Electricity - 2. Chapter 2

So that was the infamous Aubrey Miller. Andrew didn't anticipate him to be so...gorgeous. He had imagined that the man who seethed with absolute hate for him probably looked more like some type of gremlin or an unshapely toad, and thus all of his misplaced malice at Andrew and his very public list of lovers. In all of Andrew's anger and frustration about the stupid article, he never bothered to Google the actual man who wrote it. If he had, he would have seen the good looking curly haired man with the natural sun kissed skin in a multitude of online images. From accepting awards on journalistic excellence, to sweet Instagram pictures with him and his bulldog (Prince--what a name). Andrew put down his phone, he couldn't do this in public and risk getting caught and exposed for stalking Aubrey Miller, that would just be the icing on the cake tonight. He would need to go back and do his research at the condo. He shook his head knowing that Miller had probably laughed all the way home after realizing all the things he wrote about Andrew's arrogance and selfishness were absolutely correct, as he couldn't even be bothered to properly research his newest and harshest critic.

"Can I get an autograph, Mr. Thomspon?" Andrew shook awake from his whirl of thoughts. There was a cute young guy standing next to him, holding out a black sharpie.

"Sure thing," Andrew replied, "Where?"

"Right here, I'm going to get it tattooed," the guy replied turning around and pulling a fraction of his jean shorts down to reveal the top of his smooth left buttock. Andrew sat there stunned for a second.

"Uhh, I don't think it's a good idea to get this tattooed, my handwriting is not that great" he stated as he began to autograph the guys' nude flesh, "trust me, you look way better without it."

"No, I love you, I need to remember this moment forever," the guy mumbled out, turning tomato red. He was cute, and he had a really nice perky butt: both things were Andrew's kryptonite. And he was obviously more than willing to do whatever Andrew might have asked of him. Yet tonight, Andrew knew that he had to go home alone. There was nobody else he could even focus on at the moment. Only one name ricocheted inside of his brain: Aubrey.

He thanked the fan, and then made a quick exist from the bar, getting papped on his way out. The flashes left him momentarily blinded and he had to adjust his vision inside of the Lamborghini. For a second he wondered what kind of car Aubrey drove. Probably something annoying and environmental, like a Prius or a Tesla. Andrew scoffed out loud to himself. Who did this guy think he is? Not only did he ridicule Andrew in public, but then he also made an idiot out of him in person. 2:0 for Aubrey. The thought agitated Andrew. He needed to get even.

He decided that he was going to go home and do some proper online stalking. He needed to know everything there was to know about this man. Suddenly it struck him as hilarious that this was most likely the same thought process some of his more zealous fans/stalkers had when it came to him. He'd had a few creepy encounters before, but nothing he couldn't handle. Just people showing up to his building, trying to get past his doorman and inside of his condo, showing up to his hotel, spamming him with creepy DM's on Instagram, etc. Nothing out of the ordinary for a celebrity athlete. But now he understood the obsession, and now he would be a bit kinder (to the sane ones), a bit more patient with their demands for five different selfies when he was running late for a flight at the airport.

He was perturbed about all that he was feeling inside. First, he was still angry about the damn article. But on top of that, he now felt intrigue, confusion, frustration and something else nagging at his insides. A strange curiosity, perhaps. He couldn't put his finger on it. All he knew was that he had never felt like this before. And what was that electricity he felt when they shook hands? Was it just...static? But it didn't feel like that. It wasn't painful or unpleasant, it was a different type of sensation. Like being plugged into a power source and feeling like there was nothing you couldn't do. It was all very confusing, and he wasn't good at untangling feelings. Once again his bad luck with men struck in a big way, making him physically attracted to his own worst enemy out of all people.

