Date: 2018-01-16 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: M M Romance; sports; Romance; Contemporary; Sports Romance; Lgbt; Contemporary Romance; Bisexual; Gay For You; Adult
Description: Two rival football players begin a game with higher stakes than the Super Bowl in this steamy romance from the author of Illegal Contact. Simeon Boudreaux, the New York Barons’ golden-armed quarterback, is blessed with irresistible New Orleans charm and a face to melt your mama’s heart. He’s universally adored by fans and the media. Coming out as gay in solidarity with his teammate hasn’t harmed his reputation in the least—except for some social media taunting from rival linebacker Adrián Bravo. Though they were once teammates, Adrián views Simeon as a traitor and the number-one name on the Ne

Titles by Santino Hassell

Illegal Contact

Down by Contact

Down by Contact

Santino Hassell

INTERMIX

NEW YORK

INTERMIX

Published by Berkley

An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

Copyright © 2017 by Santino Hassell

Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.

INTERMIX and the “IM” design are trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

ISBN: 9780399586309

First Edition: January 2018

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Version_1

Contents

Titles by Santino Hassell
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Epilogue
About the Author

Chapter One

Simeon

“Bravo!”

On the television screen, a Fox News reporter chased after Adrián Bravo—the star linebacker of the New Jersey Predators—as he strutted out of his team’s training facility. He always walked with a strut, like he knew he was hot shit, and that was only one of the reasons I couldn’t stand him.

“Bravo, what do you think about your upcoming preseason game being against the Barons?”

Adrián came to an abrupt stop and wheeled around to face the reporter. He looked huge from the perspective of the cameraperson, and at six-four and two hundred and thirty pounds, he was. The camera had to pan up over the reporter’s head to get Adrián in the shot just in time for the world to see his twinkling brown eyes and cocky smirk.

“I think it’s gonna be a pretty sweet game.”

My eyes narrowed. He couldn’t be referring to . . .

The reporter took the bait so fast he’d have fell his ass off the side of the pier and into the river if he’d been fishing. “How do you think the recent controversy surrounding Brawley’s and Boudreaux’s sexualities will affect their performance?”

Adrián arched an eyebrow. “It won’t, unless Boudreaux thinks I won’t blitz his ass all over the field just because he’s out and proud. Balling is balling, man. But I’m pretty sure they’re both real on board with that.”

The reporter fell silent just long enough for Adrián to throw up the deuces, stare directly into the camera with his bright white smile, wink, and stroll away. With his book bag hanging off one shoulder and his sweatpants hanging off his ass, he was ridiculously fuckable. Too bad he was also over-the-top hateable.

“We need to fuck him up next week, Marcus,” I growled.

Marcus Hendricks, sitting on the carpet, looked up from his close examination of a jewelry catalog. He’d been scanning it all day without speaking, unless he was asking my opinion on a bracelet or a pair of earrings for his girl.

“Who? What are you talking about?”

I leapt off the couch and stabbed the remote control at the television. “Did you not just see that?”

“You know I don’t watch football coverage, Simeon. Especially on some bullshit Fox News. What were you thinking?”

The man had a point. Fox News was everything that was wrong with America, balled up in a single network that managed to be offensive as fuck when they weren’t being ignorant as fuck. And I ranted about this on the regular, but part of me liked to check it out from time to time. See how they were showing their asses this time. And they’d shown their entire asses, crack and all, ever since me and Gavin had flown the queer banner at the end of last season.

“I’ll rewind it for you.”

Marcus waved his hands at me. “No. I don’t want to see whatever you saw.”

“Yeah, you fucking do. Watch this shit. Just watch.”

I rewound the segment while shaking my head and muttering. Marcus sighed and shoved the catalog aside. I hadn’t even known Tiffany & Co. had a damn catalog. Whenever I thought of catalogs I pictured Fingerhut or whatever other mail-order stores my best friend’s mom used to scan when we were kids.

“Look,” I said, stalking over to the television until I was side by side with it. “Adrián’s sorry-ass talking mess.”

Marcus frowned at the screen for a long moment, watched the segment, and then shrugged. “He’s just being his usual dickheaded self. You name-drop him just as much as he name-drops you, so I dunno why you’re being all extra—”

“My dude. He made two gay jokes!”

“What? No, he didn’t.”

“Marcus! The game is gonna be pretty sweet? Me and Gavin know all about balling?”

Awareness dawned on Marcus’s face like the sunrise. “Ohhh. Oh shit. Man, what an asshole. And he did it so subtly you can’t really prove he did it.”

“See!” I paced the room, anger building the more I thought about it. “Fuck, man, how is that okay? Why does he get away with that shit even after all the goddamn sensitivity training the League has had us do in the past few years? I know they just did it to cover their own asses, but you’d think they would at least step up and make their players pretend to give a damn.”

“You need to relax, babe. That shit was live. No one has had time to respond.”

He was right. I knew he was right. But that didn’t stop me from pacing the room and working myself up into such a rage that I felt the urge to have a Brawley-esque meltdown. Usually I was one of the most easygoing guys in our crew. The one who let conflict roll off my back like water off a duck, and who tried to mediate problems within our own team. I was the one the media loved and the fans adored . . . even after I’d come out.

All that changed once I was face-to-face with any of the guys on my former team. There was something about the Predators that had been toxic for me from the very start. I’d been a third-round draft pick for them, and I’d jumped at the chance to be on a team known for being ruthless on the field. When I was a kid, that had been bomb to me. I’d looked at them like misunderstood warriors since the media often dwelled on the negative rumors surrounding their brand.

But then I’d spent my first year in their locker room, and it had been the most poisonous environment I’d experienced in all my years of playing ball. The kind of aggressive homophobia that had driven me out of my skin because I’d been so damn scared of any of them finding out that I was gay. Gay as fuck. I hadn’t been that terrified of being outed in high school or when I’d played at LSU. But the Predators? I’d regretted signing with the New Jersey team as soon as I’d done it, and had been halfway glad to have only gotten as far as their practice squad.

Adrián hadn’t been the worst. In fact, he’d been one of the few I’d felt safe around. But that had changed when the Barons signed me, started me after their original QB wound up injured, and we’d trounced the Predators at every game. Instead of seeing it as me bettering my career and making a smart business move, Adrián had accused me of handing over the Predators’ playbook to a longtime rival.

We’d hated each other ever since. Including an unfortunate scuffle in Ibiza.

“Should I tweet him?”

“Do not tweet him.”

Marcus and I glared at each other as I clutched my phone.

“More people will watch if they remember we hate each other.”

Marcus’s mouth twitched.

“I could tweet Fox News instead.”

He flopped backwards with a loud, despairing groan. With his long arms and legs splayed out, it looked like he was doing a huge snow angel on our pain-in-the-ass white carpet. If there was one thing I’d learned once we’d bought this giant mansion after signing with the Barons, it was that two dudes who liked to party and host wing-eating contests had zero need for a white carpet. His girlfriend, Jasmine, agreed.

“Do what you gotta do, Simeon, but don’t come crying to me when Gavin gets pissed that you broke your promise at the start of this season to keep it clean. The last thing we need is more drama after what happened last year.”

What happened last year was Gavin Brawley, our tight end, getting suspended for the entire season while under house arrest. He’d chased down and assaulted a Predators fan who’d recorded me hooking up in a club bathroom, and had threatened to out me. I still blamed myself for what had happened, even though I’d begged him not to get involved. I’d known Gavin for a long time, and it would have been hard not to predict where that confrontation was going. But he’d driven off in pursuit of the guy before I could stop him.

“Look, it’s just a tweet, sugar bear. Stop trying to be my daddy—”

“Nobody wants to be your daddy. Not even your own daddy.”

I choked on a laugh and looked around to find something to throw. After settling for the remote control, and smiling triumphantly at his pained grunt, I fired up Twitter. Commenting on social issues wasn’t exactly out of the norm for me—I did that and still posted funny cat memes or heckled my teammates. However, I didn’t usually comment on social issues relating to LGBT people. It was a whole new world for me, but I was about to go balls in for my million and a half followers.

Hey @FoxNews maybe tell your reporters not to bait folks into homophobic comments. How is that sports coverage? #YouHadOneJob

Fans care abt the athletic rivalry btwn @Barons and @Predators not ppl’s opinions on my sex life. @FoxNews is more like a gossip rag erryday

Beautiful. Who needed a press conference when I could drag someone with two hundred and eighty characters?

With my shoulders loosening and the throb in my head slowly easing up, I plopped back onto the couch. Looking at my notifications tended to be a mess, and this time was no different. A bevy of retweets and replies had my phone exploding—my fault for not turning them off—but it was one that caught my eye. From Adrián fucking Bravo.

Uh-oh . . . @SimeonBoudreaux is in his feelings again. I wasn’t talkin about your sex life, son. You fuckin wish.

I gripped the phone so hard I was surprised the screen didn’t shatter.

Marcus hopped to his feet and walked over to me. “Turn off your phone, man.”

“And let him get the last word?”

“Fuck the last word. I’ll respond. But you’re just gonna let him pull you into some pointless Twitter war that will amuse him and get you too aggravated to focus on anything else for days.” Marcus put his hands on my shoulders and rubbed them, fingers digging in hard. “He can say what he wants, but he knows his QB is an old-ass bastard with a weak arm, and his O-line is full of jokers who don’t know their right from their left.”

Okay, that was true. A tiny grin formed on my mouth, and Marcus smiled even broader in return.

“See? We got this, baby. We’ll show them on the field and leave it at that.”

*   *   *

We started out playing like trash.

Instead of the Predators’ O-line playing like garbage, it was our first team’s offense that fucked up. We managed to three-and-out three times and didn’t get a first down. Ricky Jordan, the O-line coach, looked like he wanted to beat the shit out of every single person on the field. The last time I saw a man turn that red, he’d come hands-free after letting me play with his prostate for an hour.

The good news was that our defense kept them from picking up more than ten yards. It was the slowest start to a preseason game I’d ever been part of, and it was frankly embarrassing. Our coaches reamed us all, Gavin looked ready to punch someone, and I wondered if Adrián was over there laughing his ass off.

Once we had possession of the ball again, things got more interesting. And by interesting, I mean they got brutal. If Gavin had a reputation for getting flags, the Predators’ entire team was known for it. As soon as the ball was in my hands, I passed it to Marcus, who took off running down the field like a bat out of hell. He rushed thirty yards before one of their tackles took him down by his face mask. Everyone waited for it to be called, but it wasn’t, and out of the corner of my eye I could see our head coach gearing up for a monumental explosion.

I shook it off and tried not to worry about the awful start to what would likely be an even worse game. In the next series, I faked a pass to Marcus, spun around, and sent it flying at Gavin. I saw just enough to know he caught it and let one of their tackles bounce off his large body as he ran towards the end zone before someone slammed into me. I oddly found myself laid out on the field.

Even with the stars dancing before my eyes, it made no fucking sense for me to have someone crushing me to the field a good second after I’d released the ball. Was this dude blind?

I pried my eyes open half a beat later to find myself staring up at Adrián’s grinning face. He spat out his mouth guard and said, “Guess you don’t know much about balling after all, motherfucker.”

My heart ratcheted up to match my rising blood pressure. I bumped my hips up against his, not giving one single damn that a ton of cameras were probably zeroed in on this moment.

“You wouldn’t say that shit if you got a taste, bitch.”

Adrián scrambled off me so fast you would have thought my crotch had set him on fire. I bounded to my own feet, grinning. The entire exchange hadn’t taken more than a couple of seconds, but considering the way our fans were going wild it was clear the team had made some headway down the field. I started to refocus on the game, but Adrián shoved me.

“Touch me like that again, and—”

“Is that an invitation?” I shouted over the roar of the crowd. “No thanks, sugar.”

He stood there panting and glaring, his tawny skin going bright red, right before he shoved me again. It was with enough force to hit the pissed-off mark on my kick-someone’s-ass meter, but I took a deep breath.

“Did it make you that nervous, sweetheart?”

I saw his eyes widen through his helmet, a definite sign of him losing his shit, right before he ran at me. He yanked my helmet off with one hand and grabbed my jersey with the other. My mind read the forward motion of his body as a head butt without any protection to my nose or teeth, and my self-preservation instincts reared up before I could stop them.

My cocked fist flew and caught him in the face, sending his helmet flying backwards. For a moment, he looked stunned. Like he hadn’t planned for any of this and now it was going further than he anticipated. That was probably why he gave a fuck-it shrug and came at me again.

For the second time in half a minute, I found myself on my back with Adrián Bravo on top of me. But this time, we were rolling around the field in a flail of arms and legs as the rest of our teams thundered across the field to separate us.

Well, the Barons tried to separate us. The Predators dogpiled me until I was being stomped out by at least three giant dudes. Pain exploded in my side and, terrifyingly, in my arm.

“Shit!” I screamed.

Adrián, who was still crammed on top of me by the rest of his stupid team, seemed to come into focus at my pained cry. He went from flailing to covering my body with his own and whispered in my ear, “My fucking bad, man.”

“Screw you, Bravo!”

The officials ripped us apart as flags were thrown. I was finally dragged to my feet, but not without pain slamming into me from multiple points. Adrián put a hand on my shoulder, but I shrugged him off.

My dignity was somewhere down in my cleats, and that feeling worsened once I looked around. Both Marcus and Gavin had their helmets off as they snarled at Predators, and even worse . . . everyone from our teams was on the field. Even fans were fighting in the stands.

We’d turned the preseason game into a disaster.

Chapter Two

Adrián

“What were you thinking?”

“I guess I wasn’t,” I said dully. “But it’s not like he didn’t—”

“I’ll stop you there, Adrián. Regardless of how he responded, you were totally out of line by tackling him that hard. That wasn’t a real game!”

It was a fair point, so I did nothing but chew on the corner of my thumbnail and stare down at my sneakers. They were brand-new, limited-edition Jordans. Cracking them out for a meeting with my enraged agent had been my way of trying to cheer myself up, but it wasn’t working. Casey Rose still looked like he wanted to smack me.

“Did you speak to your folks?”

Sighing, I sank lower in my chair and picked at the stripes running down my sweatpants. “Yup.”

“What’d they say?”

“My mom threatened to fly up from Florida and smack the fuck out of me. Basically acted like I was some out-of-control child and whatnot, and she never should have let me out of her sight.”

I continued to examine my fraying sweatpants. I had a thirty-million-dollar contract, but I couldn’t let my old faithful sweats go. They were the ones I’d been wearing the day I’d committed to going to the University of Miami after my mother had steered me away from becoming a Sooner at the University of Oklahoma. Her argument had been that Miami players had a higher rate of feeding into the NFL, and she’d cited the lack of Boricuas up in Oklahoma.

I was halfway positive she’d also wanted me home so she could keep me in check, but who the hell was I to argue with her reasoning? She was my mother, and I listened to my mother. She knew way more about football than my dad, who’d recently retired from his position as a MLB bench coach. All he knew about was being toxic as hell and screaming at me to “be a man.”

“Then,” I drawled. “I tried to talk to my dad, but he refused to even spare me a sentence to call me an asshole.”

“Do you think you’re an asshole?”

I replayed my immature-ass stunt, the way I’d lost my shit at Simeon’s antics, and then his pained cry when my entire team had jumped him.

“Nah. I’m a prince.”

Casey crossed his arms over his chest and sat on the edge of his desk. “What happened, Adrián?”

“You saw what happened. Everyone in the country saw what happened. That shit has made the rounds way more than Simeon’s little sex tape.”

Casey stared at me, chewing on the inside of his cheek, and I cursed myself. Why had I brought that up? I didn’t even like to admit that I knew shit about the man’s sexuality, let alone the sleazy video some d-bag at a club had sold to a tabloid as soon as Simeon had come out of the closet. I didn’t like Simeon worth a damn, but even I’d thought he didn’t deserve to be exposed that way. It was damn lucky he hadn’t lost his endorsements despite the outcry from corny white folks who didn’t want their kids eating Wheaties when the dude on the box had had an oral gang bang in a club bathroom. Allegedly. I wasn’t about to watch the damn thing and confirm it.

Clearing my throat, I glanced up at Casey again. “Why you looking at me like that?”

“Because you seem very preoccupied with Simeon’s sexuality.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh my fucking God. I’m really not. I just can’t stand him.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s a bitch-ass motherfucker.”

“How?”

Gritting my teeth, I said, “He told our entire playbook to the Barons when they signed him off our practice team. They trounced us that season.”

“That was four years ago. Why are you still so emotional about it?”

“Who’s emotional, though?” Casey crossed his arms over his chest. I glared hard and then sucked my teeth. “Man, whose side are you on, anyway?”

“It’s hard to be on the side of someone who wants to sabotage himself over a make-believe grudge. You think Simeon gave away all your plays a few years back? Tough shit, Bravo. That happens to every team when they stick a solid player on their practice squad and cut ’em loose. If they’re not utilizing them, someone else will. And you also don’t know if that’s what happened.”

Wow, this dude was really not sounding like he was on my side.

“And I’ve frankly had it with your antics when it comes to Simeon and the Barons in general. The crap in Ibiza, the digs at press conferences that turn into media circuses, all the social media trash talk like teenage boys, and your comments to Fox? I saw through them even before he tweeted.” Casey hunched forward and gave me a glare my mother must have taught him before she and my dad gave him the Bravo stamp of approval. “You’re an amazing linebacker, you have great endorsements, fans love you, women throw their underwear at you wherever you go, your coaches adore you, but you’re too easily riled up by other people on your team.”

“What people?” I asked pointlessly, since I knew who he meant.

“You know who.”

Sighing, I leaned back and looked at the ceiling. Rocky Swoops, a Predators safety, had a major hard-on for our rivals. He hated that they were so much better regarded than us, but he made everything worse by going at them every chance he got. I knew he was a big dumbass, and my mother called him a devil on a regular basis, but it was hard to deny that his animosity was catching sometimes. The whole Ibiza thing had been his fault. He’d thrown a glass at Simeon at a club, and Gavin had just about taken his head off.

Come to think of it, Gavin was consistently protective of ole Sims. Maybe they were sleeping together. Huh. I wondered who would be fucking who in that scenario. I was gonna put my bets on Simeon getting railed by Gavin. Judging from what I’d heard about the video, he liked being used.

“Adrián.”

Clearing my throat, I shifted in my seat and ran a hand through my hair. “What?”

“You know this won’t end well for you, right?”

I looked at him sideways. “What’s that mean?”

