Overtime in the Owner\u2019s Box \u2014 Bonus Chapter

Game Night \u2014 Anniversary
by Jace Wilder

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Game Night

One year later. The Highline practice court. 11:47 PM.

The text arrived while Gabe was reviewing fourth-quarter lineup data for the second time, which was two times more than necessary and exactly the number of times a man reviewed data when he was avoiding looking at the clock on his anniversary.

Jaylen: come downstairs. bring your sneakers. leave the spreadsheets.

Gabe: It’s nearly midnight.

Jaylen: yeah. and?

Jaylen: it’s been exactly one year since you played me in HORSE at 2am and almost kissed me on a basketball court. consider this a rematch.

Jaylen: winner gets anything they want.

Jaylen: ANYTHING, gabe.

Gabe looked at the text. Looked at the spreadsheet. Closed the laptop.

He put on sneakers.

The practice court was lit in amber \u2014 half the overheads, the same warm glow as the night a year ago when Gabe had walked onto this floor in bare feet and found a shirtless man with tattoo sleeves and a fury that could power a city. The same court. The same honey-colored hardwood. The same rack of balls against the wall.

Jaylen was waiting at center court. Not shirtless this time \u2014 wearing one of Gabe\u2019s dress shirts, unbuttoned, the tails hanging past his hips, and nothing else except basketball shorts that sat low enough to suggest the absence of anything underneath. His feet were bare. He was bouncing a ball with the lazy precision of a man who could do this in his sleep and frequently did.

\u201cYou wore my shirt,\u201d Gabe said from the doorway.

\u201cI wear your shirts all the time. You\u2019ve stopped pretending to mind.\u201d

\u201cI never minded. I minded the cost of dry-cleaning the stains you left on the last one.\u201d

Jaylen\u2019s grin was incandescent. \u201cThose stains were your fault and you know it.\u201d He bounced the ball to Gabe. \u201cHORSE. Anniversary rules.\u201d

\u201cWhat are anniversary rules?\u201d

\u201cEvery letter you get, you lose an article of clothing.\u201d

Gabe caught the ball. Looked at Jaylen \u2014 the shirt, the shorts, the bare feet, the body he\u2019d memorized with his hands and his mouth over twelve months of the most extraordinary year of his life. Then he looked at himself \u2014 t-shirt, sweats, sneakers, socks. Six articles. Five letters in HORSE.

\u201cI\u2019m wearing more than you,\u201d Gabe said. \u201cThis is strategically disadvantageous for me.\u201d

\u201cThat\u2019s not a disadvantage. That\u2019s a head start.\u201d Jaylen stepped closer. The court was quiet around them \u2014 just the hum of the lights and the distant heartbeat of the building. \u201cUnless you\u2019re scared.\u201d

\u201cI built a billion-dollar company and bought a basketball team. I don\u2019t get scared.\u201d

\u201cYou got scared the first time I said yes sir. I literally watched your pupils dilate.\u201d

\u201cThat wasn\u2019t fear. That was a cardiovascular event.\u201d

\u201cShoot the ball, old man.\u201d

Gabe shot the ball. Swished it. Because he\u2019d been practicing \u2014 not for the game, but because the memory of Jaylen\u2019s face when he\u2019d hit the three-pointer at Dorothy\u2019s charity game was a reward worth training for.

Jaylen matched it. They traded shots \u2014 elbow jumpers, bank shots, the competitive intensity of two men who loved each other and loved winning more. Jaylen hit a step-back. Gabe missed. First letter.

\u201cH,\u201d Jaylen said. \u201cLose the sneakers.\u201d

Gabe kicked them off. Bare feet on hardwood \u2014 the same sensation from a year ago, the transgressive cool of it, the grounding. He shot back. Made it. Jaylen missed on purpose \u2014 the shot was too casual, too easy, and Gabe knew his boyfriend\u2019s shooting form the way he knew his own name.

\u201cYou missed on purpose.\u201d

\u201cProve it.\u201d Jaylen pulled the shirt over his head. Tossed it aside. Stood on the court in nothing but the low-riding shorts, every tattoo visible, every line of muscle illuminated in amber light. \u201cYour move.\u201d

The game devolved from there. Every missed shot was strategic \u2014 a negotiation conducted in athletics, each letter a permission, each removed garment an escalation. Gabe lost his t-shirt on a fadeaway he didn\u2019t try to make. Jaylen lost the shorts on a free throw he released too early, and stood naked on the court with nothing but the basketball on his hip and a grin that could have powered the arena\u2019s lighting system.

\u201cH-O-R,\u201d Jaylen said, completely bare, completely unbothered. \u201cYour socks are still on. That\u2019s a crime against this moment.\u201d

Gabe pulled them off. Then the sweats. Stood across from Jaylen in boxer briefs, the two of them nearly naked on a basketball court at midnight, the amber light turning their skin gold. The air between them was thick enough to cut.

\u201cLast shot,\u201d Jaylen said. His voice had dropped. The playfulness was still there, but underneath it \u2014 the heat. The want. The particular intensity that Jaylen brought to everything, from basketball to arguments to the way he kissed Gabe in the kitchen while the coffee brewed. \u201cMake it, and I\u2019ll do anything you want. Miss it\u2026\u201d He stepped closer. Close enough that Gabe could feel the warmth radiating off his bare skin. \u201c\u2026and you do anything I want.\u201d

Gabe looked at the basket. Looked at Jaylen. Made his calculation.

He missed on purpose.