Andrew spent the next three hours combing through all of Aubrey Miller's online accounts: published works, the organizations he was involved in, and all of his social media. But he was most interested in the writer's Instagram, where he carefully scrolled through an array of many different pictures while trying not to accidentally double tap. There were pictures of him out with friends, pictures from his office, pictures of books, pictures of his dog, and most annoying of all, a handful of pictures with a boyfriend. Andrew didn't understand why the thought irritated him. Why would he care that Aubrey Miller, the guy who hated his guts, was dating some douche? And upon further stalking of the boyfriend's Instagram he fully determined that he was, indeed, a complete pretentious douche. The type of guy who doesn't watch sports because they're "stupid" and "boring". The type of guy who has a very strong and annoying opinion on the most mundane of things, like lampshades. The type of guy who thinks he's smarter than everyone else, and who buys coffee from artisanal coffee shops while scoffing at Starbucks. Andrew could tell right off the bat that he wouldn't get along with this man. But why did any of it even matter? He couldn't answer that question.

He began reading through Aubrey's published works. Numerous articles on gay rights, LGBT charities, and a wide array of other topics. He was one of the most prominent writers at "Pride" a highly respected printed and online American magazine that featured journalism, commentary, essays, opinion pieces and covered events and entertainment in the gay community. Aubrey was also a contributor to a few other sites. Andrew couldn't lie, he enjoyed reading his writing. It was quirky, it was thoughtful, it was straight forward, and it was different, just like the man himself.

He went back to Aubrey's Instagram page and took another look at the photos. What was it about this guy that piqued his interest to such a high level? Was it the fact that this good looking gay man was the only one who didn't fangirl over Andrew when he saw him? Was it the fact that he publicly called him out on all of his shortcomings? Or was it his level of commitment and dedication to his causes (specifically to the LGBT community) that was so appealing?

Andrew knew that what he was about to do was a very, very bad idea and that it could get him into way more trouble and cause yet another nasty article to be written about him. But he did it anyway. He slid into Aubrey Miller's DM's.

Sliding into DM's was an art, and Andrew had mastered it. He had bedded a nauseating amount of Instagram models. In fact, there were Instagram accounts specifically dedicated to keeping track of who Andrew was following and unfollowing, and whose pictures he was liking, in order to figure out who he was sleeping with at any given time. Andrew enjoyed picking up guys at bars and clubs, but there was something thrilling about seeing an IG account of a guy with many followers, clicking through his sexy half naked pictures, fantasizing about his ass, his mouth, seeing all the other dudes drool over him, and getting him to come over to his place for a hookup. It was like sleeping with a porn star, just a little bit less dirty.

So now, as he was staring at Aubrey's wholesome page full of dog, family, food, friends and work pictures, he couldn't help himself. His fingers were itching to do it. He knew that he had to give this a try because he wanted, no, he NEEDED to see this man once again. To talk to him and to hear that raspy voice saying more rude things directed at Andrew. To figure out what that spark of electricity was all about. Did he imagine it? It all gave him a bizarre level of excitement.

So he typed in: "Had fun on our date tonight. I think a second one is in order soon. What do you say?" Then chuckled to himself. For the first time in a very long while he felt that nervousness build at the pit of his stomach: the feeling that came from anxiously waiting for a reply from that someone special. From that someone you had a crush on. None of it made sense to him, but there it was. That peculiar feeling.

He went over to the kitchen and grabbed a beer from an otherwise empty fridge. What would Aubrey Miller say if he saw this? "Playboy alcoholic quarterback has nothing but beer in his fridge." Andrew made a mental note to go grocery shopping sometime soon. He put the phone on the marble kitchen island and stared at it, bidding it to light up with a notification. Nothing. He sighed, popped the beer open and took a swig. It was ridiculous...what he was doing was completely and utterly ridiculous. He could pretty much have any guy he wanted, meanwhile here he was waiting around for an Instagram message from a man who publicly blasted him without even knowing him. And who then went on to personally chastise him upon meeting him. Why did Andrew believe that what he was doing now was a good idea? This was exactly why his personal life was a freaking mess, because he made dumb ass decisions based strictly off of how he was feeling at any given moment, instead of being rational and thinking things through for the long run. Why was he so reactionary? Just as he was really about to rip into himself over his own character, the phone lit up. Andrew snatched it and opened it with the excitement of a 5-year-old on Christmas morning.

He hit the Instagram logo, and opened his DM's.

Aubrey Miller: "Not even if you paid me. But I'm happy to consider writing a follow-up piece to my article, with an exclusive from you. My inside sources have conveyed to me that you believe I was way too harsh in my article and that you do a lot of work out of the spotlight, so I urge you to really consider this opportunity as it will give you a chance to show your behind-the-scenes involvement in our community (if there truly is any). I am willing to give you a chance to redeem yourself."