“It means the League is tired of all of this bullshit. Both your coaches are tired of this nonsense. And the fallout was more than you two looking like giant toddlers rolling around on the field. Simeon, their starting quarterback, hurt his throwing arm.”

Guilt swamped me so abruptly that I sat up straight. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Yeah. I am.”

“Shit. Man, I didn’t mean to actually hurt the guy.” I looked down at my sneakers and scuffed the carpet. “Do you think I should make a statement? Or . . . I dunno. Call him?”

“Call Simeon and apologize. That’s your plan?”

“Well, what the hell else should I do?”

“I think you should make a statement, Adrián. Saying you understand why you’re being suspended starting now, and for six games from the season—”

“What?”

“And understand why me and Simeon’s agent, since he’s also suspended for six games, are asking you to do a two-month joint stint at a Brooklyn community center working with their new youth football league. While you’re suspended, you won’t be allowed to train with us or come to any games, so you’ll have plenty of time to get good photo ops with Simeon and adorable children. It will improve your reputation.”

He was messing with me. There was no other option.

“Casey, this isn’t funny.”

“I know. Do I look amused?”

He looked like the same humorless bastard as usual. My heart sank, and for the first time in a long time I completely regretted my actions. There were times when I’d made mistakes in my life, but I’d always found a way to explain away why I’d done something. The fight in Ibiza had happened because I was trying to have my boy’s back. I snarked on social media because my fans loved my sense of humor and asshole qualities. I had a bad habit of breaking hearts because there was no way I could have a real relationship right now and trust that whoever I got with wasn’t just after my cash.

But this? I couldn’t think of a way to explain this shit away.

Why had I gone straight for the veiled gay jokes with that dumbass reporter? Why had I kept watching Simeon on the field and trying to figure out a way to get a shot at him, instead of paying attention to the damn game? And why the hell had I actually done it and then stayed parked on top of him until he’d reacted?

He’s an asshole was starting to hold little weight when that line of reasoning was getting me suspended.

With a long-suffering sigh, I met Casey’s eyes again. “Was this community-service shit your idea?”

“Shockingly, no. It was Mel Hawkins’s. Simeon’s agent. She’s also sick of the drama, and since you’re both out of commission and a waste to your teams, she wanted a solution that would improve both your reputations. Show some unity, downplay the homophobic rumors flying around, and make you both look a little more like grown-ups.”

“Uh-huh. And if some magical community service stint can’t make us get along?”

“Then you’re doing yourself a huge disservice.” Casey walked behind his desk. “You’ll be working with a small community center in Williamsburg, and if you think you won’t have a ton of eyes on you the entire time, you are mistaken.”

*   *   *

The worst, or most interesting, part of the Predators and the Barons both having practice facilities and stadiums in New Jersey was that it was easy for us to run into each other. Players on both teams tended to gravitate to the same hot spots, restaurants, and neighborhoods. I’d opted for a condo in Brooklyn rather than spend my cash on some big-ass mansion in the Hamptons or Short Hills like a lot of the other guys (although the prices were probably on par), so I was closer to Mel Hawkins’s office and got there first.

I’d offered to meet on Simeon’s turf instead of my own to hammer out the details of our bullshit punishment. A decision I now regretted since Mel Hawkins was giving me that empty smile she was known for. Polite on the outside, but I could feel all the rays of her judgment. She was fun to look at, though. A gorgeous woman with dark brown skin, short hair, and big eyes that were skewering me to the uncomfortable leather chair. She probably hated my ass. Hard to blame her when I’d started shit with one of her stars. Also injured, but apparently it’d just been a sprain.

“Nice office,” I said.

She inclined her head so slightly it was barely a nod.

My mouth twisted to the side and said, “Really like the black on white on gray. Gives good insight about the inner workings of your soul.”

Casey sighed. Mel’s lips twitched.

I grinned winningly. No one could resist the ole Bravo dimples. I was a big hulking motherfucker with a competitive streak the size of the tristate area, but my little-boy smile had power. Historically, I’d been able to win over people who wanted to hate me. I convinced myself this streak would continue until Simeon strode into the room and pinned me with a look that I felt like a shot in the gut combined with a chill down my spine. Good God. It was hard to believe Simeon Boudreaux, the hype man with the rapid-fire way of speaking, New Orleans accent, and cheerful personality, could look that hateful.

“Good morning, Mel,” Simeon said, flashing his agent a warm smile. It didn’t wilt at all when he turned those mega volts on Casey. “How you doing, Mr. Rose?”

“Good, Simeon. Thanks.”

Simeon plopped down in the chair next to me without again glancing in my direction. I tried not to pay attention to him but couldn’t help a quick look at his arm. It was in a brace, but apparently, he’d be fine in a week. Good thing. I wouldn’t wish medical leave on anyone. Somehow in all my years of playing, I’d avoided major injury. And now I had to knock on some wood before someone put the mal de ojo on me.

“This is pretty odd, right?” Simeon slumped down, thighs spread, and lean body fully sprawled in the chair. “Two agents and two players don’t usually meet like this.”

“You’re right, but we’re all adults here, and we don’t need a precedent for a meeting,” Mel said. “Just like the two of you didn’t need a precedent for getting in a fistfight in the middle of the most-viewed preseason game in recent years.”

I groaned. “You sound like my mother.”

“Do you always compare women to your mother, or do you save that for moments of discomfort?”

Raising my hands in surrender, I said, “My bad.”

Simeon bit back a smirk. Maybe she got on his case too. Somehow I doubted he ever did anything worthy of a stern talking-to. Besides sucking dick in public. My gaze dropped to the full swell of his mouth before swinging away.

Casey was staring at me with a raised eyebrow. Christ.

“So is this the part where me and homeboy—”

“You can call me by my name.”

Ohh, someone was testy.

“Where me and Booty—”

Simeon gave me an ill side eye. “What the fuck?”

“Oh,” I said, giving him the cutest smile I could muster. “That’s what me and my boys call you. Y’know. Boudreaux . . . Booty . . . Sounds the same, right?”

“Sounds like y’all be talking about my ass.”

The humor sucked out of me like he’d shoved a vacuum hose down my throat. “You can be easy with the gay shit.”

“You and your boys are the ones—”

Mel walked around the desk and clapped once, but loud enough to shut us both up. “This is exactly why we’re having this meeting. Neither of you is capable of being in the same room long enough to have a civil conversation.”

“Aw, we’re just playing,” I said. “Right, Booty?”

“If you call me that again I’m going to punch you in the face.”

With a long-suffering sigh, I turned to Casey with hands pressed together in supplication. “Just separate us, Casey. For real though. This dude has no kind of sense of humor, and I’m not trying to live out my suspension in misery.”

“And I’m not finna suffer through this suspension with a clown who doesn’t know when to zip it,” Simeon said.

“Ah ah ah,” I said. “You’re not the one who should be talking shit about zipping up, Mr. Public Displays of—”

“Enough,” Casey said, voice rising. “Adrián, please try to keep the jokes at a minimum.”

“I’d advise you to kill the jokes entirely,” Mel said dryly. “Especially if they relate to my client’s sexuality. I’m not sure if you understand, Adrián, but what you’re doing is both discrimination and sexual harassment.”

I waited for Simeon to speak up, tell her it wasn’t that serious, and then everyone would lighten up. It didn’t happen. Unease hardened into a rock that sank into my gut and sat there. They were right, and somehow I’d never thought of it that way before. Maybe because Simeon was another dude, another player, a guy who had a golden arm and could run like the wind. He’d always seemed oddly superhuman. Even back in the day when he’d busted his ass all the way through the Predators’ preseason, putting more work in than the two guys who were in line to start before he’d ever have a shot. And that was why I’d liked him.

Until he’d left for the Barons.

Running my tongue over my teeth, I mirrored Simeon’s slumped pose. “Got it.”

Mel and Casey glanced at each other before surveying the two of us again.

“Everyone is in agreement, from coaches to managers to owners, that the best way to resolve this and preserve the reputation of the Barons while keeping the reputation of the Predators from going further down the toilet is to show a united front,” Mel said.

I cringed but kept my mouth shut.

“Even if you two still can’t stand each other two months from now, fans of both teams will see you managing a respectful and sportsmanlike rivalry,” Casey said. “No homophobic innuendos—”

“I’m not homophobic,” I snapped at Casey. “And you know it. I was just joking. We all joke that way in the locker room, and it doesn’t mean shit.”

“—or taunting, targeted personal fouling, disrespect, or fistfights that result in brawls,” Casey continued. “You’ll be working together. With children. So before that point, when you’re in the presence of preteens, this is your last chance to clear the air so it doesn’t happen in front of an audience of young football fans who will then go tell their parents and social media.”

“And the media,” Mel added. “Because they’re foaming at the mouth waiting for one of you to do something foolish. There was already a BuzzFeed article predicting twelve ways this publicity stunt will turn into a disaster.”

“Don’t call it that,” Simeon said. “I like kids. This isn’t just about making our noses look clean.”

Oh damn. He was an actual sweetheart. There was no way we would ever get along.

“Yeah. What he said.”

Nobody even looked at me. I was starting to think these people didn’t take me seriously. There was something disquieting about being reduced from a tiny god on the field to an overgrown child in the face of two power agents and a guy who wanted to punch me in the throat.

“You start next week. Take this time to say what you have to say.”

Before I was ready for it, Mel and Casey were excusing themselves from the room. They left me and Simeon awkwardly sitting side by side, two giants in a room better suited for normal-sized humans, and our knees so close they were almost touching.

I jumped up, grinning, and turned so I was leaning against Mel’s desk. It was the first time we’d been in such close proximity with no one else around. It wasn’t like I didn’t know how Simeon looked. Everyone in the goddamn country would instantly recognize that deep golden brown skin, the hazel eyes, and dark russet-colored hair. But this was the first time he’d ever met my gaze head-on with only a few feet between us without being just about ready to cock his fist back for a right hook.

“So you’re really pissed at me, huh?”

He wordlessly raised his wrist brace.

“And you’re gonna blame me for that whole thing?”

“You started that shit for no reason,” he said flatly. “Because you’re a homophobe who doesn’t like it when fags talk back on Twitter.”

Jaw dropping, for a long moment I could do nothing but scoff. “Are you—what—” I gestured at him. “That is the most bald-faced bullshit accusation I’ve ever heard.”

Simeon rose from his chair in a movement so fluid I didn’t have time to prepare before he was in my face. He planted a hand on either side of me and leaned in so close I could smell the coffee on his breath. I flicked my stare between his narrowed eyes and those full soft lips and swallowed. When one of his eyebrows gave an infinitesimal twitch upward, I lifted my chin and glared.

“How would you feel,” he said coldly, “if everyone around you used part of who you are as the butt of a joke?” Simeon’s fingers rose and pressed into the center of my chest. “People you respected. Other football players. Coaches. Managers. Fans. All of them. What if they all talked about how something deep inside you, something you can’t change and don’t want to change, makes you less of a fucking man? Of a football player? Makes you shady in the locker room?”

I looked down at his fingers then up at his face, holding my breath for who the hell knew what. Him to stop accusing me? Touching me? Hating me?

“The worst part of this bullshit with you is that back when I was with the Predators, I really fucking liked you, man.” Simeon released a harsh laugh. “There’s so many jokers on your team. Show-offs, braggy mofos, dudes who are more worried about fucking every night than putting in the work to win. DUIs, violence against spouses or even the press, all kinds of arrests for pitiful shit . . . and none of them gave a damn. It was disappointing, because I’d sworn all that was media spin.”

“Some of it is.”

“Nah. You’re lying to yourself, but I get it.” Simeon pressed harder. The imprints of his fingers would be on my skin later. I knew it. “But anyways, out of everything, you were the best part of being there. You were funny, didn’t treat me like a scrub just because I was new, and didn’t laugh during training when I said I’d be happy to even make third string. I liked you, man.”

Liked me how? Cringing, I tried to back off so he wasn’t touching me, but the desk had me caged in.

“But now I see that you’re just like them.”

“No I’m not,” I said quickly.

“Yeah. You are. You’re a big kid who grew up privileged with your rich baseball daddy and fancy lawyer mommy. This is all a game to you, dawg. I know it. You know it. Fuck, even Casey Rose knows it. But to me?” Simeon took a step back. “This is my life. This shit is everything to me. And I don’t have time for some fool who wants to ruin it just because me being gay makes him nervous.”

“You don’t make me nervous.”

Simeon smirked. “Yeah? Then why’re you sweating?”

A blustery protest formed in my throat, but he turned away and walked out before I could form the words.

Chapter Three

Simeon

Nothing made you feel more like a regular person than riding the subway in New York City. I’d driven down over the weekend to check out the situation in Williamsburg, but parking had been a nightmare.

It was all street parking with the cars real cramped together. I’d have a better chance walking from the Hamptons and getting to the community center on time rather than my ride remaining unscratched if I parallel-parked my truck every day.

Mel had suggested I rent a smaller vehicle, but I’d literally never driven a sedan and couldn’t see how I could fold my body into one. It was trucks or nothing. I gravitated to pickup trucks like diesel was in my veins. The probable reason I hadn’t been able to park my F-250 anywhere near Grand Street.

So today, the first day of a two-month punishment that I was convinced I didn’t deserve, I’d girded my loins for autograph seekers but had gone virtually unnoticed on the subway. No one had given a goddamn about my big ass squeezing into the two-seater on the E train or the L train. A few people had glanced my way, and I’d gotten more than a few long, admiring looks from dudes sweeter than my auntie’s pecan pie, but no one had approached.

I could fuck with New Yorkers.

Finding the Grand Street Center should have been cake since the subway had let me out at a station literally called Grand Street, but I got turned around twice before finding the place. It was easy to miss, and I had no idea where they thought we were going to teach these kids how to play football. There were probably a couple of small parks around, but where was the practice field and turf?

“Why do you look confused?”

Forcing myself not to sneer, I glanced back at Adrián. He was wearing basketball shorts, a sleeveless striped T-shirt the color of a Creamsicle, and Ray-Bans. He was also casually licking an ice cream cone. I wanted to fuck the shit out of him, but settled for rolling my eyes back towards the community center.

“Where are we supposed to practice?”

“Probs using the high school’s field.”

“There’s a field somewhere in the middle of all this concrete?”

“Yup.” Adrián gave another slow lick while staring at me from behind the safety of his reflecting sunglasses. “I know it’s probably a real shock to your country ass.”

“Fuck you, Bravo.”

It was a bullshit insult, and I wasn’t really mad, but it still made me hate him just a bit more.

“Stop standing out here like a lost tourist and take your ass inside. The paps haven’t found us yet, but they will.”

I flipped him off and strode through the doors, hoping one of them rebounded and broke his little button nose. Fucker had nerve being cute as hell while trying his best to get under my skin.

“Soooo,” he drawled. “How was the journey from the Hamptons?”

“Just fine. How was your journey from wherever the hell you crawled out of?”

“Great. Legit walked down the street and stopped for a Mister Softee on the way.”

“Mister Softee? Sounds like a gay-for-pay bottoming porn scene.”

Adrián tilted his head, puzzled and still licking his cone. I had no idea what he thought he was doing with that goddamn thing. Introducing himself to the kids and our new supervisor while eating like a child?

“What’s gay-for-pay?”

Smirking, I glanced at the reception desk and then back at him. “When a porn star lets dudes bang him on camera even though he’s really straight. So, his dick stays limper than a softwood tree after a rainstorm.”

Adrián wrinkled his nose. “They must be getting that good money.”

“Probably. Feeling tempted into a career change?”

He pushed his sunglasses to his forehead and winked. “Not for nothing less than eight figures. They gotta match my EA Sports endorsement.”

I couldn’t stand him.

Turning away, I strode to the receptionist’s desk only to see the woman behind it had already noticed us. She was wearing a floral pantsuit with high-top Converse and had a big purple bow in her Afro. If I was straight, or a little bit homo-flexible, I’d be in love. Instead, I just admired her skin since it was glowing like a moisturizer commercial.

“Hello there, ma’am,” I said, smiling wide. “You wouldn’t happen to know where two troublesome NFL bozos should head to get started on their coaching project, would you?”

“I sure do,” she said, smiling back just as wide. Her big dark eyes flicked over me before glancing more dismissively at Adrián. I may be gayer than a San Francisco Pride parade, but I was also smug as hell.

“You guys are actually early, but I’ll show you to the director’s office.”

“Early?” Adrián wrinkled his nose. “But we were told to be here from like nine in the morning to four in the afternoon.”

“Huh. Interesting. The kids for the sports program usually come in from noon to four. Maybe you’re supposed to help out around the Center for the full-day program too?”

Adrián muttered something and went back to his cone. Child.

I flashed another smile. “Thank you, ma’am. I didn’t catch your name, by the way.”

“That’s because I didn’t give it to you yet. It’s Sheila.”

“Okay, Sheila. Nice to meet you.”

She turned away to show us to the office, and Adrián nudged his shoulder against mine. “Why would you flirt with her when you don’t like ladies?”

“Why not? It’s fine, and she’s pretty.”

Adrián gave me big, owlish eyes. He was so boyishly adorable it was hard to hate him for long periods of time. I solved that little dilemma by reminding myself that he was a douche canoe.

“You find women attractive?”

“You poor sweet child. Unlike cis hetero men, who think admitting another man is attractive will turn their fragile sexualities in a different direction, I’m more than capable of admiring a beautiful woman without questioning my shit.”

“Huh.”

“I’m just opening all kinds of new worlds for you, ain’t I?”

Adrián shrugged. “Yeah, maybe. Let’s see what else you got in the next two months.”

There were so many places that comment could go, but I tamped down on all of them and picked up my pace. Sheila led us to a grim little room that was stacked full of paperwork, overcrowded bookshelves, and one tiny window high up towards the ceiling. It was the most depressing shit I’d ever seen, but the rest of the Center hadn’t been too fancy either.

Not having spent much time in New York, the only things I knew about Williamsburg had come from people who made fun of it. They said it was a former diverse neighborhood made up primarily of Hasidic and Latinx communities that had been overrun by gentrifiers trucking in from Manhattan with their Pilates studios, tea shops, bars, and boutiques. I’d expected to see hordes of wealthy young people with eighties glasses and high-waisted jeans or whatever swanning around while taking pictures of artisanal sandwiches with their iPhones.

Instead, this particular corner of south Williamsburg seemed like it hadn’t been completely changed just yet. The Center was no frills but had been decorated by the staff with artwork and graffiti, and the kids I’d peeped while walking through were a mix of ethnicities. That gave me hope. If we were paying it forward with our skills, I’d prefer it not to be just to rich kids with trust-fund parents.

