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“So, wait,” Asher says to Alex. “Back to the cuddling thing. Are you the big spoon or the little spoon?” “Is that sexual innuendo?” Eli asks. “No. I’m genuinely curious.” “I’m the knife,” Alex mutters. “He’s the little spoon,” Eli says. “Not all the time!” Alex argues. “We take turns!”
He still sleeps in Alex’s bed at night, quiet and warm and willing to cuddle,
“He’s my boyfriend,” Alex says. “Please, he’s my boyfriend. You have to let me see him.”
He saw a movie about that one time. Where the girl lost her memories and her husband had to get her to fall in love with him again. Except, he isn’t sure how he managed to get Eli to fall in love with him the first time. He might not be able to do it again.
But “love” seems really fucking trite for all the whatever that he feels. Or maybe other people shouldn’t be allowed to use the word “love” because they can’t possibly mean it the way he does.
“But I have warning for other teams if the league do the wrong thing. Anybody say bad things about Eli, my aim very good.”
“Oh, me?” Martel throws his thumb, cavalier, toward Okezie. “I’m just here as moral support for my boyfriend.”
“Are you coming or not?” “Not right now, but I assume I will be shortly,” Eli answers beatifically.
He knows it’s stupid, but if Eli were to die today, he thinks he would die tomorrow.
“Oh, well, if the sex is for your mental health…” “The sex is absolutely for my mental health,” Alex confirms. “Guess we’d better get right on that, then.” “I’d like to get right on your—” “Alex.”