Andrew scoffed at his phone. Why did he find this annoying man attractive again? He reread the message over and over again. "Inside sources"? Who was he talking about. Was someone from his circle of friends spilling their guts about him behind his back? It couldn't have been anyone from his immediate friends and family, they were too loyal, but some of his acquaintances could definitely be guilty of doing this. Shit, Andrew thought, realizing he would need to do some spring cleaning on his friend group.

He was back to being highly annoyed now. Who did Miller think he was talking to him like this. "Opportunity", "Opportunity my ass," Andrew thought to himself and began typing.

"Not a chance, you're not getting a Pulitzer off of me Miller," he typed back. Obviously Aubrey would need a little harsh dose of reality. He may have been a good journalist, but Andrew was the star of this show. Andrew was the bigger fish here. Aubrey would be so lucky to have a chance at an exclusive interview after all that he pulled already.

Aubrey opened the message right away and began typing, and even though Andrew was annoyed, he caught himself smiling at his phone like an idiot. What the hell was happening to him?

"He knows what a Pulitzer is...color me surprised," came the sarcastic reply that Andrew was starting to get used to by now. So he decided to spice things up a little.

"There's a lot I could surprise you with...most of it requires you to be naked though." Aubrey waited a moment, then typed his reply.

"Man, it must be really desperate times in the Thompson bedroom." Andrew wondered if the douche boyfriend was anywhere near him, or if maybe Aubrey was even reading these exchanges to him out loud while laughing or saying something in that perfectly annoyed voice like, "Can you believe this guy?" So he decided to take it one step further.

"Come and find out for yourself." Aubrey started typing, and went on typing for a couple of minutes. But the message that came through in the end was short. He must have changed his mind.

"I'd rather watch paint dry." Cheeky. Now Andrew decided to get serious. This was the moment he needed to pounce on his prey. He would either pull him in, or push him out.

"How many days did it take you to research and write that little hit piece on me? Let's not kid ourselves, I know you're at least somewhat intrigued. Come over for an unofficial hangout, and we'll discuss an exclusive." Andrew was pushing it now. He had absolutely no intention of doing any sort of exclusive, but the idea of having Aubrey Miller inside of his condo was very, very appealing to him for some reason. He wanted the man over here, in his domain, where he couldn't escape, and where he'd be forced to just sit down and give Andrew a real chance.

This felt good, he was back in charge of the conversation now, which is how he liked it. When it came to love and relationships, he liked being the one in charge: driving, paying, sex--it came natural to him to be the leader, the driving force. And he usually enjoyed his guys to be more submissive and nurturing and take the backseat. But his tastes varied. Sometimes he liked a spicy bottom or vers guy who would talk back to him. It all depended on his mood. But it was difficult with a man like Aubrey, who wasn't naturally submissive. He was bucking the system, and Andrew would need to rein him in a little and remind him who's boss.

Aubrey had read the message, but was hesitant to reply. That was good sign, his obnoxious self-confidence had been taken down a notch as he had to consider whether he would survive on Andrew's turf if he agreed to hanging out. Andrew knew that it was a tempting offer for any journalist to be let into his place (no matter how cool Miller tried to play it off). After all, he was known as one of the most elusive football players in terms of public engagement, and someone who rarely did any sort of interviews (besides post game press). So an article piece with him would do very, very well for any serious writer. He could see Aubrey discussing the pros and cons of this with the douche bag boyfriend.

Then he saw the reply. "Just to confirm, because I know you're not very bright, you're aware that you're letting a journalist into your home, right? I will use whatever I see fit from the experience in any future articles."

Andrew replied, "Not an official interview, just two guys hanging out." Aubrey still hesitated, so Andrew added one more line. "Come on, I know you want a glimpse of the notorious condo. Next time you talk shit, you'll at least have the full visual in mind." This was it, this had to do it. He saw Aubrey typing.

"You're on. Let me know when."

Andrew smiled. Bingo.