“Yaritza?”

I hesitated before following Sheila into the office, not moving until Adrián hard-bodied me all the way inside. After tossing him a vicious glare, because what did he think he was doing making me barge into this woman’s space, I turned to our new boss. She, like Sheila, really made me all kinds of happy. I had a soft spot for nerds and hipsters, and Yaritza had matched her bow tie, big glasses, and acid-washed jeans with Jordans and big gold-hoop earrings with her name in the middle. Took me way back. Marcus would be in heaven. Well . . . soon-to-be engaged Marcus would have been in heaven. I had to keep reminding myself that my boys weren’t bachelors anymore.

“Hey, guys,” she said breezily. “I’m so happy to have you here. Take the most comfortable seat you can find, and we can go over everything.”

There were a couple of tiny folding chairs and one slightly more comfortable-looking office chair that Adrián immediately snagged. He went for optimum man spread while eating his ice cream with his eyes still shaded. Frowning, I leaned over to snag his sunglasses.

“Don’t be rude.”

He sucked his teeth. “No one cares.”

“I care.”

Sheila snickered and gave me a little wave before hurrying out. I was so going to be the teacher’s pet. Adrián shook his head.

“You guys are funny,” Yaritza said. “I honestly thought you would be showing up with an entourage.”

“I’m not on that Tom Brady shit, miss. I live around the corn—”

“Stop cursing,” I muttered.

Adrián sighed. “This kid really thinks he’s my daddy. Can you believe I have to put up with him?” he asked Yaritza, giving her the big, chocolate-brown eyes. “For like two months!”

“Well, considering you’re going to be around a bunch of kids with helicopter parents, you might want to get used to censoring your mouth.” Yaritza sat back in her chair with arms crossed over her chest. “I talked to both of your agents, and they aren’t going to call in the media for planned photo ops for a while. The point of that is to not overwhelm the kids right off the bat, but also not show you two being an overwhelmed hot mess, since that’s probably what it’s going to be like at first.”

I laughed. “Trust me, we’ll be okay.”

“Ah ah ah,” she said, wagging her finger. “Don’t underestimate the wiliness of preteens. They’re hardheaded, sassy as hell, and some of them will have no real interest in football. These kids are more likely to have been playing basketball or handball than trying to figure out complicated plays. Expect the first two weeks to be a lot like herding cats.”

“Come on, Yaritza. Give us a bigger vote of confidence than that,” Adrián said. “And they have to do plays.”

“If you really want to do that to yourself,” she said with another breezy smile. “But you’d be better off just teaching them teamwork and leadership skills than worrying about all that other crap.”

Adrián and I looked at each other. He did the sign of the cross.

“You’re not a football fan, are you?” I asked, cringing.

“Not really, but you will see me rocking orange and blue from head to toe when the Knicks are playing.”

Lord. Jesus. Maybe I couldn’t fuck with New Yorkers after all.

Adrián

As much as I disliked Simeon pretending he was about that I’m-super-serious-about-this-BS-publicity-stunt-ma’am life, I could not deny the cat was charming as hell.

It annoyed me through the first three hours of our first day of volunteer work, which was apparently us minding the kids who were there for a full-day camp. They did arts and crafts, had snacks, then free play, while I hung back in a corner and tried not to let anyone notice me. The funny thing was—most of the kids had no idea who we were. Only a few of them got big eyes once they noticed it was Simeon’s face on their cereal boxes and even then it took them a minute. I had no idea how they didn’t recognize him. His face wasn’t exactly forgettable.

By the time noon rolled around, I’d texted my agent twice about how bullshit this little project was while Simeon sat in a circle and colored with first graders. What was life?

“Hey, guys.” Yaritza walked over to us with her hands in the pockets of her jeans. “We ordered pizza if you want to eat with us. I doubt it’s enough, so feel free to take off for a half hour and be back by eleven thirty. You’ll meet your players at twelve.”

“Bet,” I said. “What’s the deal for that?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean what are we doing with them for the first day?”

Yaritza’s brows pushed together and she tilted her head. Bad sign.

“You don’t have a plan? I thought you guys would have gone over it together.”

“Us?” I barked out a laugh. “We don’t talk to each other unless we have to. Come on, now, Miss Lady. You know why we’re here. We can’t stand each other.”

Simeon nodded but mostly just looked troubled, gnawing on his lower lip. “What are we going to do for four hours?”

“I have no idea, guys. This is your thing. The program is new.” A glimmer of frustration crossed Yaritza’s face, like she wanted to shake us both. “Listen, this is what I’d do, grab lunch and come back. We can spend the next hour trying to draw up a fast-and-dirty lesson plan. Sound good?”

“Yeah, I appreciate—”

“Yeah, he loves it fast and dirty,” I said.

Yaritza’s mouth twisted to the side. Simeon punched my arm.

“Do you ever shut the fuck up, Bravo? I mean, damn.”

“Sorry. I forgot you’re sensitive.”

He looked ready to murder me but still pasted on that big white smile for our supervisor. Damn suck-up. “We’ll get it together, ma’am. I swear. If my boys were here, we’d have this on lock.”

It was hard to contain an epic eye roll. His boys. Mr. Perfect Marcus Hendricks and Redeemed Asshole Gavin Brawley. Well. Slightly redeemed. Brawley had recently flipped off a paparazzo and shoved the pap’s camera after the dude had basically camped in the lobby of his new penthouse in the West Village. They were fiending to get a shot of Brawley and his man.

“Whatever,” I said. “I’m gonna go to Pacini’s, and I’ll be back.” Simeon said nothing. I gave in and epically rolled my eyes. “Bring your country ass on.”

“You clearly never been to New Orleans, boo.”

“Hell yeah I have. Partied on Bourbon Street all night.”

“You are pathetic.”

Yaritza gave us a pained smile and left us to our own devices. Not the best idea, since we probably needed a sitter. Huffing out a long sigh, I slapped my sunglasses back on and led Simeon to my favorite pizzeria. It was a hole-in-the-wall and an original staple of the neighborhood that had managed to hold out as everything around it was eaten up and bought out by rich developers trying to make it fancy. That was the main reason I’d first started going in. I liked the old-timey booths, greasy glass counter with the uncovered pizza pies, lack of signs about gluten and farm-fed animals, and the yellowed pictures of celebrities. They also made bomb-ass chicken rolls.

Simeon scanned the menu once, twice, and then flashed his stupid charming smile at the grumpy Italian dude behind the counter. “Can I have a grilled shrimp Caesar salad and the sausage with broccoli rabe?”

Pssh. What an amateur. Like, what? That was barely food.

Elbowing by him, I thunked my forearms onto the counter.

“You know the drill, Pete. Chef salad, chicken roll, rice ball Parm, two slices of pizza, and lasagna.”

Simeon gave me a look of disgust. “You’re suspended. You working out enough to counter that much grease and cheese?”

Me and Pete looked at each other. “Aiight, cut the pizza.”

“Your choice,” Pete said, like I’d die due to this decision. It was cold out here in these pizzerias.

Simeon sat in one of the booths, and I joined him on the opposite side. I wondered if a pap would stroll up out of nowhere and snap a picture of us being all cordial.

“Look, Bravo. Don’t fuck this up.”

So much for cordial.

“You need to stop making perverted jokes and being a jackass around the people at the Center,” he continued. “How’s it going to look when reporters talk to Sheila and Yaritza and they say you acted like a prima donna asshole with a lousy sense of humor the whole goddamn time?”

“I don’t actually care, bro.”

“Maybe you should.”

“Why? I’m not you or Hendricks or even Brawley these days. I’m not trying to impress anyone but my fans and my sponsors, and so far they like me just fine.”

“They won’t like you when Yaritza says you made sex jokes because you have no idea how to act around children.”

My eyebrows flew up so far they probably looked like they were trying to escape into my hairline. “You don’t fucking know me, Boudreaux. You have no idea—”

“Oh, gimme a break, now. You grew up with rich parents in a mansion and followed your dad around to games. You’re a spoiled shit, and no one ever gave you the business the way you really need it. But guess what? I’m gonna give it to you.”

“Oh, baby,” I drawled. “You’re starting to turn me on.”

For a second, Simeon was startled, but then he shook his head. “The League wants us to look like decent people, so try to pretend you know how to be one, and I’ll try not to do any dumb shit to get us in trouble.”

Now, that was interesting.

“Dumb shit? Please tell me more, Mr. Perfect.”

“I never said I was perfect,” Simeon snapped.

“You don’t have to. Everyone paints quarterbacks as these amazing leaders, but in reality you’re all just boring as hell. It’s like a default setting. Although at least you managed to spice it up a bit by being a giant gay man.”

“Man, I never thought I’d meet someone who says dumber shit than me, but guess what? You are on your way to winning that award, you goober.”

“Heartbreaking.”

Pete cleared his throat in our general direction as an indication to get some of the food. I grabbed our salads and my chicken roll so we could tuck in.

“Whatever,” Simeon said. “Just try to be good around the kids and help me plan.”

We spent the next thirty minutes hashing out a rough lesson plan for the four hours we’d have with someone else’s unruly children. In reality, it was mostly Simeon coming up with stuff and me telling him if it sucked or not. He was so into it, like really wanting the kids to have fun and learn things, that I was starting to feel like an asshole.

As much as I wanted to hate him, there was something about Simeon that made me want to do a good job. I told myself I just wanted to show him up, but part of me also wanted to show him that I had it in me. There was something worthwhile beneath all this smartass trash talk. I could be just as good as him if I wanted.

Chapter Four

Simeon

The plan was simple—waste the entire first day on getting-to-know-you icebreaker shit and talking about teamwork and sportsmanship so we could make a real plan for the next day. How hard could it be? Kids loved shooting the shit, right?

Wrong.

“So, you’re gay, right?”

“Ohhhh,” the other kids said in a chorus. Thirteen-year-olds were a trip, and this sassy redhead was apparently going to be the ringleader. Or at least attempt to be one.

The kid’s name was Brayden, and I knew he was going to be a smart little cuss. He’d strolled in wearing skinny jeans and flip-flops—definitely not ready or willing to play football. I wondered who’d even put him in the program. Forcing sports on kids irritated me to no end.

“Yeah, I’m gay,” I said. “But it’s not an appropriate question.”

“Why not? It was on the news. We’re teenagers, you know. We do watch the news.”

“No, I don’t. The news is boring.”

Brayden gave the kid next to him, Jory, a dirty look. “So how do you know stuff?”

“I see it on Twitter.”

“Twitter!”

Brayden looked outraged. No one else seemed impressed. Delilah, a girl with long dark hair pulled back in a massive bun, sat up on her knees and pointed at me. She looked like a mini version of Yaritza.

“I think it’s cool that you’re gay. My moms were excited you’re coaching us.” She looked over at Adrián, who’d failed to introduce himself as he hunched over a notebook and scribbled. “Not so much him, to be honest.”

Damn, these kids were rude as fuck!

“Okay, let’s start over.” I ran a hand through my hair, scratching at the curls and likely making them poof out. “Do you all know each other?”

She gave me a condescending look. “I don’t even live in Williamsburg.”

“So where do you live?”

“Sunset Park. And Nicole lives in Red Hook,” she added, pointing to the girl next to her. “But we go to the same school.”

I didn’t get it. At all. Where I was from you went to the school in your damn neighborhood.

“You know what? Maybe it’s good you don’t know each other,” I said, trying for a grin and likely looking desperate as hell. “We’re all new to each other, so we all have to learn how to work together. We’re probably not going to see much time on the field today, but tomorrow—”

“How do you two work together?” Brayden asked shrewdly. “Aren’t you both suspended after starting a riot?”

Adrián’s head shot up. “Da fuck?”

“Bravo!” I barked. “Watch your mouth.”

He gave me that half sneer/half squint and jerked his chin at Brayden. “You can’t be having these kids spreading wrong info. That’s ridiculous. It wasn’t no goddamn riot—”

“Wow, son. You really have no self-control, do you?”

“It is not that serious. You think they don’t say worse?”

“He’s right,” Jory said, grinning. “Just not in front of my mom. She’d beat my ass.”

“Sounds like a CPS case,” Brayden said, smirking.

Delilah mean mugged him harder than Gavin Brawley at a press conference. “It is not that serious.”

I shot Adrián a glare. “See, man?”

He wasn’t paying attention and jerked a thumb at Brayden, who was still looking between me and Adrián with a smarmy grin. Who knew preteens could smarm that hard? Kid needed a medal.

“It wasn’t a riot. It was a little misunderstanding that got out of hand.”

“I watched the YouTube clips,” Brayden countered. “You tackled him for no reason—”

True.

“Probably because you’re homophobic—”

Also true.

Adrián’s skin reddened. “That’s not—”

“And then you got mad that he stood up to you and started a fight. My mom said you can dish it out, but you can’t take it.”

I couldn’t help it—I laughed. It started as an aborted chuckle, but the stifled sound was even funnier, so before I knew it, loud guffaws were ripping out of my mouth. Adrián was so visibly furious that I laughed harder, my eyes tearing as I slapped my hand against my thigh.

“Now who’s not helping?” he demanded. “You know what? Screw this—no more getting to know you. We’re going to the goddamn park.”

Adrián strode across the room and grabbed a large net bag full of footballs. I caught his upper arm before he could make another move, which was a bold move given his death grill. For a moment, his dark eyes dropped to my hand then back to my face. It was slightly alarming, the possibility that he’d lose his shit right in this center in front of these kids, but I saw him collecting himself. Gritting his teeth and clenching his jaw, and looking damn attractive in the process.

“Be cool, man,” I said. “They’re just kids.”

“Thanks, Captain Obvious.” He jerked his arm away from me and swept a steely glare over the kids. “Let’s go see what you can do.”

Adrián

They were awful.

Out of all twelve of them—a number that made no sense to me—only three could catch a football. Six of them didn’t feel comfortable tackling, and one kid was way too enthusiastic about it. We were gonna have to have a little chat with him later.

The worst part wasn’t even the lack of skill. I hadn’t expected we were gonna uncover the next Reggie White out in hipsterville. What had me on edge and ready to tell a thirteen-year-old some stuff about himself was their constant harping about grown folks’ business they had no idea about and had no reason to discuss. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that the kids and their parents were all very aware that I was the asshole bully who’d wound up justly suspended, and Simeon was the popular gay QB with the heart of gold who’d been unfairly persecuted for defending himself.

Some of the kids had a little homophobia, which caused them to gravitate towards me, while the others sneered and stuck to Simeon. Our tiny crew—this amount of players legit made no kind of sense—was divided as hell.

“This isn’t gonna work.”

Simeon dumped the bag of balls in the corner after the kids had all cleared out for the day. “You’re quitting already?”

“Did I say that?”

“You just said it’s not gonna work. What the hell else did you mean?”

“I’m talking about the way these kids act,” I snapped. “They caught on to you thinking I’m a jackass and went right along with it. And you letting that Brayden punk get away with talking about the gay shit didn’t do us any favors either.”

“Adrián, the entire country knows I’m gay.”

“Okay, and . . . ?” I lowered my voice just as it rose, not wanting Yaritza to hear us arguing. Again. “You can’t let a kid start talking about your personal life, man. It opened up a whole Pandora’s box of bullshit—”

“Pandora’s box,” Simeon repeated.

“Yeah, man. Do you know what that is?” He pursed his lips at me, eyes narrowing, so I went on without waiting for a sign that he knew. “Anyways, we need some ground rules. No personal talk, no bullshit about the fight.”

“And no cursing,” he said.

“Okay, but if I have to watch my mouth then you need to lay off criticizing me in front of them. If you act like I’m a dumbass, then why should they listen to me?”

Simeon paused in his tidying with both big hands braced on the back of a chair. The muscles in his biceps were bulging out against his T-shirt from that position. I wondered if I also dwarfed all the furniture in the room, and if so, why these kids weren’t even the slightest intimidated. They’d had zero qualms about talking shit. I could almost respect it since I’d been exactly like them as a youth.

“All right, all right, you might be onto something there, partner.”

“I know I am. I’m smart as hell.”

“Okay, smart guy, then tell me what we’re going to do with these damn kids. I’m a little thrown for a fucking loop or twenty by all this. I seriously thought we’d have some help.” Simeon ran a hand through his hair, giving it a rumpled just-rolled-in-the-bed look. “Like, to be honest, I figured a real person would be in charge and we’d just hang out and toss the ball a few times.”

I cracked up. “A real person?”

“You know what I mean, man! A real teacher. Not a couple of immature-ass NFL players! They threw us to the wolves.”

“For real.” I stopped laughing long enough to realize Mel and Casey had probably done this on purpose. “Hey, how much do you think they’re charging these kids to be here?”

“Nothing. I made sure or I wasn’t gonna do it. They got in on a lottery system, though.”

“Oh. That’s good.” Why hadn’t I double-checked the pricing? Simeon was consistently a better human than me, and it was irritating. “Anyways, we need a plan. There’s so much wrong with this program I’m starting to think it was created just to piss us off. We don’t even have a normal number of players!”

Simeon grimaced. “I had the same thought. Maybe we should talk to Yaritza.”

“No. You can talk to Yaritza, you kiss-ass.”

“Pansy.”

“Look who’s talking.”

He gave me a serious look before rolling his eyes and shoving me out of the way. We marched out of the rec room and into Yaritza’s office like we were about to go ask our commanding officer to release us from the Army. Or however the hell shit like that went down. Actually, doing that was probably illegal.

“Hey,” Yaritza said, waving from Sheila’s desk. “How’d it go? The kids looked happy.”

“Those kids are rude as all hell,” I complained. “They need my mother here to tell them how to act.”

“All kids are rude,” Sheila said, laughing. “You get used to it after a while and then you just laugh.”

“I will never find some thirteen-year-old talking mess funny.”

“You won’t, but I will,” she said.

Simeon snorted. “We had some questions about the camp. Namely, we don’t have enough kids.”

Sheila and Yaritza exchanged glances.

“All the summer camps I went to as a kid had at least twenty players. Anything less and it’s a real bitch to get in effective practice.”

“Yup,” I said. “We’re gonna have to cross-train them in every position, line drills are gonna be a nightmare, and if someone is out for a game—”

“Game? There aren’t any games.”

This time it was me and Simeon exchanging glances.

“Say what?” we chorused.

“It’s just a camp, guys. A primer to football. Noncompetitive practice and play.”

Horror overcame me and struck me silent. Luckily, Simeon was articulate enough for both of us.

“That’s dumb,” he said.

