Page 64 of The Catch

Some time later, my eyes open of their own accord. The countertop is white stone and far too bright for my poor brain. I blink a few times, barely aware that my cock is still half hard in my hand.

"Fuck."

I flip the faucet on and put my hand under water, only to find cum dripping from three wet lines on the mirror.

"Damn."

Still catching up with my breathing, I grab a towel and clean the mess I made. My image mocks me on the reflection, with its torn, anguished face and muscular body that won't get me closer to Ames.

It doesn't serve me to be at the top of my game, when that only makes me a jock, and not the kind of artistic man Ames is known to be drawn to.

At some level I understand that. I have to have known it, because I stepped away from that door for a reason. While I despaired over joining her in bed, asking if she'll have me for a little while, my subconscious had my back. Ames has always been clear in what she wants. If I want to fool myself that I could be that for her in the short term, I'd be the one to blame. The resulting heartbreak would be for me to live with.

A couple more passes of the towel on the mirror and it's clean, but my reflection's face looks just as forlorn. All these muscles that make fans and dates fawn over me, and all the skill that is setting me up to a win this season— they don't cut it in Ames' eyes.

Even if she was aroused today like I was, and even if that's what had her moaning in her room tonight, it doesn't mean she'd choose me over what she really wants.

Why would she? Ames doesn't deserve anything but the best. She should never conform and settle for a guy who can't give her the future she has a claim to. And I can't be the guy that goes into it knowing that it could all result in pain, and I'd be the cause of it.

Hell, I'm not an option. I haven't proven myself yet. We have to make it to the final game first, and make ourselves the best. As for relationships, my adult life is all the evidence she needs.

In love, my existence is no more than just a habit, and a collection of desirable traits with an expiration date.

Chapter 22

Ames

On Friday, Saint says goodbye with a hint of sadness and restraint hidden behind his eyes. The start of the playoffs is in two days in another city, and his Thunderdome curfew approaches fast. I choose not to question the heaviness that envelops him. I ask if I can give him a hug, and we hold each other for a long minute, before I kiss his cheek and he leaves.

Restlessness prickles my chest. It doesn't go away after I close the door behind him, or when I wake up the next morning, or after I clean up the remnants of my lunch. I'm already nervous about the game they will play in less than twenty-four hours.

Alone in Saint's condo, I putter about mindlessly. I end up doing admin for my business, and shop around for potential loans if it comes to that. The distraction doesn't last long. Later that night, I sit on the sofa and set out to deal with these nerves in the only way I can imagine.

Ames: Please don't respond if you can't. This isn't a priority. But do you mind if I invite the girls over for a watch party tomorrow? I don't think I can do it alone

It doesn't take him long to answer. I can imagine him in his hotel room, laying in bed. Maybe smiling after getting my message.

Saint: Invite them. Have fun. Watch us win. It's your home, too, Ames.

It helps the nerves somewhat.

Ames: I know you will be amazing but I also know the stakes are high. I already get anxious during games

Saint: I love that you're making it into an event.

Ames: It helps when Evie and Pen and Nat are there to calm me down

Saint: my sports psych would call that intellectualization, Amy. It's okay. You don't need to keep explaining. Do what makes you happy and have fun

Ames: I'm sorry. I should be a cheerleader. I have total trust in your skills!

Saint: You're good. Don't apologize for this. I like that you care. Trust me, I'll play better now that I got to text with you. If you're watching I'll want to show off.

I welcome the change in topic. Teasing is so much easier than having my self doubts pointed out to me.

Ames: Oh, yeah? But you're such a showman it's like you're always peacocking, on and off the field. How will I know this time you're showing off because I'm watching? Tell me what kind of signs to look for

Saint: peacocking? Excuse me. I dance because I enjoy it.