But very quickly, his satisfaction turned to dread. What exactly was he hoping to get out of this meeting? Aside from another trash talking article, except this time it would be based on fact. Did he just screw himself over, yet again? Aubrey had way more to gain out of this than he did. The panic set in and he had to talk it over with someone, but his straight friends wouldn't understand, so he dialed Joel's number.

"Hello?" Joel answered, and Andrew heard Drew mumble something in the background, his tone of voice sounded annoyed. Andrew secretly hoped that he had interrupted an intimate moment.

"So...I did something," Andrew started, ignoring Drew.

"Uh ah, that doesn't sound good. What did you do?"

"I uh...I invited Aubrey Miller to my house."

"WHAT!?"

"Yeah..."

"Are you actually nuts? Why are you letting that puritanical psycho into your home? Do you want him to have more ammunition for you in round two?" Joel hit the nail on the head, this is exactly what Andrew was terrified of happening. But it was too late to take any of it back now and not look like a complete pussy. He had to go through with it. And he really did want to see Aubrey.

"I dunno, maybe he will see the good side of me," he said, hopefully.

"Andrew! Wake up! That guy hates your guts. He not only has a chip on his shoulder, he also has a God complex. He thinks he can save all gay men. And you're the enemy. What exactly do you think having him in your home is going to accomplish for you?"

"You told me to get out in front of this, so that's what I'm doing. I'm just trying to gain control of the narrative," Andrew added. Joel sighed in a way that let Andrew know he was a moron, but that he was no longer going to argue with him.

"Alright, well do your thing. I'm here for you, whatever you need."

"Thanks. Also, he mentioned something about having inside sources. Any idea who he might be talking about?" he asked.

"Uh, you don't think it's me, do you?" Joel asked, sounding taken aback and a bit hurt.

"No, I know it's not you. I just can't think of who it might be," he replied.

"Hmm, let me think on it."

"Thank you. And listen, I'm sorry I've been selfish and all about me and my issues lately. You guys need anything for the new house?" Andrew asked, suddenly feeling like a crap friend who's always just talking about his drama. He could feel Joel smile on the other end of the line.

"We're fine, but thank you for asking."

After they got off the phone, he sent Aubrey a message. He would have him come over in two days, right before his day off, that way, if things went the way he wanted them to go (meaning a wild, hate fueled, and aggressive hookup that ended with a lot of hot and nasty sex and Aubrey Miller covered in his cum) he wouldn't have to worry about getting up for practice the next day. They could even go for round two in the morning.

Andrew completely ignored the fact that Aubrey had a boyfriend and whether it was morally right to try to hookup with a guy that was taken. He just wanted to get Miller out of his system, and he couldn't think of a better way of doing that then to have sex with him. A few rounds and he would be over Miller and would be able to move on with his life, unbothered by any future articles.

He planned the evening meticulously, he would do his usual host duties of excellent drink serving (no appetizers because the quicker he got Aubrey tipsy the better for him), then he would engage in some heavy flirting, and then eventually they would make their way to his bedroom. This formula had worked so many times before, that Andrew couldn't even envision a situation where it would fail.

The next two days dragged on and on for Andrew. He went hard during practice, and came straight home afterwards. He was not going to be caught in any suspicious activities. He wouldn't give Aubrey any reasons to turn him down.

Finally the night came, and Andrew couldn't wait to see the stunning writer again. He hurried home to do some last minute cleaning (he definitely didn't need Miller talking smack about having a messy place). He picked up a few pair of shoes and dirty boxers from the floor and put everything away. Thankfully his maid had came by that morning so that aside from a few miscellaneous things, the place was pretty spotless.

Suddenly he heard the doorbell ring. It was still a few hours early, so he was taken aback. He opened the door to find his mom standing there with a tense face and two bags of groceries.

"Hey ma," he greeted her surprised, taking the bags from her hands, "I wasn't expecting you."

"I didn't know I needed to make an appointment to see my son," she replied, always happy to drive sarcastic little pins into him. Maybe that's why he enjoyed Aubrey, he reminded him of his mom.

"No, of course you don't, I just have someone coming over in a little while," he replied running a hand through his hair, and she arched an eyebrow.

"Someone? Do I even want to know?"

"It's not personal, it's more for work," he fumbled with words. Her face let him know she didn't believe a single word coming out of his mouth, but she let it go without commenting further.