Annoyance flickered over Yaritza’s face, and Sheila pointedly turned away. She didn’t even pretend to do another task. She literally just stared at the doors as if picturing herself walking through them to escape the awkwardness of her supervisor reaming two famous NFL players.

“Look.”

It was never a good thing when someone started with “look.”

“The two of you are football players. It’s your thing—”

“Our thing,” Simeon repeated. It sounded like he was going for slow and sarcastic, but his accent wouldn’t allow anything but a rapid-fire blend of consonants and syllables. “What you mean thing?”

“Yeah, baby—”

Yaritza’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Don’t start with the ‘baby.’”

“My bad.” I held my arms up in surrender. “For real, miss. That’s my bad. I say it all the time. I even say it to Boudreaux.”

“He does,” Simeon said.

She didn’t look convinced but went on. “I know you two take football seriously, but as I told you before, the purpose of this camp is to teach the kids teamwork and leadership skills. Not to teach them plays and line drills and how to get concussions.”

“That’s very nice,” I said. “Sweet actually. To reduce a lifetime of work to—”

“Oh, calm down. You’re both like twenty-seven.”

“Sweetheart—”

“If you call me one more condescending sexist pet name—”

“I’m sorry! Fuck.” I ran a hand over my hair before shooting Simeon a look. “Can you just do the fucking talking? Christ. I’m incapable.”

“Glad you finally realized it, Bravo.” Simeon shouldered me out of the way and leaned on the edge of Sheila’s desk, addressing Yaritza. “We’re sorry. There was obviously a misunderstanding, and we’re not teachers or licensed professionals who should be left alone with children—”

“Technically, you’re not left alone as long as me and the other camp counselors are here.”

Simeon ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek. His smile strained. “Ms. Yaritza, we suck at this. Do you want small children to have a bad summer because we’re bad teachers? Is that what you want? No, it’s not what you want, because you’re an intelligent, kind professional. Children are our future, but our future will be bleak as fuck if you let me and this asshole guide them.”

By the time he finished his awful speech, Yaritza was shaking with silent laughter. She had to cover her mouth with her hand to contain it, and her eyes were tearing.

“I’m glad you find this amusing,” I said. “But it’s a tragedy. It’s a fucking tragedy. And you know what? Other people are going to find it equally tragic. Like the helicopter parents we were warned about and the media, when they come out and start filming the Bravo and Booty show.”

“Booty.” Yaritza raised an eyebrow. “Huh.”

There were a lot of assumptions packed into that syllable, emphasized when she looked between us and bit back a smile. Why did everyone thing Booty was some kind of sexy nickname?

“Can you just help us?” I demanded. “For real. We’re drowning. It’s my job to get beat to the ground by four other dudes my size on a regular basis, and you know what? Those little-ass kids owned my ass more than any game no matter how bad. Even the time I played with a broken wrist.”

“Did you?” Yaritza cocked her head. “Impressive.”

Oh. Lovely. All it took was an injury story to get a smile out of her. Or a somewhat warm smirk.

“Please?” Simeon asked, smiling. “Come on.”

She cracked. “Fine. This is my advice to you—split your time half in and half out. Two hours in the Center working on . . . I don’t know, let’s call it sports theory and sportsmanship because that’s what we’re pushing for. Break it up into three or four activities so the kids don’t get bored. I warn you, their attention spans are short and games get stale real fast. For the second half of the day, you take the kids out to the high school’s field and do your thing.” Yaritza looked between us. “Sound good?”

I made a seesaw motion with my hand.

“Yes, ma’am,” Simeon said. “Thank you.”

“And I’ll check in instead of throwing you out there to sink or swim.”

“Thank the sweet Lord,” he added, like a good little church boy. “You are a wonderful woman, Ms. Yaritza.”

She rolled her eyes again but couldn’t help a laugh. “You guys are out of control, but sweet. Even you,” she said, nodding at me. “I honestly didn’t know what to expect from you guys, so I was being hard on purpose, but . . . this is a nice surprise.”

“I’m glad one of us had a nice day,” I muttered.

Yaritza patted my arm. She didn’t even squeeze my bicep or do anything remotely flirtatious. I was losing my touch. Either that, or sulking detracted from the dimples. “Tomorrow will be a better day as long as we all work together,” she said.

We returned to the rec room to finish cleaning up, and I had to marvel at where I was supposed to be right now versus where I actually was.

“This is some freeze-fried bullshit,” I said. “I mean, I really could just blow this off, but Casey is my boy and that would be cold. Also, the media would say I’m a big bitch who couldn’t handle it, and that is just not true. I can handle anything. I could be locked in a room with your ass for two months and it’d be better than this shit. I feel like writing apology letters to every teacher who ever had to deal with me.”

Simeon’s mouth tugged up before he flattened it into a scowl. He was trying hard to maintain his dislike, but it didn’t come naturally. I was too damn likeable.

“Look,” I said, forcing seriousness into my tone. “All jokes aside, we need to have a come-to-Jesus if we’re going to make this thing work.”

“Tell yourself that, boo. I know how to be professional.”

“Yeah, you know how to flirt with our supervisor and be all sweet, but even those little-ass kids could tell you can’t stand me. If those pretty eyes of yours were lasers, they’d always be set to stun.”

I was trying to get him with flattery, and he knew it because that was his MO. But even so, there was a moment when he faltered. A widening of his eyes, parting of those full lips, and the faintest of sharp inhales.

“Oh, come on,” I drawled, loping over to him with a wolfish smile. “Don’t get all shy now.”

“I’m not,” he said quickly. “Your flattery is as effective on me as your dimples. Not at all.”

“Oh yeah?” I stopped walking when I was right in his personal space. Watching, waiting, and kind of wanting him to sweat. “My dimples work on everyone. One smile and panties fall at my feet.”

“Smile? Heh. I don’t expend that many calories to get my fuck on. All it takes is one look.”

“One look,” I repeated.

“Yup. A single glance across the bar and a guy knows I want their pants around their ankles . . .” There was a pause, just a breath, and a wicked glint passed over Simeon’s eyes. “And their dicks in my mouth.”

Holy shit.

“Nervous yet, straight boy?”

Holy shit.

“Struck dumb?” He tapped the side of my head. “Everything okay in there?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just shocked you came right out and said it like that.”

“Why? Is it a secret that you like going down on women?”

“Uh. No. Besides my mom’s cooking, it’s my favorite mea—”

Simeon covered my mouth with his hand, cringing, and I couldn’t help laughing. Loud, unabashed, unfiltered, guffaws that had my lips brushing against his palm as my eyes teared. He jerked his hand away, but not before grazing my lips with the tips of his fingers.

“All of that shit talk,” I said with a gasp. “And you got nervous about me talking about eating pussy.”

He cringed again. “Fuck you.”

“Just admit I win.”

“Is everything a competition, Bravo?”

“Dude, we’re athletes. Of course everything is a competition.”

Simeon graced me with a chuckle. “Okay, you right. But if we’re keeping score, the game has just begun. Next time, I’m gonna get you good.”

“Bet.”

Chapter Five

Simeon

“How’s my backup doing?” I asked, tossing my brace in the air and catching it again. The doc had said I could take it off, not that it did me any good since I was still banished from practice and the field. “Thrilled to have a chance in my limelight?”

“He’s shitting bricks,” Gavin said. It was their off day from training camp, and he’d taken the time to come visit me in the Hamptons. He looked the same as always, all golden hair and golden eyes and shitty attitude, but that attitude was never directed at me.

“He’s been second string for years, and now he’ll be starting the first six games. The media is already tearing his ass apart, and the season hasn’t started yet.”

I flopped down on the couch next to Gavin and rested my head on his big shoulder. “That’s no fair. The poor bastard didn’t even get a chance to strut his stuff yet.”

“Since when is anything fair?” Gavin threw an arm around my shoulder and pulled me in for a half hug. It was the most affection he gave anyone who wasn’t a blue-eyed piece of ass named Noah Monroe. “Also, he doesn’t help himself by suddenly having a noodle arm.”

Groaning, I buried my face in his T-shirt. “This sucks, dude. This season we were supposed to be on top of the world. Me, you, and Marcus—the two dope-ass musketeers and one surprisingly dope white boy.”

His shoulders shook with silent laughter. “Blame that clown you’re playing camp counselor with.”

“Oh, I do. And he knows I do.”

“Heh.” Gavin pulled his phone out one-handed, and I watched him read a text from Noah. They weren’t exactly mushy, but the soft smile that briefly appeared on Gavin’s face warmed my heart. He ruined it by asking, “That motherfucker showing his ass yet?”

“Not really anymore.”

“Yeah? Shocking. I expected him to make this hell for you, which is why I was pissed at Mel for suggesting you do it.”

“Don’t be pissed. I’m starting to see what they’re trying to do.” The last few days had made it clear what Mel and Casey’s plan had been with our team owners. Force us to teach kids leadership and sportsmanship skills, throw that around the media instead of our ability to teach kids how to learn plays and tackle each other, and absorb some of those skills our damn selves. “Like . . . part of me is pissed, you know? They’re treating us like some little kids needing to learn a lesson, and it’s demeaning, but it’s sort of working. So it’s hard to criticize.”

“It’s working?” Gavin gave me his infamous brow arch. “You’ve been there half a week.”

“Yeah, and we already see some progress. We came up with a bomb routine for the kids, we’re finally getting them out on the field because they’re proving we can trust them out in the world to not act like fools, and we only argue like three times a day.”

Gavin cracked up.

“That’s an improvement,” I said. “Trust me. I was ready to knock that sucker out not even three days ago.”

“And now?”

“Now we’re kinda coming to an understanding.”

“What understanding is that?”

I tilted my head back and looked up at the ceiling. “I don’t really know yet, but it should be interesting.”

Gavin shook his head, disbelieving, and I switched topics to the Barons once again. Not being with them after months of not being with them unless we had a promo gig was like being kept away from my brothers. It was a different situation from Gavin’s the previous fall, because I could technically go see them when they had downtime, but I didn’t. All things considered, the cuts of exclusion and depression would be sharper if I was that close and . . . it wasn’t a good use of my time.

I was still working out to stay in shape for my return to the field in October, but the camp was kicking my ass. Teaching kids was no joke. Especially when I had a traffic-heavy commute back and forth by car or a three-hour journey via public transportation. If there was an easier way to do it, I hadn’t found it yet.

Gavin left around seven to make his own journey back to New Jersey since the team lived at the facility during conditioning, and I tried to crash early since I had to get up at five. It wasn’t the getting up that got me, since we also woke at the crack of dawn at training camp; it was the traveling while barely awake and cranky as hell. And normally I was a morning person. How did the average working sucker manage this crap for their entire lives?

Sighing the sigh of a prima donna, I flopped back on my bed. It was dark in my room, with music playing quietly, but I was nowhere close to tired. In fact, I was amped up and horny. Sex was an outlet for me in more ways than one, and I was antsy from not getting my fix. Finding someone to hook up with wasn’t the problem. That was the easy part. But ever since my nightclub mishap the previous year, I’d been a lot more . . . reluctant to pick up any old random. I was out as a gay man now, but that didn’t mean I wanted my personal life scrutinized or more sex tapes secretly recorded and sent to the media.

“Fuck life,” I muttered, shifting on the bed.

After a few minutes of rolling around and punching pillows, I grabbed my phone and navigated to Grindr. My thumb hovered over the icon as I gnawed on my lower lip. A text message popped up before I could click on it.

Adrián.

Adrián: Yo. I’m bringing my Xbox and Madden tomm.

My mouth twitched. The hell was he up to now?

Simeon: You gonna do that while I watch these kids work in groups to make their own plays??

Adrián: No, stupid ass. I figured it’d be easier for them to make plays if they spend a while taking turns using the playbooks and formations in Madden’s practice mode. Dig?

Simeon: Whoa, are you like . . . smart or something?

Adrián: Fucker, you gots no clue how many intelligences are in my brain.

Simeon: lmfao I take it back already

Adrián: [crying laughing emoji] Aiight, bet. Glad I have his majesty Golden QB’s permission. I might swing by GameStop before they close and pick up a few more games and systems so they can work in groups of three.

Simeon: I’ll chip in

Adrián: Keep your dollars, fool. I’m not strapped.

Simeon: Still tho

Adrián: Shut up. Save the dough for a date. Your tense ass needs some loosening up.

What the hell? How had this kid tuned in to me needing to get off? Like yesterday.

Simeon: How you know it’s my ass that gets loose?

Adrián: LOL bro. You got a face gangbang in a club bathroom . . . while sober. No offense but that is the sign of someone who likes to get plowed. JS

Simeon: Heh.

Adrián: “Heh”? That’s all you got? I guess you gave up on our game of chicken. I expected oversharing details about your gay sex life.

Simeon: I started to go there but TBH nothing makes me call uncle and get nervous faster than the idea of someone having pics of me or in this case screen caps to make me look bad in the media.

There was such an extended silence that I expected him to not reply.

Adrián: Wow, son. I know I said a lot of shit like a dumbass, but I’m not trying to entrap your ass.

Simeon: I didn’t say you were. You could say I have trust issues [[SMILEY FACE]] Which is why I ain’t been laid.

Adrián: Oh. Gotcha . . .

Simeon: Yuppppp.

Adrián: Well . . . in that case, I guess we can finish that convo in person. ;)

Simeon: WTF. Do you WANT me to win? Lmao you have no idea the details I can unload on you, man. I will go in.

Adrián: Try me! You can’t make me uncomfortable, dude. Do your worst.

Simeon: We’ll see.

With a shake of my head, I plugged my phone into its charger and looked at the ceiling again. This time, instead of obsessing over my sexual frustration, I planned on what I’d say to make Adrián Bravo lose his cool.

Adrián

Delilah was a born quarterback.

I’d been doing my best to not assign them permanent positions in my head, especially since they all thought being the quarterback was the coolest thing ever (insert eye roll), but it was hard. The girl was a natural.

Every time we rotated the kids, the combination of her speed, reflexes, and killer arm had both me and Simeon flipping out. It was hard not to whoop with excitement and show a measure of favoritism, because damn. Between her and Jory, whose lean body and long legs made him a prime running back, they made a killer team.

“What grade are these kids in?”

“I dunno.” Simeon squinted down the field with his hands on his hips. He was concentrating hard, and all the kids were doing at the moment was practicing passing. I could tell Delilah was bored out of her mind, but she was a good sport about it. “They’re like twelve and thirteen, right?”

“Yup.”

“I dunno.”

I rolled my eyes. “Well, what grade were you in when you were twelve? I can’t remember worth a damn. Starting to think Yaritza is right about those concussions.”

Simeon scratched at his brace absently, gaze tracking our pupils. That kind of focus was enviable, since I’d never possessed it. Whether it was in school or in social situations, I darted all over the place, doing before thinking and constantly getting in hot water as a result. The only time I could cancel out all the white noise and distractions, and make a decision that would benefit everyone around me, was on the field.

“Sorry,” he said absently. “Brayden isn’t trying much today. Gotta talk to that kid. But anyway, I got no clue. I was homeschooled for a while as a kid and it threw me off. If you ever have a kid and you even think about keeping their asses home, keep in mind some stuff doesn’t always line up when you go back to public school.”

“I never want kids so no worries on that end. But why were you homeschooled?”

“At first because my mom was always working and she wanted to know I was getting taught the way she wanted me to be taught.”

I shook my head in confusion. “This is not anything resembling the story I’d heard about you.”

Simeon snorted. “What do you think you know about me, man? I know we didn’t talk much about family when I was in the Predators.”

“The media makes it out like you had a similar upbringing to Brawley. Bounced between homes, struggled, et cetera.”

“Yeah, and that’s bullshit. My mom put herself through school and worked two jobs, but we weren’t miserable. My dad died when I was a toddler, but my family on both sides has roots generations deep in New Orleans, so I had plenty of family to help out.” Simeon took out his phone as he spoke, and I was just nosy enough to see him checking a text from his mother. He was giving me actual cavities. “My aunties watched me when my mom was at school or work, and I never had any complaints. There was a lot of love in my family.”

“So why the fuck’s the media spin it like you were in foster care? I’ve never even heard of you having a parent!”

“Makes a better story if the pretty black boy with the freckles and reddish hair had some hard-knock life instead of growing up surrounded by hardworking black women.” He slid his phone away. “Besides, my actual story isn’t as interesting. My daddy was a half-white mechanic and part-time fisherman who grew up in Cajun country. Died of cancer when I was so young I barely remember him.”

On the field, Delilah cocked her arm back and let the ball fly in an arc so gorgeous I couldn’t contain a whoop. “That’s right, Pacheco! Yeah!”

The kids all cheered for her, and I grinned broadly. From the corner of my eye, I could see Simeon watching. I pretended not to notice.

“What’s Cajun country?”

“Arcadia,” Simeon said, to make it even more obscure. “You know! The part of Louisiana where all the Cajuns live!”

“The only Cajun I ever knew was on X-Men.” At his horrified expression, I cackled. “Well, and you.”

“Half,” he said. “Man, you don’t know shit. Uncultured heathen growing up thinking about nothing but baseball and football.”

“Ball is life.”

“Damn right.”

We both opted out of making dick or ball jokes and went back to watching the kids, but my mind zoomed in that direction. I felt like an asshole for basically giving him ammo to win a round of our unnamed challenge to make each other uncomfortable. If he wasn’t inventive enough to give me the gory details about riding poles, I wasn’t supposed to go around suggesting it. Even though I’d immediately started picturing it. Which was . . . different. And interesting. And different.

“Nice catch, Brayden!” Simeon shouted, his voice booming across the field. “You’re on fire today!”

“You just said he wasn’t trying.”

“I know, but he doesn’t have to know that. I hate when coaches try to encourage a kid by tearing him down.”

That I had to agree with. Shitty coaching staff had plagued me since high school and still did, now that I was with the Predators. The defensive coach was a monster when things weren’t going his way. Shouted and cursed like he wanted to beat the shit out of us. A few times, his tantrums had been caught on camera. One clip, of him throwing his headset and destroying his own hat, had gone viral. Made for a funny-ass GIF.

But at the end of the day, it hadn’t fazed me. I was used to it from growing up with a pro baseball player for a father who’d been obsessed with winning. Without a W, I was a zero. Some slogan.

“You’re not a total asshole, Boudreaux.”

Simeon released a startled laugh. “I can’t say the same about you just yet, but I will say that even though my people skills are far superior to yours, you have the planning shit down pat.”

“Oh shit, are you saying we make a good team?” I shaded my eyes and made a big show of peering around for paparazzi. “Maybe we can call this quits since that’s a mission accomplished.”