The ball bounced away. The court was silent. Jaylen\u2019s eyes went dark \u2014 the same blown-pupil darkness from the tunnel, from the desk, from every moment where the control between them shifted and the shift itself was the point.

\u201cYou missed on purpose,\u201d Jaylen said.

\u201cProve it.\u201d

Jaylen closed the distance in two strides. His hands were on Gabe\u2019s face \u2014 both hands, palms against his jaw \u2014 and the kiss was everything the first almost-kiss on this court had been promising for a year. Hot, deep, full-bodied, the taste of spearmint gum and the salt of competitive sweat. Jaylen walked Gabe backward until his shoulders hit the padded wall behind the basket, and the thud of impact was punctuation.

\u201cI win,\u201d Jaylen murmured against his mouth. \u201cAnything I want.\u201d

\u201cAnything.\u201d

\u201cI want you right here. On this court. Where it started.\u201d His hand slid down Gabe\u2019s chest, his stomach, hooked into the waistband of the boxer briefs, the last remaining barrier. \u201cAnd I want you to be loud. As loud as the arena when twenty thousand people are chanting my name. I want every sound you\u2019ve been holding back since the first night you watched me on this floor and told yourself it was assessment.\u201d

Gabe\u2019s breath left him. Not a controlled exhalation \u2014 an evacuation. Jaylen pulled the boxer briefs down, and Gabe stepped out of them, and they were both naked on the practice court, pressed against the padded wall, the amber light painting them in gold.

\u201cHappy anniversary,\u201d Jaylen whispered. Then he sank to his knees.

The sight of it \u2014 Jaylen Cruz, NBA All-Star, on his knees on the court where he\u2019d first grabbed Gabe\u2019s shirt and demanded something real \u2014 was enough to make Gabe\u2019s head tip back against the padding. Then Jaylen\u2019s mouth was on him, and the sounds Gabe made were exactly as loud as requested, echoing off the empty court, filling the gym with the evidence of a man who\u2019d spent a year learning that letting go was its own kind of control.

Jaylen was devastating. He\u2019d always been devastating \u2014 instinctive, hungry, willing to take risks \u2014 but twelve months of practice had turned instinct into expertise. He knew the angle, the pressure, the rhythm. He knew when to speed up and when to pull back. He knew that the sound Gabe made when his hand tightened in Jaylen\u2019s hair \u2014 a low, broken groan that came from below the diaphragm \u2014 was the sound of a man surrendering, and he chased it every time.

He pulled off before Gabe could finish. Stood. Kissed him \u2014 the taste of himself on Jaylen\u2019s tongue, the intimacy of it nuclear. Then Jaylen turned. Hands on the padded wall. Looked over his shoulder with an expression that contained a year\u2019s worth of love and want and the specific, competitive certainty of a man who knew exactly what he was doing.

\u201cI came prepared,\u201d Jaylen said. He\u2019d stashed lube under the ball rack. Of course he had. Because Jaylen Cruz prepared for this the way he prepared for a playoff game \u2014 with strategic intent and absolute commitment.

Gabe\u2019s hands shook as he prepped him. A year in and the shaking hadn\u2019t stopped \u2014 not from nerves but from the sustained, undiminished shock of being allowed to touch this person. Of being chosen. Every time.

He pushed inside. Against the padded wall, on the practice court, in the amber light that had witnessed the beginning of everything. Jaylen\u2019s moan filled the empty gym the way the crowd noise filled the arena \u2014 reverberating off the walls, the ceiling, the dark windows. Loud. Unashamed. The sound of a man who\u2019d spent his life being told he was too much and had found the one person who wanted all of it.

They moved together. The rhythm was theirs \u2014 the one they\u2019d built over a year of hotels and penthouses and narrow beds and new beds and a couch where the risotto got cold. Gabe\u2019s mouth on the back of Jaylen\u2019s neck, his hands gripping his hips, the words coming unbidden: I love you, I love this, I love every version of us on every surface of this building.

Jaylen came with his hands braced against the wall and Gabe\u2019s name breaking apart in his mouth. Gabe followed with his face pressed between Jaylen\u2019s shoulder blades and the sound \u2014 the loud, unmanaged, completely honest sound \u2014 that Jaylen had demanded and deserved and would spend the rest of his life earning.

They slid to the floor. Naked, breathless, tangled on the hardwood of the practice court, the amber light turning them golden, the basketball rolling slowly away from them across the wood like it had somewhere better to be.

\u201cHappy anniversary,\u201d Gabe said against Jaylen\u2019s shoulder.

\u201cBest game of HORSE I\u2019ve ever played.\u201d

\u201cYou cheated. You missed shots on purpose.\u201d

\u201cSo did you.\u201d

\u201cSo did I.\u201d

They lay on the court. Jaylen\u2019s head on Gabe\u2019s chest. The heartbeat there \u2014 steady, strong, the heartbeat of a man who had stopped running his 5 AM alarm on weekends and who cooked risotto that was getting better and who said I love you without hesitating and who had, one year ago, walked onto this court in bare feet and started building the most important thing he\u2019d ever build.

\u201cSame time next year?\u201d Jaylen asked.

\u201cIt\u2019s in the contract.\u201d

They got up eventually. Retrieved their clothes. Took the elevator back to the penthouse that was theirs \u2014 not his, not mine, ours \u2014 and fell into the king-sized bed with the high-thread-count sheets, and the alarm on the nightstand stayed off, and the city turned beneath them, and the overtime continued.

It always would.

\u2190 Back to Overtime in the Owner\u2019s Box

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