He opens and closes his mouth, totally confused.
I lean over and kiss him on the lips. “My favorite is Lana Del Rey.”
“Who the fuck is that?”
“I’ll play you some songs. She’s the goddess of sad love songs.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
I kiss his cheek while he’s still wiping off my tears. “And I like empty ruined bridges.”
“That I knew.”
“And all the weird, lonely places in the world. And I like airport scenes in the movies and I love sprinkles on ice cream and I wear my soccer cleats everywhere,” I whisper, beginning to rock against him anew. “And no one’s ever been so nice to me before.”
Finally, his lips tip up. “Isn’t that the first rule of friendship?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I’m nothing if not a rule-follower.”
I hum, our kisses growing salty.
I rise up on my knees and position myself over his hard cock. Looking into his eyes, I grab a condom from the nightstand and roll it over his length – something he taught his virgin fuck doll – before taking him inside my body.
Then I ride him.
All the while I tell him with my eyes, all the other things about me.
Things like I write letters. Love letters to him.
I put them in an envelope to never send them and then hide them in a shoebox.
I keep that shoebox under my bed.
Because I can’t imagine sleeping without it.
I do all of that because I love him.
I’ve been in love with him since I was ten and he was fifteen.
I tell him that with my writhing, moving body because he’s my Arrow.
He’s my sun.
And like the sun he is, he gave me a gift.
He lit a fire inside of me, inside of my stomach. Of ambition. Like he lit a fire in my heart the day I fell in love with him.
That fire burns and burns until Monday comes and I find a note in my locker from him, after which all the fire dies out from my body and from this world.
By the time you find this, I’ll be gone. I have to go to LA – something came up. But I’ll be back in a week.
When I left LA a couple of months ago, I was angry.
People were angry at me as well.
My teammates, my coaches. The PR team, the managers. Everyone.
They thought I’d lost my mind, coming to practice drunk and picking a fight with an important member of the staff, one who’s been working for the team longer than I have. Especially when that member was a good friend of mine. The only friend.
Especially when I’ve never had a temper problem before.
I think for a second there when they found out that I did it because I’d just broken up with my girlfriend of eight years, they were sympathetic.
But when I refused to apologize after hitting him, their sympathy went away.
Overnight, I became a loose cannon. Who needed to calm down before he could be an asset to the team. Or at least, that’s what Coach told me.
I don’t remember much other than the usual jitters in my thighs and the crawling of my skin. The shame of failing.
The shame of making a mistake, breaking a rule.
Anyway, he also told me to attend this party that I’m at to look more like a team player, which has never been a problem before because I always played with the team. A good player – the best player – understands that you can’t win a game alone. You can be the MVP but it’s always a team effort.
Besides, I didn’t think I’d be welcome here.
It’s okay though.
If Coach wants me to show my face and prove to them that I’m a team player – even though they should already fucking know it – I’ll do that.
Even if it means enduring their angry, suspicious looks. Accusatory looks.
They all think the same thing: we lost because of me.
I can see it in their eyes. I can feel it in the tightness of my skin, in the heat under my collar.
But it’s the price I have to pay for breaking the rules and hitting that dickhead.
The party is a little thing one of my teammates has put together after the grueling promotional week we’ve had. Since we’re out for the season now, PR team thought touring high schools and colleges to talk about the Galaxy’s youth program and encouraging players to join next summer is a wise way to spend our unexpected free time.
I’m not much for touring or parties; I’d rather be home, either working out, resting my body or watching game tapes.
So it’s not a surprise to anyone – in fact, I think they’re all very relieved – when I choose to leave the room and stand out on the balcony, alone. Although tonight, instead of watching the waves – it’s a beachfront property in Malibu – I’m watching my teammates.