“You’d still be suspended and sitting on your ass for six games once the season starts.”

“That’s better than overseeing children.”

“Nah, it’s not so bad.” Simeon went back to his serious survey of our tiny prodigies. “I kinda like it. The worst part is the parents.”

“You’re right there, bud.”

Practice went on for another thirty minutes before we gathered all the balls and trooped back to the Center. A couple of parents were already there, the more hovery ones, including Brayden’s father. The dude gave me the heebs, but I was loath to say anything about it since I had no real reason to fend him off. Just a general vibe of creepiness as he hung around longer than was necessary, drawing out conversation with Simeon, before hauling Brayden off like he was a sack of potatoes that wasn’t moving fast enough.

And then there was Nicole’s mother, who insisted on flirting with us both, much to her daughter’s horror.

Yeah, parents weren’t fun.

“We made it,” I said, once they were all gone and the rec room was cleaned up. “And that one week felt like a month.”

“Tell me about it. I’m ready to eat and crash. Fuck partying.”

“Not getting any dick this weekend?”

“You’re pretty obsessed with my sex life.”

“Nah. I just don’t know shit else about you other than the fact that you like dick.”

Simeon slid his hands into his pockets and strolled out of the room while I trailed behind him. “Untrue, dumbass. You know more about me than a lot of the dudes on my team. I never talk about my fam.”

“So why’d you talk about it with me?”

“Because I’m stuck with you, so we may as well talk about something.”

“True.”

We waved at Sheila and stepped out onto the sidewalk, breathing in deep as a warm breeze blew down the block. It was a perfect New York summer afternoon. No humidity, low eighties, breezy, and in this part of Brooklyn the trees gave a lot of shade. Made me want to go score a good spot at the park and lay out, but I was always too paranoid to do it alone. For all I knew, some asshole anti-Predators fan would set my ass on fire.

“I’m about to get some grub. I’m starving.”

Simeon started to answer but his jaw cracked with a yawn, causing his eyes to tear. He raised his arms in a back-cracking stretch. His T-shirt rode up and exposed a long stretch of brown skin a couple shades darker than my own and a ripped stomach. I knew he was shredded just on account of him being an athlete, but seeing all that exposed skin was still disconcerting. Like he was doing an unintentional striptease.

Fuck, I needed to stop.

“I should cab it back to Westhampton, but sitting in a car while stuck in traffic makes me fucking nuts,” he said, still yawning. “I should have rented a spot over here.”

“Shoulda coulda,” I said unhelpfully. “Wanna grab some food before your journey? I could fuck me up some pancakes right about now.”

“Oh shit, that sounds good. With maple syrup and bacon and potatoes. Mmmmm.”

Simeon rubbed his stomach, and I watched, wondering if he’d flash some skin again. God, I was messed up in the head.

“There’s a diner a few blocks away. Overrun by hipsters, but it’s good shit.”

Part of me half expected him to remember I was the douche bag who’d mocked him on national television before picking a fight and getting us both put on leave for half the season, but he didn’t. He just shot me one of his winning Boudreaux smiles.

“Let’s do it.”

Chapter Six

Simeon

The diner was empty, which I took as a good sign. So far commuting had been okay except for a few autographs signed here or there, but I wasn’t ready to be packed into a small space with a bunch of strangers while eating. Everything was always so damn hectic that eating was my down time. I didn’t even like dinner parties because I preferred my meals in silence, unless I was with Marcus or Gavin. Call it a byproduct of growing up with constant-noise family dinners and no time to think or breathe.

Adrián snagged a booth in a far corner and plopped down with his back to the wall. He took off his fitted cap and shook out his dark hair, scratching his fingers through it before running them over his scruff. He wasn’t looking as polished as he usually did during the season, and I dug it.

He caught me looking and leered.

“What do you think the gossip rags would say if they saw us now?”

“Probably make it sound like I’m cheating on Gavin with your dumbass.”

Adrián’s eyes opened wide. “What? You’re fucking Brawley?”

“Nah, man. But they like to imply we are, just because they think two faggots can’t be buds without occasionally clicking together like Legos.”

“Bad analogy, man. Like awful.”

I snapped open the menu and put it up so I wouldn’t have to see his mournful headshake about my lack of wit. “Fuck you. You just want me to talk about dicks.”

“Yup.”

“Why?”

“Because dicks are funny.”

I glanced around the diner but no one was paying attention. “Okay, surround sound. Keep your damn voice at a normal level.”

“I do what I want.”

And now he just sounded like Cartman. Judging by his snicker, that had been his intention. It would have been annoying if it wasn’t so endearing, and now I had to stop and wonder if this is how Marcus and Gavin felt about me. For the past few years, I’d been the cavalier joker who acted before thinking, Marcus had been the level-headed planner, and Gavin the hotheaded, overprotective one. With Adrián in my role of joker, I had no idea what my role was. Less obnoxious joker? Enthusiastic camp counselor?

Whatever. Instead of dwelling on my identity crisis, I drooled over the millions of kinds of pancakes this place had to offer. They apparently were known for their pancakes and their pie, and I was down for both.

“Fuck, this menu is turning me on.”

“I know, right?”

Adrián hadn’t even opened his. His arms were draped along the back of the booth as he sat slumped with his thighs spread open. His knees were touching mine, a detail I shouldn’t have noticed but couldn’t help fixating on. What was it about this kid that had me acting like a teenager all over again? I couldn’t even stand his ass, and yet he had that whole badass-in-the-back-of-the-class charm that drew me in like candied bacon.

“Whatchu getting?”

“My usual,” he drawled. “Pile of bacon, an omelet, and a stack of pancakes with a side of hash browns.”

“Oh, man. I’m really turned on now. I’m copying you but getting pecan pancakes.”

“Biter.”

“I am a biter.” I wagged my eyebrows, leering and knocking my knee against his. “And a hair-puller, and a moaner . . .”

“Moaner or screamer?”

The waitress swooped in and saved me from spilling too much information all over the checked tablecloth. We both ordered, me swapping maple-crusted pecan pancakes for the bananas Foster, and then we both snickered because she’d barely batted an eye at either of us.

“Don’t dodge the question, Boudreaux.” Adrián hunched forward with his elbows on the table and a naughty smile spreading on his face. “How loud are you?”

“Loud enough,” I said vaguely. “Haven’t you seen the video?”

“Fuck no, I didn’t watch that video.”

“Oh-ho. Now I know what would make you nervous.”

Adrián had a more interesting reaction than I’d expected. Instead of blustering and posturing about why he would never spend his time watching some homo shit, he flushed.

“Unlike the rest of our crap society, I don’t peep sex tapes and leaked pics, okay? I take privacy seriously and that’s an invasion of it. I wouldn’t like it if some girl I fuck took secret pics and suddenly has my cock on Snapchat.”

“Why not?” I tilted my head, biting my lip with big sympathetic eyes. “Is it small?”

Adrián had been mid sip from a glass of water and spat it all over me. He choked and slapped his hand against the table, laughing and coughing at the same time.

“Fuck you, Booty. That’s bullshit you’re talking right now.”

“It’s okay if it is. Sometimes the smaller guys put more effort in and really know how to work it.”

“Motherfucker, I do not have no small dick.”

“If you say so, partner. No judgment here in the land of seven inches.”

“And ain’t no need to front over here in the land of eight.” Adrián leaned farther across the table. “Wanna check?”

“Yeah, whip it out. I’ll measure with my straw. It’s at least four inches in real time, right?”

Adrián kicked me, and we both cut up laughing. It was the most normal I’d felt in a while, and it was funny as hell that dick jokes took me to that place. But that was the nature of the beast in the locker room. We all sat around each other naked in there or with the trainers so much that players probably saw each other’s pieces more than their significant others did. Talking about cock, and making jokes about each other’s cocks, was our version of bonding.

And that was part of the reason why some of the guys, even my boys in the Barons, had started shying away from me and Gavin after we’d come out. They were still friendly enough, but there were subtle differences. The absence of dick jokes was one of them. A weird thing to miss, but it was part of the comradery I’d come to appreciate.

“What’s wrong?”

I shook my head. “Nothing.”

“Nah, something’s up.” Adrián wagged his finger at me. “You went from filling this room with that funny-ass laugh of yours to scowling at the Stevia like you’re feeling salty that there’s no Equal.”

“And he says I’m bad at analogies.”

Adrián smacked my arm. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I insisted. “Just thinking thoughts.”

“Deep.”

I flipped him off just as the waitress returned with a giant tray of food. We started putting it away without comment, but once I was halfway into my pancakes I couldn’t help casting another cursory glance around. Yeah, the place was empty, but I usually had a couple of people ask for an autograph by now.

“You think nobody recognizes us here?”

Adrián looked at me and then around before returning his gaze to me. There was syrup at the corner of his mouth and on his fingers. Not enough to make him a total animal, but enough to draw my attention to his lips and those long digits. Good finger-fucking size.

“Some people do, but New Yorkers are different.”

“Less into football?”

“Nah, they just aren’t easily awed. You know how many actors live in my building?”

“I’m guessing a lot.”

“You’re guessing right.” Adrián licked syrup off his fingers only to get them sticky again since he’d managed to pour syrup on his fork. “I don’t know a lot of other football players who live around here, but a lot of basketball players do. People are just used to seeing familiar faces. Regular people just seem kind of over it and unimpressed. Or they’re all rushing around and don’t pay attention to the people around them.”

It made sense, but it was a little jarring to be able to blend with a crowd. Back in New Orleans, seeing celebrities wasn’t exactly out of the norm, but folks weren’t shy about walking up and starting a conversation. People weren’t shy in general, which led to me being drawn into so many conversations with fans that I’d sometimes avoided going outside if I just wanted down time. There was part of me that was paranoid that my fans had lost interest since the video had been put on blast, but people in New Orleans loved football, and where I was from people took a lot of pride in celebrating their kin. An ache started in my chest, that familiar desire to return home. I’d been afraid to since coming out, even though my mom had reassured me that “no one had been surprised.” Whatever that was supposed to mean.

“There goes that face again,” Adrián said. “Getting all heavy?”

“Nah. Not really.”

I shook it off and pushed my plate away. Time to switch gears from the triad of most important things in my life—family, football, and fans. And the easiest way to distract myself? Attempting to torment Adrián Bravo—the dickhead who’d ruined at least half the season for me and was now charming and dimpling his way into my good graces. What did it say about me that I couldn’t hold a grudge against someone who’d gone out of his way to humiliate me? I’d always been the mediator, but I’d never been a fucking doormat.

Setting my jaw, I threaded my fingers together and braced my chin on my hands. He kept eating, fast and efficient and slightly messy, as if he was going to run out of time on an imaginary clock. When he realized I wasn’t looking away, he tilted his head.

“Sup?”

“I got a question for you.”

“Aiight, shoot.”

Leaning forward, I asked, “When did you first realize you were straight?”

His head jerked back. He laughed. “What kind of question is that?”

“Just answer.”

“Why? When did you realize you were gay?”

“We’re not talking about me.”

“Yeah, but . . .” Adrián hesitated, and that was the first sign that he was definitely smarter than I’d been giving him credit for. He knew I was trying to prove a point even though he had no clue what the point was. “I’m gonna go right ahead and guess people ask you that question a lot.”

“Fuck yeah they do. These days, it’s all people want to know. Simeon, when did you first realize you liked men? Simeon, when did you come out? Have you ever tried being with a woman? Did something tragic happen in your childhood?”

“What the fuck?” Adrián set his fork down and didn’t notice it was dripping syrup all over his hand again. “They ask if you got molested?”

“Apparently that’s one way people are trying to rationalize a big butch bastard from New Orleans liking dick.”

“But that’s—” There was some spluttering before Adrián said, “That’s not only stupid, but rude as hell. These people have no kind of home training. You should tell them to piss off and walk out of an interview when they start implying shit like that.”

I slowly nodded, staring at him and wondering who was this alien who caught onto homophobic microaggressions and where was the asshole I was supposed to be picking a fight with?

“I try to get along with the press,” I said belatedly. “If you treat them like shit, they treat you like shit. Just ask Brawley.”

“Whatever. When they start sniffing around here I hope you know I will tell them about themselves if they ask offensive shit in front of me.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean why?” Adrián demanded, outrage etched into his face and making itself known in every aggressive syllable. “Because that’s disrespectful. We have our issues, but I’ve never seen you be rude to anyone. Not demanding fans who think they own you just because they dropped sixty bucks for a jersey, and not creepy parents who stay up your ass like you can do something to improve their shitty lives.”

He stopped ranting after his voice rose three levels too high, but no one was paying attention or even facing us. After taking a deep breath, he rested his hands loosely on the table.

“Anyways, I’m not homophobic.”

“Way to circle back to the only thing you actually give a fuck about.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he demanded.

“It means you care more about being called a homophobe than figuring out why you do shit that codes as homophobic,” I said flatly. “Which is why I brought this up in the first damn place. Every couple of minutes I catch myself actually enjoying your company now that we’re away from the competition and the adrenaline and the game, but then I remember you making gay jokes on Fox News, and I feel like a fucking idiot.”

He flinched, but there was no way to know whether he just hated being labeled as someone who hates gays or if he was regretful about his actions. There was no way to tell, which was the exact reason why I couldn’t let it go.

“If I was homophobic, I wouldn’t be trying to goad you into talking about your sex life. I wouldn’t be playing that game with you to begin with,” he said. “And—”

“And what?”

Adrián shrugged, frowning. “Nothing. I’m just not a homophobe. My beef with you just makes me do ill-advised things.”

“Why do we even have beef?” I asked incredulously. “We were cool back in the Predators.”

Adrián remained stubbornly silent, but the side of his mouth twitched. It was a tell if I’d ever seen one, but I didn’t know him well enough to know what it translated to. Eventually, I told myself. Adrián talked way too much to keep a secret, even though I had no idea why the seeds of Adrián’s dislike required a top-secret clearance.

“Fine. Subject change.” I mirrored his pose, leaning towards him with my elbows on the table. “Forget the realizing-who-you-want-to-fuck thing. When’d you lose your card?”

Relief swamped the table like the funky sweat of fifty-two dudes in a locker room. This was familiar territory for him. Trading sex stories and bragging about conquests, even teenaged ones.

“I was seventeen,” he said.

“Wow. I had you pegged for a fourteen-year-old stud.”

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“Because you’re fine as fuck, and you even looked good back in high school when most people are awkward.”

Adrián poked at his pancakes again but didn’t take a bite. I wondered if he was fidgeting with his syrup-covered fork to distract from the flush rising up his neck. One compliment from a guy, and he didn’t know how to act. It was adorable.

“How do you know?”

“The Internet, smart guy. There’s pics of you and your dad at an MLB All-Star game from a decade ago. You were a good-looking kid.”

“I know, right?” Adrián settled back into his cocky shtick and pretended to preen. “I had a lot of girlfriends, but I wasn’t allowed to date until I was seventeen. And I was too chicken to fuck anyone at school and get in trouble.”

“You’re messing with me.”

“Nope. I was a goody-goody. My parents had me on serious lock. All my dad cared about was me going pro in whatever sport I chose, and my mom—well, my mom didn’t think teenage boys should date.”

“’Cause hetero boys are scum?”

Adrián laughed. “Yeah, pretty much. She didn’t want to inflict me on someone until I was more mature, I guess. Gave me a ton of speeches about cousins of mine who turned out real shitty with kids by different women and didn’t do right by none of them. She wanted me to be, like, a paragon.”

“Huh.” His mom sounded a lot like my mom. Maybe we were secretly related. “So, who’d you give your laminated and protected-by-mama V-card to?”

“This girl Daniella. Total cliché, but she was a cheerleader. We did it in the back of her dad’s truck, and I hurt my back.”

I snorted out a laugh. “Sexy story.”

“I’m not trying to impress you.” Adrián flipped me off, but he was snickering at himself. “How about you? Lemme guess—fourteen?”

“Yup.”

“Man, I’m basically Dionne Warwick over here. All I need is a headband and a hotline.”

Damn, this dude was making me laugh at his ridiculous jokes. The more I tried to stifle my guffaws, the louder they got, until we were both cracking up together like a couple of dorks.

“Anyway, it was an older guy. He was in high school but didn’t make the football team, so we both did the Pop Warner league together. I was better, and he was salty about it, so at first we just talked shit to each other, even though he was a few years older.”

Adrián nodded slowly. He squinted at me as if visualizing the scene. “Okay, okay, I can see where this is going. He was creeping on you.”

“Nah. I was creeping on him. He should have told me to step off since he was sixteen, but he didn’t, and shit happened.”

Adrián’s lip curled. “I dunno, dude. That’s creepy.”

“Who you tellin’? But back then, I didn’t give a damn. I was a horny kid, interested in sex way too early, and closeted as fuck, so the options were real slim.” Thinking back to that time was weird, because it had been creepy and inappropriate, and my mama would have tore that boy up. “The first time I had good sex was in college. Before that, no one knew what the hell they were doing with their dicks.”

“Maybe because immature-ass dudes only care about trying to get off instead of how to please who they’re in bed with. That’s how I was until I was older,” he admitted. “Sex was just about blowing my load, until I went to college and got with girls who weren’t having that bullshit.”

“Heh. You expect me to believe you’re some sex master now?”

Adrián smirked, dimpling at me, and knocked his knee against mine beneath the table. “Let’s just say I know how to work my dick, and my stamina is the truth.”

A handful of braggy, mostly joking words, and my body was at attention. Dick twitching, heart pounding, and my stomach cramping up. I pressed my lips together and said nothing. Adrián pointed at me, delighted.

“You got nervous. I saw you, Simeon.”

“You didn’t see shit.”

“Shut the fuck up. I saw you get all serious face and back away. My bomb sex skills intimidate you. Admit it!”

“Keeping dreaming, Bravo. But I do have to tell you something.”

“Lemme have it.”

I extended one arm so I could lightly touch the corner of his mouth. “You’ve got something right there.”

The dark wings of his brows crashed down in consternation, and a flood of conflicting emotions danced across his striking face, but none of them was indignant or annoyed or disgusted—the reactions I was used to getting from straight men when I touched them and they weren’t interested. Or sometimes even when I touched them because of interest that was obvious to me and not to their own selves. Denial was powerful in most men, but Adrián Bravo settled on intrigued.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

I brushed the pad of my finger against his lips, wiping the syrup away even though it left the remnants of sticky residue. Touching his mouth sent my thirst into hyperactive overdrive, and my mind betrayed me. Filled with images of dragging him closer for a messy kiss where I used my tongue to get him clean right before dragging him to the bathroom to get really nasty.

