Following the Rules (The Script Club 1)

“I call bullshit,” Kenny huffed before calling his next shot. “You’re here ’cause you met someone.”

“What makes you think that?” I bluffed.

“You’ve got that dopey, ‘I’ve been getting laid on the regular’ look we all aspire to. Don’t bother lying. I know that look,” Kenny chided. “Who is she?”

Aiden studied me. “He’s right. You look dopier than usual.”

I reached for my beer and raised it in a mock toast. “Fuck off.”

“Told ya so. Anyone we know?”

Now I could have played this a couple of ways. I could have told them they were off base or changed the subject, but I didn’t. Lying felt like a lot of work, and I just didn’t have the energy. The truth was sweeter…but complicated too.

So I smiled and shook my head. “No.”

“You gonna introduce us?”

I waited a beat, then inclined my head. “Maybe I will.”

They razzed me good-naturedly with catcalls and wolf whistles loud enough to make the whole bar turn around.

Okay, so maybe that exchange was no one’s definition of “coming out,” but it felt good not to deny that I had someone special in my life. Someone important who inspired me not to give up or give in. Someone who believed in me.

Yeah, my life was still on pause and my future was, as Topher would say…nebulous. However, somewhere over the past few weeks, I’d let go of things I couldn’t control and stuck to the present. There was no point in worrying about a phone call that might never come. Life was good as it was.

But that’s the funny thing about life. Just when you think you’ve got it figured out, the signposts change.

And your phone rings.

I stepped away from my friends and pulled my cell from my pocket, staring at the caller ID for a few beats before answering.

“Hi, Ryan. How’s it going?”

“Fan-fucking-tastic! Pack your bags, Murphy. You need to get your ass to Denver on Monday. The Broncos want you. Congratulations!”

Oh.

Wow.

9

Topher

Simon was acting strange. I couldn’t put my finger on it. He seemed nervous. He was pensive and distracted, then loquacious and uber energetic. I observed him over my menu, mulling lunch choices while pondering how to snap him out of his funk. I bit back a smile when inspiration struck. I placed my order, handed the menu to our server, and clandestinely typed a quick message on my cell before reaching for my ice water.

Buzz. Buzz.

He frowned at his phone, facedown next to his elbow on the bistro table. And for a second, I didn’t think he’d look at the screen. That wasn’t like him at all.

“You have a message,” I singsonged.

All the worry and anxiety seemed to fall away in an instant. His smile took over his handsome face, catapulting him into another realm of beauty. I’d never understand whatever witchcraft or magic made this happen. But it did happen. Simon Murphy was my lover, my secret boyfriend. This wasn’t one-sided hero-worship. This was a mutual admiration society, a lust-filled sexathon with unexpected tender moments that took my breath away.

It was something in the way he looked at me…his smile, his posture. The twinkle in his eyes when he leaned forward and read, Your name is Mario. You’re a professional wrestler and your line is, I want to show you my cock.

He tapped his screen in mock censure. “Mario, the pervy wrestler?”

I snickered. “I typed it last night and forgot to send it to you. Sorry.”

“Liar,” he snorted, clearing his throat and continuing in a louder voice, “It’s great to meet you. My name is Mario. I’m a professional wrestler and want to show you my—”

“No, no, no! You can’t say ‘cock’ aloud,” I scolded, glancing at the empty table next to ours.

We had this section of the sidewalk to ourselves. Then again, I doubted anyone walking down Colorado Boulevard would turn around for the word “cock.” The passersby moved with purpose, conducting business on Bluetooth while speed-walking. Everyone had places to go and people to see.

“Is that a rule?” Simon asked innocently.

“Definitely.”

He chuckled softly. “Your rules are wonky, babe.”

And that was the other thing…words like babe or baby slipped from his tongue so easily now. Not just post-sex either. I wasn’t sure what to think of that, but I liked it. Maybe too much.

“Behave.”

“You started it,” he chided, pointing at his cell. “A secret sex-meister shouldn’t be setting the rules, anyway.”

“I’m not a secret sex addict, but I do love sex,” I admitted.

Simon leaned forward, his eyes creased at the corner under his sunglasses. “I know you do. Hey, do you still have that sex allergy?”

I gaped incredulously. “No, I do not—”

“I have a turkey burger, a cheeseburger, french fries, and a side of pickles,” our server announced cheerily as she set our plates in front of us. “Can I get you anything else?”

“No, thank you.” Simon smiled politely and waited till we were alone again to add, “What were you saying, babe?”