"Well I just wanted to bring you some groceries. A lot of good healthy stuff in there. You shouldn't eat out all the time, it's all grease and junk. And if you cook more, it will save you some money." Andrew wanted to point out that he earned about $25 million a year, and didn't really need to be cutting on food spending costs, but he knew his mother well enough to keep his mouth zipped. He was generous with his family, he bought his parents a multi-million dollar house (which his mother didn't want to accept but which his dad loved), and his brother a beautiful house close to their parents as a wedding gift. But no matter how much he earned, his mom would never understand how frivolous he was with his money. If it was up to her he would live in a modest home, cook for himself, wear the same clothes for ten years, and put all his money into investments. That's not how Andrew operated. Having money was awesome, but he wasn't stingy with it. He would take some of his longer-lasting hookups for crazy shopping sprees in Gucci, Chanel, and Dior. He liked splurging to make other happy. Joel still frequently wore the diamond Rolex he had bought him along with a Cartier bracelet, much to Drew's dismay. He would spend money to take all his friends on luxurious vacations. After all, what good would money do him when he was dead? He wanted to live life now and enjoy all the perks of his hard work.

"Empty fridge, good thing I came by..." his mom announced, starting to unpack all the groceries she brought.

"You don't have to do this mom, you know I can just have groceries delivered to me," he replied.

"And what, pay an extra $5 for the delivery? Don't be silly," she replied and he gave up trying to argue. Instead he helped her unpack the rest of her purchases.

"You know your brother and Liz are planning on baby number two," she began, and he stiffened, knowing where this conversation was headed.

"I know, he mentioned it to me."

"Isn't that nice? Two kids, a peaceful house, a refrigerator with healthy groceries inside?"

"Sure, but then again Ben works in IT. It's a little bit easier to have a peaceful life under those circumstances, mom. I've explained this to you before."

"You could just try a little harder," she pleaded as his frustration mounted, it was the same conversation every damn time. He was so tired of it. "It would make me so happy to see you happy. I don't want people using you, honey. I'm tired of seeing the hanger-oners come in and out of here, out of your life, trying to make a name for themselves. Why do you need all that? Wouldn't it be nice to just have a person that cares?"

"Sure, it would be. You say that as if I don't want that."

"Well, if I was a nice man and I read all the stories about you..." she quipped.

"That's enough lecturing for the day, ma. Please." She looked like she wanted to say more, but he shook his head and she stopped herself. She finished unpacking the groceries in silence.

"Will you come to the barbecue next week?" she asked. It was his brother's birthday celebration.

"Of course, let me know what to bring," he replied. They talked for a while longer and she made them some tea. Afterwards he walked her to the door and she hugged him goodbye, tightly. He hated the fact that she worried about him. He made another silent promise to himself that he was going to do better and try harder at being a good and decent family man.

He looked over at the clock and realized it was time to start getting ready. He hopped in the shower and did some manscaping (just in case the night went according to plan). He felt palpable excitement running through his body, the type of excitement you felt when you were in high school and you were about to go on your first ever movie date. This was ridiculous because what he had scheduled for tonight was far from a date, yet he couldn't help but feel like it could lead to something. Something very exciting.

He got out of the shower and put on a nice pair of sweatpants that showed off his package in just the right way, and he paired it with a fresh black tee. He was not going to dress up for this. The outfit was clean and crisp but casual enough that it would let Miller know that he was approaching this as a casual hang out, and nothing else. He didn't need Aubrey Miller's head to get any bigger. He did put on a nice YSL cologne though, in case Aubrey was turned on by expensive smelling men.

When the doorbell rang, he felt his stomach do a flip. He wasn't used to being nervous about hanging out with guys. It was usually the other way around. Men got nervous around him. Some even visibly shook and their voices nervously cracked when they first met him. But now he was the one taking deep breaths and giving himself a pep talk. What the hell did he get himself in for? Was Aubrey just going to spend the next however long sarcastically attacking him inside of his own home? There was nothing else to do now but to find out.

He opened the door, and the second he saw Aubrey, he felt it again. The electricity. Palpable between them, so much so that you could almost hear the buzzing sound.