Where was my common sense? My inner angel to tell me to stop craving this bastard just because he had a pretty face and, according to him, a talented dick? Hadn’t I learned my lesson? My dick going from half-mast to fully risen proved otherwise. I would absolutely go down on him in the bathroom if the opportunity arose. I could hate him even while he was in my mouth.

He wasn’t reacting as much as I wanted him to, so I dropped my hand next to his and upped the ante.

“You got some on your fingers too.”

“Yeah? You gonna get all mother hen on me about that too?”

He thought he was so cool and collected. It was kind of cute how much he underestimated my competitive spirit.

“Not quite mother hen, but . . .”

I grabbed his hand after a quick scan of the diner, and brought it to my lips. His arm locked up briefly, a spasm going through his fingers, but he didn’t fight. Not when I parted my lips, and not when I enveloped the syrup-covered digits with my mouth. I sucked the syrup off, suctioning harder than I needed to for the current situation, and flicked my tongue.

“Oh fuck.”

We locked eyes. There was no hiding how dilated his had become. The way his breathing had picked up, or the bouncing of his knee.

I slid my mouth off, leaving his fingers coated in saliva, and grinned.

“I won this round, Bravo.”

Adrián grabbed a napkin with trembling hands and roughly wiped his fingers.

“Yeah. I guess you did.”

Chapter Seven

Adrián

“Are you happy with yourself?”

“Yeah, Dad. I’m fucking thrilled.”

“Watch your mouth when you’re speaking to me.”

I sat on one of the bleachers, hunched forward with my phone to my ear and my gaze on the kids. Two weeks into this program, and we’d finally managed to wrangle a scrimmage for the little suckers. We’d pressed to them that it would be no big deal if this all fell through and they didn’t get to play another team, but my heart had soared when we’d gotten the okay.

Simeon had jumped around like a kid, but I’d suspected these children from Staten Island had only come through because we were gonna be there. Or rather . . . the parents had only come through for that reason. A couple of moms were hanging on Simeon’s every word, and now Brayden’s dad was glued to his side like it was a competition.

“I just don’t get why you’re calling to ream me right now. At this moment. I’ve been suspended for weeks, and you couldn’t bother to call me then. Why’re you so pressed now?”

The sound of a lighter flicking could be heard through the phone. The man had gone most of his life without picking up a cigarette, and he’d decided to pick up the habit at forty. In my opinion, that should have disqualified him from ranting at me about good life choices.

“You know, Adrián, I tried to raise you the right way.”

“Yeah. You did. Raised me to be a winner.”

“I’m not talking about that,” he said sharply. “And you know it.”

“How would I know that? I grew up being Rosendo Bravo’s son, the best pitcher in the MLB, and you wanted me to rise to that occasion. Now I’m a fuckup.”

“You’re not a fuckup. You just make bad choices.”

Sighing loudly, I watched Simeon kneel beside Brayden and give one of his pep talks. The guy was fantastic at it. I was all about planning and getting the kids in line, but he had the soft touch I could never muster. And it worked. Before my eyes, Brayden went from sullen to smiling and nodding. Fucking Simeon.

“I wonder what the fans would think if they knew linebackers with big contracts still got lectured by their pops?”

“They probably wouldn’t be surprised. You have fame and money and a career, but you’re not thirty in age or twenty in maturity. Get it together.”

“Get what together? My suspension is not a new development, Dad.”

“No, but this is.”

“What—” The sound of an email notification filled my ear. Sighing, I said, “Hold on, and then I gotta go. Kids are waiting.”

He muttered something in Spanish about me going through “all of this” to end up a peewee football coach. My dad. Such an understanding guy. His saltiness was amusing for a hot second until I scanned the article he’d just sent over.

Bravo’s and Boudreaux’s Suspension Gets Cozy

Beneath the headline was a picture. My heart stopped as I realized it’d been taken from outside the diner, but it started again when I realized none of the erotic finger-sucking had been captured by the creepy photog. It was just us laughing over a million pancakes.

“Okay, and?” I said. “It’s a good picture. We’re being all friendly and shit, and my edges look fresh.”

“It looks like you’re on a date.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes, I am serious. You’re supposed to be coaching kids, not having meals together. What were you thinking?”

“Wait—” I stood up on the bleachers. “How—hold up. You’re criticizing me for sharing a meal with the dude I have to hang with for a month and a half? That’s all you’ve got?”

“I’m criticizing you for not being bright enough to anticipate how the media would spin you sharing a meal with a gay man.”

My jaw dropped, and I looked over at Simeon again. He was high-fiving Delilah as the other kids gathered in a circle. As if sensing my gaze, he looked over his shoulder and motioned for me.

Anger gathered in my chest in a way it rarely did. “I always knew you didn’t love the gays, but damn. I didn’t know you refused to break bread with them, Pops. Not very Catholic of you, is it? What would Jesus say?”

“Jesus would tell my pendejo of a son to take his career seriously and be mindful.”

“All righty then. I’m hanging up.”

“Adrián.” My father rarely yelled, so when he raised his voice even a little it had the impact of rolling thunder. I could feel it in my bones. “Don’t turn me into a villain. I am proud of you, of our family, for doing ten times as much as the people who always thought less of us. I just don’t want anything to ruin it for you.”

Irritation softened like melting butter. He never complimented me. Rarely ever said he was proud. Not because he didn’t love me, I’d never questioned that, but because he subscribed to the old-school belief that the moment he lightened up . . . I’d start tripping.

“I got you, Dad. Don’t worry.”

We hung up, but I kept my phone in my hand.

“Bravo,” Simeon shouted across the field. “Come on!”

“Give me a second!”

I opened Twitter, stared at the screen for a second, and then grinned.

Oh snap . . . one lunch w/ @SimeonBoudreaux and the paps are already planning our wedding. We better hurry before it’s outlawed again!

J/K there’s about seventy ladies w/ bowlegs who can tell y’all about how straight I am. People need to calm down with the gay panic shit.

The first reply I got was from Rocky Swoops.

@AdriánBravo ey boy you better watch it with that gay ally shit lmao remember who you’re coming back to

@SwoopsR_ You staking your claim on my friendship, Swoops? Lol

@AdriánBravo Nah just making sure we can stay friends

I snorted. He was such a clown.

After shooting off another couple tweets about the work we were doing at the Center and a few more aimed at my teammates, I shoved my phone in my back pocket and joined Simeon. The kids were lined up and running through a banner before the game started. Yaritza was calling out their names with a megaphone like it was a big game, and the rest of the counselors had brought the other campers to cheer. It was cute. Or it would have been if there hadn’t been crowds of waiting fans behind barricades and a pool of reporters waiting nearby. Both our agents were also lurking, although they were probably going to cut out as soon as we were away from the masses.

“Sorry, bud. I’m here now.”

“What the hell were you doing playing with your phone? There’s actual photographers here, you know, and we’re the ones who arranged this game. The jig is up about keeping our location on the low.”

“Tell me about it. My father just called me because the Bravo-being-gay-for-Boudreaux rumors have already started up.”

Simeon shot me a startled look. “What?”

“Yup. Someone took a picture of us eating lunch, and everyone is tripping like we were on a date.”

“Were we just eating lunch in the picture? Because the other part would look pretty gay, man.”

“Yep, just the eating. Don’t worry about it. I already clapped back on Twitter. Tagged you and everything.”

Simeon hesitated for a second before pulling out his phone. I grinned in anticipation, feeling really good about myself for standing up to the homophobes. My grin faded once Simeon’s lips pursed and he shoved his phone away again. He shook his head.

“What?”

“Nothing. The game is about to start.”

“Dude. What? Did someone say something?”

“Yeah. You.”

“What the fuck? How was there anything wrong with my tweet? I was defending you.”

Simeon laughed. “Adrián, I get that you’re trying, but those tweets didn’t have a goddamn thing to do with defending me and had everything to do with you wanting to prove you don’t like men. Because that would be the worst thing in the world, wouldn’t it?”

“Uh, yeah, it’d be pretty bad since I’m not fucking gay. I have no problem with you being gay, or anyone else, but I’m not.”

“Because you like eating pussy.”

“Yup.”

“Guess what? There are people out there who enjoy eating pussy just as much as eating a twink’s tight little ass. It’s called being bisexual or pansexual.” I started to protest, but Simeon cut me off with a sharp wave of his hand. “And besides that, your little joke about gay marriage isn’t funny.”

“Wow. I guess everything I say is wrong.”

“When you’re making light of the fact that our government is being run by bigots who want to strip away my right to marry and probably to adopt a kid? Yeah. It is wrong. I don’t give a shit about you trying to get a pat on the back for being a good ally, or that the only way to get through to your fans is to talk about how funny it is that anyone would ever assume you like dudes. What I do care about is that you once again turned me into a joke.”

He started away while I stood there like a chump, scrambling for a way to defend myself and coming up short. I was vastly unprepared to argue with a gay guy about microaggressions, especially when I’d thought I was doing the right thing.

“Simeon,” I called after him. “Come on, man.”

“Just focus on the damn game. People are looking.”

He was right. There were parents, and photographers, paying attention to our little spat. A few even had their cameras poised as though they’d documented the heated exchange, which was just great. With one picture implying we were fucking and this series making it seem like we weren’t getting along, it was starting to look like this PR stunt might backfire.

Simeon

“We fucking suck.”

“Hey!” I protested, poking Brayden’s shoulder. “Watch your mouth.”

“He curses,” Brayden muttered, nodding at Adrián. “A lot.”

Adrián had the decency to look chagrined instead of sulky and resentful, which had been the case for the past hour. For the entire scrimmage, he’d stood at the edge of the field with his arms crossed and his mouth set in a frown when he wasn’t coaching.

“Yeah, well, I’m kind of a jerk.” Adrián said, glancing at me and then away. “Don’t be like me, kid.”

Now, that had been an unexpected admission. That a grudging comment was enough to impress me either meant I was just as soft as Gavin had always said, or I was sweet on Adrián despite his asshole nature. Given how salty I’d been over his need to insist he was definitely no way not even a little bit queer because pussy, even though he’d practically creamed his pants in the diner, it was more likely that I was starting to crush on the bastard. There was no other reason it would bother me so much.

“You guys can’t get this upset every time you lose a game,” Adrián said matter-of-factly. “You think I win all the time?”

“We definitely don’t think that,” Delilah informed him. “No one does.”

Adrián gave her a dull look. “What I’m trying to say is, we all lose. Fu—shoot, me and Simeon do this for a living, and we lose. You guys have been playing for, what? Ten days? Come on, now.”

“Yeah, but we’re not pro,” Jory said, kicking at the grass. “And those kids aren’t either. We just suck.”

“Those kids are from an actual football league in Staten Island,” I piped up. “They’ve been playing together for a while. Besides, this was just a scrimmage.”

“Oh, like the preseason game when you two got so mad you got into a fistfight?” Brayden asked with an arched brow. “My dad said it wasn’t about the game, but I think he’s wrong.”

Yeah, because his dad was queer as fuck and could probably sense there was something not-strictly-broish about me and Adrián. Nothing about our challenge to make each other uncomfortable was straight, and the flirtatious teasing between us wasn’t either. But Adrián was convinced that having only enjoyed sex with women so far meant he was hetero. I’d been with guys who’d screwed me six ways to church and still proclaimed their straightness, but having Bravo be this far in denial was grating.

“Well, your dad is right,” I said. “Adrián and me had a disagreement about something else, and it spilled over into the game. It shouldn’t have and it was a mistake, so we’re trying to teach y’all better. And this whole winning thing? He’s right. It doesn’t always happen. When I was first drafted by the Predators—”

“You played for the Predators?” Delilah demanded. “I didn’t know that!”

“Well, that’s the thing.” I squatted down so I wasn’t towering over our little crew. “They drafted me, but they thought I wasn’t a good QB after seeing me go through training camp.”

“How could they think that?” she crowed. “You’re the best!”

“Haha, thanks. But they were right. I was so nervous about being cut that I let it get to my head and lost the confidence I had when I was playing for LSU. I’d hesitate before releasing the ball.” I grabbed their ball and demonstrated. “So they cut me and put me on their practice squad, and I got the chance to keep working on my skills while practicing with their players. And trust—I was ashamed that I didn’t make the cut. I felt like a failure to my family and to my hometown. I was supposed to be a star and all that.”

Adrián had crossed his arms over his chest as I spoke, but his dark eyes were trained on me. I wondered what he was thinking about the short time I’d spent on his team. We’d bonded back then, before he’d moved past third string and while I was desperate to even get that far, but then it had all changed. Our developing bromance had taken a nosedive into the gutter and had been replaced by open hostility.

“When the Barons saw something in me, I thought it was my chance to prove I was more than a meat puppet for the real football players to practice on. And it was. Finally, I could prove to my mother that there had been a reason for all of the crap I’d put her through on my journey to the League. I got my shot and then I had my chance, and before I knew it I was starting for one of the most respected teams in the NFL. But you know what?” I grinned broadly. “The fact that I didn’t make it that first time around just made me push through harder. Without being with the Predators for all those months, maybe I wouldn’t have ever lost my fear and hesitation.”

Drop by drop, the dejection and anger drained from the kids, and they bombarded me with questions about how I’d “gotten my chance” to start. Unfortunately, it had come at the expense of other players. The original starting QB had suffered a back injury, then his backup had suffered a broken collarbone, and the kid from LSU who’d just whiled away half the season on another team’s practice squad got thrown onto the field. And they’d never let me go back to the bench.

My mother had said God had blessed me, but it hadn’t felt like a blessing at the time. I’d suffered a lot of guilt for riding my way to the top on the backs of two other men who’d just been injured, but that was the way the League worked. It sucked, and there had been a lot of resentment until Marcus and Gavin had adopted me as their bud. Well, Marcus had adopted me. Gavin had just growled at the other guys who’d questioned my skills.

With the game officially over, the parents and surrounding fans converged on us for autograph signing. While we signed, journalists yelled out questions that we mostly ignored. Not because I hated reporters the way Gavin had in the past, but because both Mel and Casey had advised us to speak of nothing but the camp.

Once the crowd was cleared, Casey spirited Adrián away in his car. Mel did the same with me, but I asked to be let out a few blocks away by the pizzeria. I wasn’t totally shocked to see that Adrián had requested Casey do the same for him. Pacini’s had become our spot in the past two weeks.

“That was the first time I ever heard you talk positively about your half a minute with the Predators,” Adrián noted as I approached. He stood with his hands shoved in the pockets of his sweatpants and his baseball cap pulled down low over his eyes. He wasn’t exactly disguised, and I suspected there were still one or two paps loitering nearby. “Was that all bullshit to make the kiddies feel better?”

“Nope. I was grateful for my time on your team.”

“Then why did you start talking shit the moment you bounced?”

I laughed incredulously. “Because the moment I left, you and your boys started throwing subs about me selling out your playbook. It caught me off guard. Especially when you went along with the nonsense.”

“Why me?” Adrián demanded. “I wasn’t the only one.”

“You weren’t, but you were the only one’s opinion that mattered to me. Most of the others already treated me like shit, but not you. I thought we were friends.”

“We-we—” Adrián broke off with a sharp inhale. He lifted his cap just enough to wipe sweat from his brow. “We were.”

“Then why’d you jump on the bandwagon? You’ve been riding it for years, man. Didn’t get off until a week ago.”

“I know.” Adrián gnawed on his lower lip. “Shit, Simeon. I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry? I’m an asshole? I’m a sorry asshole? I don’t even know why I acted that way, or why I was so mad. I just was. Felt all betrayed and bitter, like . . .”

“Like what?”

“Like you’d walked out on me without even giving me a heads-up. It stung, man. I was pissed. So when the other guys started popping shit, yeah, I went along with it. Because it was something I could actually say out loud.”

I glanced around again and wondered who else was hiding and witnessing Adrián treating the front of the pizzeria like his own personal confession box.

“Why couldn’t you just say the real reason? What’s there to hide?”

“I don’t know,” he said again. “I just felt weird talking about it.”

I knew why. I could see the reason in his frustrated brown eyes and lip-biting nervousness. The way he fidgeted and shifted from foot to foot, and the way he kept lifting his hands before dropping them again. As though something in him had been urging him to touch me.

All signs pointed to Adrián Bravo being into me, and he was so caught up in a sexuality that had been predesignated for him at birth that he didn’t understand, or notice, his own damn feelings. All he knew was that he wanted me around. And that he wanted to play an immature game that would guarantee he got to say filthy things to me and vice versa.

“I’m sorry about Twitter,” he said in another urgent rush. “I’m stupid, okay? I always say the wrong things when I’m trying to be funny. I’ll delete them if you want me to. Or I’ll tweet an apology or some shit. Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it. Just don’t ice me out.”

“Fine.”

“You accept my apology?”

“Yes,” I said, fighting a smile. “I accept your apology. But if you do it again, it’s a wrap.”

“I won’t. I swear.” Relief brightened his face and his dimples made their first appearance all day. The man was far too adorable for his own good. “Lemme make it up to you, man. Dinner at my place. Screw pizza. I’ll cook and everything.”

“You sure about that?”

“Fuck yeah, I’m sure. People are gonna say shit anyway.” Adrián twisted his hat around so the bill was backwards. “Might as well give them something to talk about.”

Chapter Eight

Adrián

There was no food in my house.

I remembered after we stepped through the door. I’d deliberately scrubbed the place down and cleared out my fridge before training camp, and had failed to restock even though I’d been back a few weeks. Food shopping was awful in general, but doing it in NYC was even worse. I had a car here, but driving to the grocery store was stupid, and pushing one of those grandma shopping carts down the street was out of the question.

“This is a great place,” Simeon said, looking around. “I didn’t even know they could tuck a penthouse this big into these cramped blocks.”

“I know, right? New York real estate is incredible.” I kicked off my sneakers and socks, sighing at the cool tiles on my bare feet. “The complex used to be a warehouse, but now it’s this luxury monster built like a giant rectangle with a huge courtyard in the middle. I bought this penthouse before the building was finished because I didn’t want to live in some snotty-ass town in Jersey or Long Island.”

“I feel you on that. I share a place with Hendricks on the Island, and we’re surrounded by stuck-up rich people with old money.”

I gave a thumbs-down. “Want a tour?”

“Yeah. Can I use your bathroom first? I’ve had to piss for two hours. Signing autographs was a nightmare.”

