Don't Jump

"Freeze"

I stayed there longer than I expected to, with the two of us simply drinking, talking and laughing. Once the liquor kicked in, it wasn't hard for me to look at Thomas as a regular person. To be honest, he would've been had I never Googled him.

I knew dick about soccer but from what I gathered, Thomas was a goalie on loan– apparently, soccer teams could rent players and the reasons ranged from trying to improve said player to improving the team with said player. Thomas didn't know why he was loaned out but I had a feeling that it was why he had mentioned the whole having a choice thing. A major part of me didn't want him to be a bad player; I tried to reason with myself that if he was bad, he wouldn't be a part of a team period, right? Maybe Thomas couldn't get one of those big deals and acting was a way to make up for it. With his portfolio, he might not have been a millionaire but I was sure that he earned enough to live comfortably.

Maybe that's what he meant about if he had a choice.

I was awful at making friends but Thomas made it feel easy. We talked all the time about any and everything. I had no idea why he somewhat latched unto me but he did and I knew I shouldn't complain. Thomas was fun to be around and we had a bit in common. Plus– if I had to be honest with myself– it was cool to be around a celebrity.

It had been almost a month since we'd met and the two of us had some sort of routine. Soccer season was underway so I knew that Thomas would be in town for a while. So, if he had a home game, we would hang out a bit afterward with a few of his teammates. Away games, I didn't get to see him but we talked on the phone. Regardless, I always looked forward to his texts and calls, there was just something about them that made me smile big time.

It was one of Thomas's rare off days, where he didn't have practice or a game or even something to do with his acting. I waited patiently-but-not for him to call or text me because even though we were buddies, I still wasn't comfortable enough to text or call him first. That, by the way, drove him up the wall so I was slowly trying to break that habit.

But not today. I was leaving work when he finally texted me.

Could you meet me at the bar? I need a fucking drink...

Although there was a shit-ton of bars in the city, I knew which one he meant: our favorite one. I was a bit worried about the tone of the text; Thomas was pissed about something for him to have worded it the way that he did. Nevertheless, I skipped my usual bus ride and walked to the bar, texting him as I walked.

The scene was how it was supposed to be for after-work: a bit crowded with folks who needed something to wash their work troubles away. I had done it more times than I wanted to remember. Thomas wasn't hard to spot, he had to be one of the tallest men in the city, even sitting down. He was built more like a lineman rather than a goalie but not overly massive and bulky. Thomas almost always kept his hair short but when he missed a haircut, it would grow and curl into knots, like how someone with really short hair started their dreadlock growth. I loved the look but he always complained and called himself a lazy bastard for letting his hair grow "out of control like this".

With me having dreads for so long, I was probably biased about the hairstyle.

There was an empty seat next to him so I slid into it, no questions asked. He finished whatever was in his glass and pushed it towards the bartender. While he did indeed look highly pissed, I couldn't tell if he was actually drunk. Thomas simply looked at me. "You're a bit late."

"Oh, I didn't know I was on a time schedule." I tried to lighten his mood but it didn't seem to work as he scoffed and rolled his eyes, something I wasn't used to. "Okay, before you say something that'll make me leave, what's going on with you?" I asked.