?” I said gently.

“I do!” Jordan protested. “It’s just been such a long, boring day already. I’m sorry if I was rude. Can we just... finish up here and get back to the hotel? I could use some serious Jacuzzi time.”

I laughed a little and hauled the camera onto my shoulder. “Okay,” I agreed. “Just give me a few minutes.”

I hadn’t yet decided what I wanted the look of the film to be, so I took several shots in each of the locker room locations, well aware of Jordan’s impatient huffing every time I re-shot. I remembered how he’d been when we’d first started dating. He’d loved to watch me work. I wondered when that had changed.

“Don’t you want people in these shots?” he asked as I filmed a sweep of lockers, tossing a towel over one of the benches and shooting again.

“Why?” I asked.

“Oh, come on. That’s what people want to see in locker rooms, isn’t it? Half-naked guys grunting and sweating on each other?”

I laughed. “Well, I can definitely see the appeal of that. Sadly, I have no extras today.”

“You’ve got me,” Jordan said, and he stepped in front of the camera with a sly grin.

“Oh, I do, huh?” I asked, a smile sliding into place on my lips.

“Mmhm,” he agreed. “I’m not sweaty or anything, but…” He reached for the hem of his shirt, slowly pulling it over his head and tossing it aside. “I can do half-naked.”

“Yes, you can, baby.” I grinned at him, pulling back to catch the curve of his spine as he turned from me and started unfastening his pants. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, come on,” Jordan said. “Are you telling me you didn’t want some shower footage?”

With a laugh, I moved in a slow circle, catching him from every angle, his form perfectly framed on my screen. “Well, when you put it that way…”

“Just as I thought,” Jordan teased, shimmying out of his jeans and turning to smile over his shoulder at me, giving the camera a cheeky wink.

“It’s part of the camaraderie,” I argued, zooming in on his face to catch his delight before moving out again. “Important to bonding as a team.”

“And staring at your teammates’ asses.”

I shifted the rig to tilt it, the view slithering down until it reached his cotton-clad ass, then I gave it a quick smack. “There’s only one ass I’m staring at here,” I said, stepping back again to get the full picture just as Jordan squeaked and dropped his shorts to reveal a faintly pink mark on one cheek. One thing about Jordan’s cream-pale skin: it took marks really easily. Something I found myself more and more tempted to do the longer I spent with him.

He tilted his head toward the corridor that led to the showers, smirking into the camera. “This way?” I nodded. “Come on, then,” he said and tossed his boxers aside as he padded through the deserted locker room.

This was getting a little risky. These locker rooms were only for the athletes, but athletes could use them any time. This was far from a private location. Still, the risk gave it a little thrill, and I paused at the end of the hall to capture Jordan’s figure walking down the corridor, pale against the deep blue of the painted cinderblock walls.

It wasn’t until I heard the water start that I actually followed. I stopped in the entryway to the showers and watched silently as he stepped under the spray, his head tilted back, mouth open. He shifted teasingly, showing off his shoulders and his slim waist, his perfectly curved ass and the slope of his neck, but he never showed his cock.

Even when he turned to face me, his hands hung casually in front of his groin. “Going to join me?” he asked.

“Jordan,” I protested, though we both knew it was for show. “Anyone could come in. Anyone. At anytime.”

“I know,” he said. “Exciting, isn’t it?”

I laughed. This was exactly the sort of thing that made me fall for him in the first place, this relentless pursuit of adventure and risk. It wasn’t the sort of thing that made for a good, long-term situation, but it was marvelous in the meantime. “You’ll be the death of me,” I said, not for the first time, but I hoisted the camera down from my shoulder, setting it against the wall.

Jordan watched me through his eyelashes as I made quick work of my own clothing, tossing them aside with only enough care to see that they wouldn’t get wet. His hands slid over his skin, and he grinned slowly. “Wait!” he said, bouncing on his feet and rushing past me to where I’d left the camera.

“What?” I asked, amused and more than a little aroused, especially now that he wasn’t hiding anything at all, totally unselfconscious of his nudity or his growing erection.

He fiddled with the camera a moment, propping it up on the rig and checking the screen. “There,” he said and bounced back under the spray, looking past me this time, to the camera.

“Are you filming this?” I asked, and he grinned and nodded.

“Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” I said. “It’s kind of hot, actually.” I’d experimented some with filming myself having sex when I’d first come out, but I was very careful with the files, and I hadn’t told Jordan about them. That was just fine. It was probably more exciting for him if he thought he was the first.

I joined him under the spray, and he glanced to the camera just once before sliding his arms around my shoulders and pressing his slim, dripping body to mine. “The quality won’t be great,” I warned. I was getting deliberately low-lit shots of the locker room. “And the angle...”

“Shh,” Jordan said, pressing a finger to my lips. “It’s not high art. It’s just porn.”

“I stand corrected,” I said, and then I kissed him, slowly at first, but he quickly ramped it up until I was holding his head firmly and nipping at his lips, panting for air. He let his warm, wet hands drag down my chest as he lowered himself to his knees and smiled coyly up at me, shifting us both so we’d be profile in the frame as he locked eyes with me and swallowed my cock in one, swift movement.

Jordan was... well, not
actually
a pro at this, but as close as you could get and still be amateur. My fingers tangled in his hair and I groaned, letting my head fall back, into the spray. I’d never actually asked Jordan where he learned to suck cock. He sometimes liked to pretend he’d never been with anybody before me, even though we’d run into his exes more than once around L.A.