Laughing, I nodded in the direction of the hall bathroom, waited for him to go inside, and then hurried to the kitchen. A quick scan of my cabinets and fridge showed fruit, eggs, Italian bread, and two big plastic boxes of besitos de coco.

Simeon entered the kitchen and found me scowling into my fridge. I slammed it shut with an irritated sigh.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t actually have anything to eat.”

He snorted. “Tell the truth, Bravo. You were just trying to get me alone.”

“You got me. I was dying to spend my Friday night with the NFL’s golden boy.”

I did the pose Simeon had done on the Wheaties box—arm raised as if ready to launch a football across the field. Simeon just smirked. He had an I-know-something-you-don’t-know look on his face, and I didn’t even give a damn. I was just happy he was here, and that he wasn’t pissed at me. His little speech to the kids had bulldozed my last bits of resentment about him ghosting on me all those years ago. Our closeness hadn’t just been in my mind. It had mattered to him. I’d mattered to him. And I knew I should have been analyzing why the hell that was so important to me, but I’d never done well with rejection.

“Why don’t you go out and party instead of wasting your time with me? It’s Friday night. I bet you can even catch some of your boys out and about in Jersey.”

The idea had occurred to me more than once. Rocky had pressed the issue while teasing me about “switching teams.” My dumb ass hadn’t even caught on to the gay joke at first. I’d thought he’d been talking about leaving the Predators for the Barons. After a couple of weeks of hanging with Simeon, why were my teammates’ more obnoxious traits so much more obvious?

“Probably. They jet as soon as practice ends on Fridays and sprint to the nearest club, but Casey told me to stay low-profile. Wants me to look all contrite and solemn, not shaking my ass at the club.”

“You’d rather stay home and hang out with the homo people are already pairing you up with?”

“Yup. Maybe I wanted to up the stakes on our competition.” I gave him a little wink-wink-nudge-nudge. “Get that adrenaline rush of crushing someone with a stunning victory.”

“You could have gotten an adrenaline rush from going out partying and dodging cameras since you’re supposed to be keeping it low,” Simeon said. “That’s what always did it for me.”

“That’s not as exciting.”

“Why not?”

“Because people expect that shit. They don’t expect me to be trying my best to make Simeon Boudreaux sweat.”

“Then you must be partying wrong.” Simeon gave one of his famous grins and combed a hand through his hair, scratching the auburn curls. “Although I guess not everyone likes to fuck in the bathroom to get that rush.”

“Ha. Is that why you’d do something so stupid?”

“Kinda.” Simeon backed out of the kitchen and towards the living room, taking a tour of his own since I’d failed to make a move. “As much as it sucked, I can’t say I didn’t get a rush from playing the game, you know? Putting on one face in public—this nice boy from New Orleans who was living the dream on the cereal box and would someday be somebody’s straight-laced, Church-going husband, and then in private . . .” Simeon threw himself onto the couch, slumped down with his thighs spread. “I like to deepthroat random dudes with big dicks before getting dug out.”

I tossed my hat on the coffee table and dropped onto the cushion beside him. He was going for maximum man spread, and our thighs brushed together.

“You never worried about someone snitching to a tabloid before that night when Gavin wilded out?”

“Nah, I did. But I always figured I could just deny it, and I didn’t care a lot about rumors people couldn’t prove. I was more worried about getting it in, know what I’m saying?”

“Yeah, I do. But so then . . . how’d you not notice that some dude’s phone was out?”

Simeon’s mouth twisted up into a filthy grin. “I was kinda busy at the time, boo.”

Oh shit. Was this it? The moment when he tried to blitz me with the details? I’d been waiting for it ever since we’d started poking at each other, and had already come up with strategies on how to make jokes instead of getting flustered. He thought I’d cringe at an all-you-can-suck anecdote? Pssh. I’d trounce him with the tale of me, Rocky Swoops and the triplets in Ibiza. As homophobic as Rocky was, you’d think he would be a little shyer about fucking in front of other dudes, but that whole trip had been group sex and utter debauchery. Usually instigated by him.

Wetting my lips, I shifted on the couch and tried to stop thinking about the funny feeling in my stomach. He was making me nervous already, and he hadn’t even tried. Or had he? Simeon grinned and flirted and teased so much I couldn’t tell how much came naturally and how much was on purpose.

“You can’t scare me, bro. You won’t win this round by describing the girth of some frat boy’s wood.”

“You sure about that?” Simeon’s gaze slid over me before centering on my face. “Because it was three frat boys and they took turns. Probably passed around the phone once one of them was balls deep. There’s details you’ve never dreamed of.”

“I dunno, man. I’ve dreamed of some pretty sick shit. Watched some pretty sick shit too.”

Simeon’s gaze lit up. “Is that a hint that you wanna watch the vid?”

“What? Fuck no.” I scoffed, shaking my head, but couldn’t break his stare. “You have it on your phone?”

“Nah. But it’s uploaded on a bunch of sites. Can find it in about ten seconds.”

My heart catapulted towards my chest and settled into a steady hammer. “That’s weird, man.”

“Yeah, it is, but it’s not like I can make it disappear forever. I did it and it’s out there.” Simeon knocked his knee against mine. “Upside is I know you’re pissing your pants right now at the idea of me whipping it out.”

“I’m really not.”

“Yeah, you are.”

Simeon dropped a hand on my shoulder and squeezed, digging his fingers into the tense muscle. My dick twitched. I was seriously bugging.

“Look how stiff you are. All from the mention of a video.”

“I’m not scared of your little sex tape, Boudreaux.” The semi I had from him touching me while talking about it proved otherwise. It also proved something I was too out of breath and riled up to deal with right now. “Fuck it. Pull it up. Let’s see you in action. I’ll give you a critique on your dick-sucking skills.”

Simeon’s laugh, loud and deep and rolling, filled the room in a way that once again made my stomach clench. He smiled slow, dragging his teeth over his lower lip, and that clench escalated into an explosion of tingles that went straight to the stiffening heat between my thighs. What was he doing to me?

“Let’s get one thing straight. When it comes to sucking dick, I’m the professional here. The only time you’ll be in a position to give me a pointer is when your pants are around your ankles and you’re telling me whether you like it fast or slow.”

My lips parted, but no sound came out. I wet them and swallowed, and the clicking of my throat was deafening in the room.

“Stop talking shit and bring up the video,” I croaked.

He winked and whipped out his phone. While he tapped out a Google search, or whatever the hell one did to locate their own vid, I stared at his profile and tried to figure out what sorcery he was using on me. Yeah, okay, so this game had been my idea. I’d started it. But I’d never pushed boundaries and limits with any other guy. Just him. From the start, even back in the Predators when we’d spent some Friday nights together kicking it in my apartment instead of partying with the others, I’d only ever considered doing that with him.

Simeon glanced at me and that devilish smile played around the corners of his mouth again. “You’re supposed to be looking at the video.”

Fuck. I was tripping.

He’d not only found the video, he’d projected it onto the wall. My curiosity about the technological capabilities of his phone went out the window as the projected image came into sharper focus. He hadn’t hit play yet, but the picture displayed Simeon crushed against the wall by a man about my size. I couldn’t see Simeon’s face yet, but I’d know those reddish-brown curls anywhere.

“You ready?”

I licked my lips again, shifting on the couch. “You sure you want me to see this shit, man? It doesn’t piss you off?”

“Heh. No. What’s done is done. I can’t take it off the Internet. Might as well own it.” Simeon shifted closer in a movement so slight I shouldn’t have noticed it, but I did. I noticed everything he did. Every time he glanced in my direction or chewed on his lower lip or adjusted his balls. “But it’s cute that you asked.”

“Shut the fuck up and press play.”

The video started with an explosion of sound. Heavy breathing and the wet sound of tongues sliding together punctuated by the distant pounding of bass from music playing elsewhere in the club.

The camera was positioned oddly, as if one of the three dudes in the bathroom with Simeon had been holding it at his hip to keep it hidden. The angle gave a perfect view of Simeon being pressed against the wall by the blond-haired frat boy Gavin had later punched in the face. It was hard to believe this guy had been planning to set Simeon up all along. The first thirty seconds of the video were nothing but the two of them kissing each other with a hunger usually left for something you’d been craving for years.

“Fuck,” someone muttered, out of frame. “He’s hotter in person.”

On camera, Simeon pulled away from the kiss with a low laugh, but the blond yanked him closer again. That one movement was the first tell that he hadn’t wanted Simeon to see the phone. A protective streak tore through me, but it was razed by heat when Simeon reversed their positions and shoved the blond against the wall. He wasn’t gentle. To me at least, the message was clear: I’m about to suck you off but I’m not anyone’s bitch. The way he effortlessly pinned the dude in place announced it loud and clear, even as Simeon shoved the guy’s shirt up and began kissing his way down.

“Yeah,” that voice whispered again. “Suck his dick, Boudreaux.”

The blond buried his fingers in Simeon’s hair, gripping tight, and panted loudly. There was a smirk on his face I’d have loved to wipe off. Because he didn’t deserve that moment. He didn’t deserve Simeon’s kisses or touches. He deserved what he’d gotten from Gavin Brawley.

The words wound up in a knot wanting to pop out of my mouth, but I swallowed them once on-screen Simeon swallowed the blond’s cock. He took it all the way down without a hesitation, and then glanced up at the blond.

My breath gushed out in a whoosh, and my dick went from semi-hard to sliding down the thigh of my sweatpants. I draped my hand over it in a half-assed attempt to hide it.

The blond slumped against the wall as Simeon went to work, sucking that dick like he’d been born for it, as the surround-sound speakers blasted every slurp and wet sloppy sucking sound.

“Oh fuck.”

Had that hoarse whisper come from my mouth or one of the guys on the video? I froze in place, too afraid to glance over at Simeon and too turned on to stop watching the video. I was panting just as hard as the blond jackass while my dick pulsed beneath my hand. A spasm went through my fingers.

I ignored it.

Simeon draped his arm over the back of the couch and that brief graze of his skin against my neck caused them to spasm again. This time, I pressed down.

One of the other guys on the video undid his jeans. “Let me get a turn.”

Simeon pulled off the blond’s dick, his mouth wet and open, before turning to the guy beside him. He grinned, filthy and promising, right before grabbing the dude’s cock by the root and guiding it into his mouth. He jerked the shaft while sucking on the head, moaning around it.

“Fuck, Simeon,” I said thickly. “Look at you.”

“Look at you,” he said, right in my ear. “I see that dick print, Bravo. Guess you weren’t lying about how big it is when it’s hard.”

I stared straight ahead, mouth still ajar and fingers betraying my self-control to massage my dick through the thick cotton of my pants. If I looked at Simeon, with his face this close, something was gonna happen. It was easier to watch him blow randoms. Or it was, until on-screen Simeon sucked Asshole Number Two to climax and extended his tongue to catch each drop of semen.

I grabbed the base of my dick through my sweats and squeezed.

Simeon went back to the blond, taking him all the way in to the sound of echoing moans, and I went for it. Self-control out the window, no thoughts except focusing on how horny I was, how much I needed to get off, and how much I wished it was me in that bathroom. I jerked my dick through my sweats and watched from beneath my eyelashes. It wasn’t nearly enough friction with the thick fabric swaddling me, but even that stimulation had me panting like a dog.

Beside me, Simeon inhaled sharply.

“My dick making you uncomfortable?” I asked hoarsely. “Sorry not sorry. Watching someone get used has a way of getting to me.”

“Uncomfortable is a word for it.” Simeon squeezed my shoulder in a light massage. “You can take it out, you know. Won’t be the first time I’ve seen your piece.”

I glanced at him once and found dilated hazel eyes and parted lips centimeters from me. His eyebrow lifted in a challenge, and damned if I didn’t take that as my cue. Leering back at him, I yanked the elastic of my waistband down and pulled out my dick.

“Nice.”

I shuddered and rolled my head back to watch the projection. The blond was gripping the back of Simeon’s head but not moving. He just stood there passively with his eyes rolled back.

“I’d have fucked your mouth so hard,” I breathed. “Watched those pretty lips stretch around my cock while you took it. Made you fucking gag.”

“I don’t gag.”

“Then you must not fuck around with people who will ride your face, baby. I’d make you choke.”

Simeon grabbed the side of my face and jerked it around. He looked me over intently, face flushed and eyes still wild.

“Wanna try me?”

Three words, and I almost came. My whole body jackknifed up, dampness pooling at my slit.

“You know I’m not gonna back down.”

Simeon’s fingers tightened on my face, gripping so tight I’d probably have bruises the size of his fingerprints tomorrow, before pulling away. The video was still going, but watching him suck someone else held no appeal when his lean, muscular body was kneeling between my thighs. His hands were yanking down my sweats, and he was licking his lips in preparation for me.

He glanced at me again, a flash of indecision shining through the lust.

“Suck it,” I whispered. “Show me what you got.”

I flexed my hips up, pressing the tip of my cock against his wide, soft mouth. Again, he hesitated and just stared at me with narrowed, untrusting eyes. Was he going to leave me hanging? If I went by the hardness straining in his own shorts, I knew he wanted it. Wanted me.

“Come on, Simeon. Don’t get scared—”

The words died in my throat when he took me in, pressing forward so my meat could surge in deep and lodge down his throat. He opened wide to accommodate me and hummed around my length. No gagging. Not yet, anyway. I cradled the back of his head to help it along. With both hands splayed and sliding through his curly hair, I guided him forward while humping his face. He sucked with thirst, eyes closed and mouth working as the wet sounds of his lips smacking and my dick plundering his wet throat filled the air.

I hunched forward, panting loud enough to drown out the video, and surged down his throat faster and with more force. And bless my dude, he took it down. Even with his lips stretched wide and his nose buried in my pubic hair, he didn’t once panic or pull back for air.

“So good at taking that dick,” I muttered. “So fucking beautiful.”

Simeon glanced up at me, and I realized what I’d just said. What the hell?

I snapped my hips hard. He gagged and backed off with watering eyes. That should have been it, right? He’d lost the game. That was a wrap. I should have been laughing and jerking myself off the rest of the way or something, right? That was how this went in other universes where straight dudes let their gay friends suck them off as a challenge?

But it didn’t happen here.

I guided him closer and nearly convulsed when he wrapped his big hand around my shaft. He jerked it while suckling the head and, just like in the video, he wound up with his lips and hands smeared with precum and saliva.

“Come on, baby. Faster.” I gripped his jaw as he complied. My dick swelled larger and an unmistakable ache started in my balls and spread. “Yeah, just like that. Suck that dick, Simeon.”

He opened his eyes again and looked up at me while I fucked his mouth with increasing urgency.

“Oh fuck.”

He yanked me closer, moving faster.

“Oh shit, oh fuck, Simeon—”

My brain went on the fritz as my dick released stream after stream of semen into his waiting mouth. I wanted to keep watching as he swallowed it down, but my eyes rolled back. I shuddered.

There were a dozen witty statements trying to gather their forces and march to the forefront of my brain, but I couldn’t get it together enough to crack a joke. Or absorb what had just happened. I lay there in a daze until Simeon sat up and brushed his lips to mine.

I froze. For just a second, I felt those velvet lips and tasted the heady combination of his saliva and my semen. And for half a second, I felt his tongue against mine.

Then I sat up and shoved him away so violently he fell backwards, nearly slamming his head into the table.

“What the fuck?”

He remained on the floor, not moving except for one hand that balled into a fist. He was staring at the ceiling but not speaking. I stood over him, breathing hard.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Simeon slowly raised his arm to rub it against his still damply glistening mouth. His jaw clenched.

“Bro, we were just fucking around,” I said. “You get that, right? It was just a game.”

Finally, he looked at me. And goddamn if he wasn’t trying to freeze my soul.

“Listen, I’m not trying to be—”

“I get it.” He pushed his shoulders against the floor and bounced to his feet in one movement. “Guess you won. Congrats.”

Simeon turned away, fixing his own clothes. I grabbed his shoulder, but he shoved my hand way.

“Come on, man. Don’t be that way.”

“I gotta go, Adrián.”

He strode out of the living room and to the front door as I followed.

“Dude, don’t be pissed. I’m just saying—”

Simeon cast me a scathing look over his shoulder. “Get your life, boy. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Chapter Nine

Adrián

The football program transitioned from a summer camp to an after-school program after August ended, which also signaled the official beginning of the NFL season. My time put in at the Center had been going on for three weeks already, and yet my official punishment by the NFL would be starting this week. Six games to go before I could put my pads on and charge out onto the field again.

I’d felt that loss every time I woke up in the morning during the summer to my own ceiling instead of the one at our training facility. Now, I felt it every time I looked at social media and saw my feed full of shit about the upcoming game. This coming Sunday my boys would be playing the Barons. That was going to make things with Simeon fun.

Not only did I have five more weeks of sitting with my thumb up my ass when I wasn’t trying to mold my sassy peewee players into miniature warriors, I had five more weeks of Simeon ignoring me at the Center.

“Are you excited for the schedule changing?” Yaritza sat behind her desk, printing out pages while nursing an iced coffee the size of her head. “We’re cutting it down to an hour after school twice a week with scrimmages on Saturdays.”

“Fuck yeah,” I said, sprawling in one of the chairs in her office. “I’m ready to be rid of these asshole paps that stay camped outside this place.”

“They’ll still be there,” she said, frowning. “But they’re supposed to stay a certain distance away, so at least it will be from afar. We had to put that in place after a mom just about went upside some photographer’s head when he knocked her kid down to get to you two.”

“I didn’t even know that happened.”

“That’s because Simeon smoothed it over by giving her season tickets.”

“Of course.”

Yaritza looked up from her computer. “Everything okay with you two?” At my blank stare, she held up her hands. “Hey, I’m not trying to act like a friend or even a confidante, but your shoulders have been so cold I just about get frostbite going into the rec room.”

“I dunno what you’re talking about.”

“Well, maybe it’s in my head,” she said generously. “But . . . the kids have noticed. Delilah said practice isn’t as fun since you two decided to hate each other again.”

Since Simeon had decided to hate me again over a stupid shove. That was the accurate version of events. Each blank look and dismissive comment, each time he bounced out of the Center without saying good-bye, was a splinter lodging into my chest. It had literally been one week since the thing at my penthouse, but with nothing to do but work out or mess around on social media when we weren’t with the kids, it felt like more.

“There’s just some tension because of the game on Sunday.”

“What game?”

I sighed tragically. “You’re killing me, Yari.”

She smiled sweetly, and that’s when I knew she was fucking with me.

“Are you going?” she asked.

