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His name is Gru, Lockhart—Max—tells me, but when I ask what kind of dog, he laughs. “He’s a rescue. Someone asked me that once and I was like, ‘I don’t know. Brown?’ What, am I going to 23andMe my dog? He’s maybe part Lab, part cocker spaniel… part someone’s leg for all I know.”
“If I don’t text you by ten, assume I’m dead and send someone cute to look for my body.”
That was the unspoken rule of the hookup basement—don’t linger. Get down, get it up, get off, and get out.
Don’t you have it backwards? Why doesn’t the winner get the blow job? U gonna trust me w my teeth around ur dick after u beat me? He made a good point.
“What is your attitude toward polygamous or open relationships?” He snorted. “Yeah, no, you’re a possessive asshole, so—” “Hey! What makes you say that?” Max lifted his head. “Really?” Then he tilted it to one side and pointed. “I’m literally wearing your teeth marks on my neck and we’re not even dating.”
Max put the phone down on the table, pressed his face into a throw pillow, and howled with laughter. Fuck, he could imagine Grady’s wet-cat face. Had he lost at mini golf? Did he get cranky about it? Or was his date the one who couldn’t handle Grady beating him, and got progressively colder as the gap increased, while Grady struggled to figure out what he was doing wrong? He couldn’t decide which was funnier.
His date this afternoon was Tony, twenty-five, which Grady had decided was the lower limit for “you must be at least this old to ride.”
“Tony, I’d like to tell you it’s been nice getting to know you, but you’re a racist asshole and your tattoo is basic.” He tilted his head toward the remaining drinks. “I’ll settle the tab on my way out.”
Whatever that feeling was when Grady complimented him sincerely, it needed to go back in the box.
He was about to pinch himself to check when a godawful noise set his teeth on edge. “Oh Jesus, what the fuck?” “Dishwasher.” Max patted the countertop above the offending appliance, which wailed like an injured pterodactyl. “We’ve been through a lot together.” “Like a car accident?” Grady had to raise his voice to be heard. Now that he was looking at it, the dishwasher did look kind of dinged up. “Did you go to the draft together?” It was probably old enough.
Like Max hadn’t gone and fallen completely in love with him, after sliding into it by reluctant degrees over the past month and a half.
“You didn’t take the bus home last night, which means you hooked up in Philly. There was a car in your driveway this morning with Pennsylvania plates. Oh, and there’s a handprint-shaped bruise on your ass. Or did you miss all the chirping in the locker room earlier?”
“Yeah, okay, sorry. It’s been an interesting few days for surprise revelations, between you and El.” “Oh thank fuck she finally told you.” At least Max could stop worrying he’d spill the beans. “We’re gonna come back to why you knew before I did, but let’s focus on the crisis at hand.” “It’s because your wife’s tits got bigger and I noticed.” Now Hedgie was the one with his hand over his eyes. “You’re the worst gay best friend ever.” “I’m bi,” Max said. “And my eyes work fine.”
“I hope it works out for the two of you.” Grady’s mouth dropped open. “For who?” David lifted a shoulder, easy nonchalance. “You and whoever you were thinking of when you looked at Starry Night Over the Rhone.”
“Hey, Dad,” he said cheerfully as Grady got in on the other side. “Merry Christmas. This is Grady.” “Oh you little shit,” said Max’s dad. Grady was pretty sure he was talking to Max. Then he continued, “I owe your mother twenty bucks.” Max cackled.
“I should be the lobster,” Grady repeated quietly when Max’s fingers traced down the side of his face. “You crack me open.”
“Could have been great,” Grady finished. “You’re an asshole,” Max said. “Who just stops talking to someone they—?” “Someone they love?” Grady’s voice cracked. Fuck. Fuck. “Now you say that to me?” Max’s hands shook and his eyes burned. “Now?”
Grady could not have controlled his expression if his life depended on it. Without meaning to, he raised his hand to his face and rubbed his cheek. Oh—that was the edge of a smile under his fingers. Oops.
His new captain, a six-foot-eight center who went by Bishop, welcomed him to the team with a back slap that rattled his teeth. “Fresh Fish!” he bellowed to the locker room. “Beware the Fish!” the rest of the team yelled back, stomping their feet. Oh God, Max had joined a cult.
His heart thudded in his chest. “Hi,” he said stupidly. Max said, “I love you too.”
“Baller?” Grady shook his head. It wasn’t just that Baller was an incurable romantic and the league’s biggest busybody. He wanted his friends to live happily ever after, and if that meant meddling in their love lives, that was what he’d do. “He thinks he’s everyone’s fairy godfather.”
“But first—did you deliberately get this on this hip so it would line up with Larry when we fuck doggy style?” “I can neither confirm nor deny,” Grady rumbled, which meant he absolutely had.
He unlocked his rental car and dropped into the driver’s seat, where he texted Grady. This is going to sound dumb but I really miss my dog. Facetime isnt the same. Gru didn’t react to the sound of his voice, and Max couldn’t pet him through the screen. It only made him feel lonelier. Grady’s response lit up his phone before he could start the ignition. So come over and you can rub my belly.
A solid part of Max’s career had been built on his ability to take punches. Normally, though, he got more warning, and his opponents were players his own size and not teenagers who were 97 percent hormones by volume, and too hotheaded to give their opponents time to drop their gloves.
“I hate you,” Grady said without heat. Max batted his eyelashes. “Does that mean we can have nasty, disrespectful sex later? I miss it.” “I literally came all over your face this morning.” In the shower, so it barely counted, but still.
