Beauty & The Jock - Part 8

Best Laid Plans

Everyone in this story is 18+

Breakfast lingered in my mind as we stepped out into the morning, the taste of bacon and Matty’s laughter still fresh. Kyle suggested a walk to a nearby park, and I didn’t argue. The air was crisp, the kind of spring morning that smelled like cut grass and possibility, with sunlight filtering through the budding trees. We wandered down a quiet street, our sneakers scuffing against the sidewalk, the world feeling softer after the chaos of his kitchen.

We found a bench by a small pond, the water glinting under the sun, ducks drifting lazily across the surface. I sat first, Kyle settling beside me, his knee brushing mine. For a moment, we just watched the ripples, the silence comfortable but heavy with everything unsaid.

“So,” I started, glancing at him, “your dad. I did not expect that.”

He laughed, a low, easy sound, leaning back with his hands behind his head. “Yeah, most don’t. Everyone assumes he’s some soccer dad guzzling Bud Light, not a, well, gay man. I’m not ashamed of him or anything. But once I started suspecting I might not be entirely straight, I wanted to be my own person, you know? So I figured I’d wait until college to come out, keep it to just my closest family for now. But then a certain cutie with magical hands came along and complicated my plan.”

My heart did a little flip, and I turned to face him, one eyebrow raised. “For real?”

He grinned, his eyes bright, catching the sunlight. “Yeah, I’m dead serious.” He laughed, shaking his head, his voice softening. “You kinda messed up everything, and I can’t stop smiling like an idiot about it.”

I laughed too, but it was quieter, my chest tight with the weight of his words. We sat there, the bench creaking slightly under us, and the conversation shifted, deeper, like peeling back layers. We talked about the future, about L.A. and Alabama, about how the distance between them might as well be different countries. He nodded, his gaze fixed on the pond, and told me about Alabama, the pressure of the SEC program, the way football felt like a ticket to something bigger but also a cage he wasn’t sure he fit anymore.

“It’s not just the miles,” I said, picking at a loose thread on my hoodie. “It’s like we’re heading to different worlds. You’ll be out there tossing footballs, living that jock life. I’ll be in some studio, learning how to make people’s skin glow. It’s hard to picture us in the same space.”

He turned to me, his expression soft but serious. “I don’t know how it’ll work. But I want it to. I’ve never talked to anyone like I talk to you. Not just about skincare or workouts, but, like, everything. You get me.”

My throat tightened, and I looked away, watching a duck dip its head under the water. “You get me too,” I said, almost too quiet to hear. “But it’s scary, you know? This feels big, and we’re about to be so far apart.”

He reached for my hand, his fingers warm and rough, lacing through mine. “Yeah. But we’ve got time. And phones. And I’m not letting you disappear on me.”

The air felt lighter then, like his words had loosened something in me. I squeezed his hand, and he leaned in, his lips finding mine in a kiss that was slow and warm, not urgent like before, but deep, like he was trying to say something words couldn’t hold. His breath was soft against my cheek, tasting faintly of coffee from breakfast, and I melted into it, the world narrowing to the heat of his mouth, the press of his hand.

When we pulled back, he rested his forehead against mine, his eyes searching. “Hey,” he said, his voice low, a little nervous. “What if we went to prom together? Like, as dates.”

I froze, my heart stuttering. “Really? Like, are you sure? I don’t really care about the people at school anymore. We’re out of there soon. You don’t have to prove anything.”

He shook his head, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. “Yeah, I kind of have something to prove to myself, I think. I don’t care what they say either, but I want to do it. For me. For us.”

I studied his face, the way his jaw was set, the way his eyes held mine, steady and sure. This wasn’t just about prom. It was about him stepping out of that golden jock armor, about choosing something real over something safe. My chest swelled, a mix of pride and something softer, something that felt dangerously close to love.

“Okay,” I said, a smile tugging at my lips. “Let’s do it. Prom. You and me.”

His grin was immediate, bright and boyish, and he kissed me again, quick and playful, before pulling me to my feet. “Deal. You better pick a good suit. I’m not showing up with someone who looks like they raided their dad’s closet.”

I laughed, shoving his shoulder. “Please, I’m gonna outshine you. You’ll be lucky to keep up.”

We walked back toward his house, hands still linked, the park quiet around us. The distance between L.A. and Alabama still loomed, a shadow we couldn’t ignore, but his words, his kiss, his invitation—they made it feel like something we could face. His public indifference at the party still stung, the way he’d blended into the crowd like I was nothing, but this moment, this choice, was different. I’d complicated his plans, and he’d complicated mine, and maybe that was the point.

As we reached his street, the sun climbing higher, I glanced at him, his profile sharp against the morning light. “You know this means I’m picking your skincare for prom, right? No arguments.”

He groaned, but his smile didn’t fade. “Fine. But no green goo. I’m not walking in looking like a swamp monster.”

“Deal,” I said, squeezing his hand. For now, it was just us, the park behind us, prom ahead, and the fragile thing we’d built growing stronger, stretching just a little further.