“Can’t. I’m not allowed to have contact with my coaches or even see other guys on the team while I’m suspended, so I plan to stay my ass in Brooklyn and watch from the comfort of my own hot tub all by my damn self.”

“Aw, poor thing. The struggle is so real. At least you have Simeon.”

“Yeah, thank God for that.”

I left her office only to nearly knock down Brayden and his father. I’d rarely been up close and personal with the guy because, unlike Simeon, I tried to keep my distance from the parents. The last thing I wanted was for them to think they had personal access to me or could suck up to me and become my buddy. That sense of unease was why I barely had any friends off my team. Even my boys from high school had changed once I’d begun starting and got the big contract.

His father was younger than what seemed average to have a kid Brayden’s age. He had blond hair and pale eyes, and more or less looked like an aging Adonis. He also did a quick once-over of me that made it plain as day this dude wasn’t all the way straight. No wonder he was always up under Simeon’s fine ass.

My lips pulled into an automatic sneer that I tried to smooth. I looked down at Brayden.

“See you on Tuesday afternoon, little man?”

“If you haven’t killed yourself after losing to the Barons.”

“Wow.”

Simeon appeared next to me and frowned down at Brayden. “Dude, suicide jokes aren’t cool. Come on, now. You know better than that.”

Brayden rolled his eyes. “Sure.” He walked backwards to the door and waved sarcastically before turning away.

I snorted. That kid hated my ass, but I still found him funny as fuck. Good thing Simeon was here to be the role model.

“Have a good weekend, guys,” Mr. Whatever-the-Hell-His-Name-Was said. He sent a separate smile to Simeon. “If you don’t end up going to the game, let me know.”

Simeon nodded, eyes twinkling with his usual big grin. “You got it, Judd.”

Brayden’s father left, and I shot Simeon the most incredulous glare I could muster.

“‘Judd’?”

Truth be told, I thought he’d ignore me like he had for the past five days, but this time he didn’t.

“Yeah. Judd.”

“What, are you friends now?”

“He’s trying.”

“He’s trying to push up on you in case you didn’t notice that shit.”

Simeon’s lip curled. “Thanks for the heads-up, Bravo, but my gaydar is extremely on point. Extremely.”

“So if you know he’s trying to push up on you why are you even leading him on?”

Simeon’s eyes narrowed into hazel slits framed by long lashes. “Because he’s hot, deeply closeted, and there is zero harm in letting him fuck me.”

He gave me the ill once-over, like he was willing me to die on the spot, and turned away. I grabbed his forearm and dug my fingers in.

“Hold up.”

Simeon looked down at my hand then up into my eyes.

“Get off me,” he said, voice low. “Now.”

“Just give me a second.” I squeezed tighter and took a step closer. “Please?”

He wet his lips, and my pulse jump-started like I’d been given fifty thousand volts straight to my heart. With my galloping heart rate came panic. Not because my body reacted to his the same way it had when I’d met my first and only serious college girlfriend, but because I couldn’t think of a way to make him listen to me.

“We’re closing down, guys!”

I dropped Simeon’s arm and stepped away just as Sheila and Yaritza entered the hallway. I forced a tight smile, aware that Simeon was still staring at me.

“Everything okay?” Yaritza asked.

“Uh, yeah. I was just, uh—” I cleared my throat and ran a hand over my jaw. “I was about to ask Simeon to watch the game with me on Sunday. Had it all planned out and everything.”

Yaritza gave me a side eye so powerful it was amazing she didn’t tear her optic nerves. Sheila became very interested in her phone.

“Well, you guys have a great weekend,” Yaritza said at length. “See you Tuesday!”

Simeon nodded at them, but he hadn’t yet taken his gaze off me.

“Why do you want to watch football with me?”

“Why not? I’m not allowed to go to the games, and I don’t have any friends who aren’t on my team.”

Simeon crossed his arms over his chest, causing his biceps to bulge in the tight, black, long-sleeved Dri-FIT he wore. “What’s that got to do with me?”

“You can’t just take an olive branch, can you?”

“Fuck your olive branch.”

The front door shut, and I heard the sound of clicking locks. Simeon didn’t react to the sound, but it reverberated right down to my core. We were alone for the first time since I’d watched him slob my knob to the tune of sloppy, wet sucking sounds. I took a deep breath.

“You said I won that round, but I didn’t.”

Simeon arched a brow. “What does that mean?”

“It means you said I won, but I didn’t.” Another deep breath as the words fought me the entire time I tried to force them out. “I was okay with the other stuff, but the last part got me pretty damn nervous.”

Simeon snorted and looked up at the ceiling. “Lord, please save her from denial and protesting way too much.”

“Her? What?”

He smirked. “Never mind. I forgot you don’t speak gay just yet.”

“You lost me.”

“You’ve been lost for a while.” Simeon was smiling evilly, but he hadn’t walked away, which I took as a good sign. “So you’re saying me blowing you and swallowing your come was A-okay, but putting my tongue in your mouth made you nervous?”

My mouth went dry. All moisture in my body pooled at the tip of my dick. I fucking hated him. I swear I hated him and the effect he had on my traitorous asshole of a body.

“Yeah, however you want to say it. I freaked out. Shouldn’t have pushed you and sent you home with, uh—” I licked my lips again, glancing down at his crotch. The heavy curve of his dick was clearly visible through his track pants. “With—”

“Blue balls?”

I exhaled with a whoosh of air. “Yeah.”

“It’s okay. There’s still time to redeem yourself.”

“Redeem myself,” I repeated slowly. “I dunno about all that.”

“I thought you were inviting me over for wings and football and all that bro shit?”

“Oh. Right.”

Simeon’s evil smile went up several notches. “What’d you think I meant, boo?”

“Nothing.”

“Okay, Bravo. I’ll think about it.”

He was backing me into corner after corner, and I kept following and slamming into walls that had apparently encircled my common sense. The last thing I needed was to keep stretching this out after the gay rumors had just started to fade. Instead of pairing us up, they were implying we were sitting on a pressure cooker due to our teams playing not even a month after the brawl.

But even knowing all that, I couldn’t stop myself. He was talking to me again, giving me a shot, and agreeing to once again spend time with me even after I’d flipped out on him. I needed to nurture that willingness before I lost it again. Considering how precarious our moments of getting along were, I was gonna have to make a comeback in a big way.

“Hey,” I said in one last rush of desperation as he turned for the door. “Why don’t we do it at your place instead of mine? That way you’re not coming into the city for nothing after I piss you off and you wanna bounce after half a minute.”

Simeon paused with his back to me. Some higher power had put a lot of effort and artwork into designing this man. Everything from his broad shoulders to his tapered waist and round yet still rock-hard ass was difficult to look away from. I punished my body to keep it in shape for the game, but I’d never thought of myself as a perfect specimen. Simeon was. Even his profile, when he looked over his shoulder, was straight out of somebody’s fantasy. It was why he’d first caught my attention back in the Predators’ training camp. Those big, pretty eyes and wide lips flashing ridiculously infectious grins had caught me then, and even now, they weren’t letting me go.

“Sound like a plan?” I pressed.

“Yeah, Adrián. It sounds like a plan.”

Simeon

“Do you ever think about how football culture is a total load of bullshit?”

This was the moment when I knew inviting Adrián Bravo into my house was the worst idea to ever take hold of my brain. No—scratch that. Allowing him to invite his damn self had been the worst moment of weakness to ever occur in my brain. There had been no reasoning or thoughts behind the decision. It’d just happened.

A few minutes of a beautiful straight boy showing absolutely unaware thirst, and I’d forgotten that he’d damn near given me a concussion after shoving me off him. Over a kiss. Good enough to swallow his jizz, but not good enough to brush my lips to his. Wasn’t that always how it went? But I’d given in because he was fine. Fine and blind about the extent of his own bisexual-as-fuck need to mount my ass.

“Shut up and eat your wings.”

“I’m serious, man. There’s so much psychological shit we put up with, and it really has a way of fucking with your head during the game.”

Adrián had barely touched any of the random crap I’d spread out in the kitchen. Since the game had started, he’d sat hunched forward with his forearms braced on his knees and his dark brows drawn down. Every muscle in his body was coiled tight, and his jaw was clenched. He flinched every time his team fumbled or was penalized or failed to get a first down. They were only down by six points, only needed one touchdown to pull ahead, but I could tell they weren’t gonna make it. Judging by Adrián’s sudden desire for “fuck football” trash talk, he knew it too.

“So your team is losing and now you hate football?”

Adrián finally tore his big dark eyes away from the screen to pin me with a glare. God, he was hot. I loved it when he was like this and not being a smarmy, sneering fuckboy.

“I didn’t say I hated football,” he growled. “I’m talking about football culture. Do you know what I mean by that?”

“Are you asking if I know what the word culture means?”

Adrián scoffed. “Forget it, man. Fucking never mind. I’m trying to talk to you about something serious and—”

I reached over to shove the side of his head. “Lighten up, Bravo. I was messing with you.”

Relief rolled off him, and some of the tension eased from his shoulders. “Okay, good. I try to talk about this shit with Rocky and Billings, and they tell me I’m trying to make it too psychological. But this whole thing is psychological. The pressure to win and make our fans happy so they keep spending their money turns it into this huge mindfuck. If we win, we’re national heroes. If we lose, everyone is right about hating us because we’re pieces of shit who don’t deserve the contracts we destroyed our bodies trying to get. So every week whenever we start losing ground, we get all psyched out because we don’t want to be the scum of the League.”

Well, that was depressing. The Barons’ locker room had never been that grim.

“Y’all still have a shot,” I offered. “If—”

The speakers boomed loud cheers and an excited shout from the commentators.

“Brawley is on the move!”

I glanced at the screen again, unable to keep from grinning and jumping to my feet as Gavin charged down the field with the ball. One of the Predators’ safeties went for a tackle, managed to only grab him around the waist, and Gavin just kept going. I was shocked the ref didn’t throw a flag for the contact.

“Gavin Brawley carrying Swoops,” the commentator shouted as Gavin dragged the safety a few more yards. “The beast is out of its cage, and it’s not fair!”

We watched as Rocky Swoops dropped to the turf right before the Predators’ end zone. Gavin spun, finally losing his balance, but brought his right foot down just in time to gain enough leverage to launch himself into the end zone.

Adrián sucked his teeth and sat back on the couch. “We ain’t winning shit.”

There were thirty seconds left in the game, and the Barons were up by eleven points. He was probably right that they weren’t winning shit, so I did him a favor and shut off the television.

“Look at it this way, boo. You still have the nicest uniforms in the League besides the Barons. I dig the green and navy.”

Adrián stared at me blankly for several seconds before breaking into a loud laugh. He leaned over on the sectional, face pressed into the cushion as his entire body shook.

“That was the gayest shit you’ve ever said, Simeon.”

“More than me telling you how nice your piece was?”

“Yes. Even more than that.”

Made sense, since this little trick thought letting me deepthroat him wasn’t a homosexual activity if it was for a “game.” Athletes were deluded about the importance of competitions.

I walked over to him, making sure my crotch was angled in front of his face. I knew for a fact the joggers I wore made my dick look great. He looked up, gaze fixed on my bulge before slowly climbing my thighs and the deep V tank that showed all kinds of skin. My plan was to torment him until he realized he wanted to fuck me. Or that was my hope. De-straightifying Adrián Bravo, the homophobic dipshit who’d screwed up my season, was a serious goal.

“What do you wanna do now?”

I shrugged. “The Patriots are playing the Bears.”

“No,” he said. “No more football.”

“Aiight, then what? Wanna watch the news?”

“Fuck no.”

“Weather channel?” I asked. “They said there’s a storm brewing in the Atlantic. May come up this way.”

Adrián snorted. “That’s unlikely to happen.”

“Never say never, doll face. I take that stuff seriously.”

He started to say something, probably to make a wisecrack, but stopped after digesting my serious tone.

“Right. Makes sense.”

The fact that he didn’t dive headfirst into a bunch of intrusive questions about my Katrina experience softened me up a bit. The guy was more intuitive than anyone ever gave him credit for. “Eat? Drink?”

“I could use a drink.”

As stressed as he was over his team, he probably could.

“Beer or bourbon?”

“Bourbon.”

“Good man. Might as well indulge since we’ll be sitting on our asses for the next five weeks.”

Adrián glanced down at his shoes, and I walked away before he could apologize again. Truth be told, I didn’t want his apologies. I didn’t want his sad faces and hangdog expressions. I didn’t want him to keep trying to be my friend.

I wanted us to fuck so he could know how it felt to be a queer in a homophobic industry, and then regret everything he’d ever said while in his feelings about something that had happened years ago. I wanted him to understand.

After turning on some music and grabbing two tumblers and a bottle of Woodford Reserve, I returned to the living room. Adrián had turned the television on again and was now moodily watching highlights. Except for the moments when they focused on his backup, most of the highlights were Barons glory moments. Awkward.

I set the bottle on the coffee table and pressed a tumbler into his hand. “Drink.” He downed it in one shot, not looking away from the television, so I poured another. I stood in front of him. “Drink again.”

He took the glass and downed it again, this time not taking his eyes off me. “You trying to get me drunk?”

“Fuck off, Bravo. It’d take ten more to get your big ass wasted.”

“Truer words have never been spoken, gorgeous.”

“You talk to everyone that way?”

“Nah. Makes Rocky and the other guys cagey. That man is severely allergic to any kind of affection between two dudes.”

I laughed and sat beside him, nursing my drink. “Like you’re not?”

“Pssh. No. My mommy raised me not to fear nicknames and hugging.”

“But not kissing.”

Adrián grew quiet for a second before launching himself to his feet. He grabbed the neck of the bottle and refilled his glass without drinking. It was dwarfed in his large hand, and I took the moment to admire him. He was wearing all black for the first time since we’d started seeing each other on a near-daily basis. Usually he wore bright colors, making sure everyone noticed Adrián Bravo—gorgeous Boricua, celebrated linebacker, and center of everyone’s attention. Now it looked like he was going to a funeral. He’d known they were gonna lose.

I downed my drink and set the glass aside.

“I think it’s time to redeem yourself.”

“I’m not kissing you, man.”

“Why?”

“Because.” Adrián knocked back his drink. “I don’t want to. That’s pretty much it. I barely even kiss girls I pick up at the club. It makes me uncomfortable, okay?”

I vaguely remembered Marcus Hendricks talking about kissing as the ultimate form of romance and quoting a Meg Ryan movie in the process. Apparently, this fool was on that same line of reasoning. It was sort of true. There was nothing more intimate than touching another person’s face and sharing their breath while you explored the inside of their mouth. Unless that person was just kissing you to distract from the amateur porn flick they were secretly filming so they could humiliate you.

Bitterness surged up from my gut with enough force to choke me. I didn’t let it. Instead, I smiled and focused every ounce of my queer resentment on Adrián fucking Bravo.

“What else makes you uncomfortable?”

Adrián shrugged, still holding the empty glass.

“We should probably figure it out if we’re gonna keep the competition going, no?”

His throat bobbed with a heavy swallow. “Should we keep it going?”

“I dunno.” I sat up on the couch but kept my hands braced against the cushion and my face angled up to him. He liked me in this position. Reminded him a lot of that blowjob. How good it’d been and how much I’d taken with zero complaint. “Do you still wanna show me up?”

“I’ll always want to show you up, Boudreaux.”

“All right then, let’s see what makes you jumpy.”

I started to shift myself upward, but he put a palm against my chest and held me back.

“What happens when you lose?”

“You can have fun figuring that one out. I’m gonna leave it up to you.”

Adrián’s fingers pressed harder against my chest before falling away. There was a hint of apprehension in his pursed lips and loosely balled hands, but then he plastered on that rakish Bravo grin and lifted his chin.

“Do your worst,” he said, threading his fingers behind his head.

Every inch of him was touchable, so it was only a matter of where to start. What I wanted was his mouth, but that was off-limits. Fortunately, he had a lot more to offer.

I pushed myself up so I was kneeling on the cushion and started with his shirt. One after the other, tiny black buttons came undone on a piece of cloth that probably cost thousands just to make his body look like a masterpiece. And it did, but it was even better when I could see his flesh. Smooth, golden brown skin sliding over the bumps and ridges of violently worked muscle that had been molded into something that could have been goddamn edible if it wasn’t so hard.

He didn’t so much as twitch, even when I pushed his shirt open with my fingertips brushing his skin. Instead, he grinned and popped his pecs, leering. That was perfectly fine because I liked a challenge. He wanted to show off about how comfortable he was being naked? Unsurprising. He was naked in front of other men all the time, but they usually didn’t get on their knees and make him moan like a porn star. That was my specialty. I’d started sucking dick as a teenager, and had always gotten a thrill from the power and control I had in a seemingly submissive position. Men had always thought it meant I was their bitch boy, but they were the ones begging me if I started to slow down.

Adrián was no different.

I leaned forward and encircled his nipple with my mouth.

Adrián shuddered. He cupped the back of my head, but he didn’t yank me back like I’d expected him to. Taking that as a good sign, I started sucking. Hard.

His breath hissed out. “Why does that feel so fucking good?”

The poor man had never had his nipples played with? I would never understand men who spent their time running their mouths over women without ever considering that sensation would feel just as good for them.

I sucked harder while running my free hand up his chest to grip his shoulder. His fingers knotted in my hair, jolting me closer. This was supposed to be about conquering my overgrown bully, but shattering him was the furthest thing from my mind once I inhaled his scent. I mapped my way across his chest with my tongue, tracing every hard line, before latching on to his other nipple.

He groaned, low and guttural, and I almost creamed myself. The air around us was hot, his skin was growing damp beneath me as sweat gathered in the warm room, and I was aching. Forget about revenge; every time he rocked that bulge against my stomach I saw exactly where I wanted this to go. Him naked and me enjoying every inch of that delicious cock as he got vocal above me.

I dropped my hand from his shoulder to undo his black jeans. Any moment I thought he’d shove me away like he’d done that afternoon in his apartment, but he didn’t. I ripped the tab down over the sizeable lump in his pants, and massaged the hardness I found there. It was straining the cotton briefs he wore, so I did it a favor and tugged the band down just enough to free it. I needed both hands and my mouth to worship that beast, but I settled for a tight grip with my thumb teasing the sticky slit.

“God,” he growled. “Fuck you, Simeon.”

It was a good time to ask if he was nervous yet, but the taste of his sweat was driving me out of my head and the idea of not getting to touch that iron length anymore was torture. I wanted it down my throat, slamming into my ass, but I’d settle for the heavy weight of it in my hand. Still suckling his nipple and pumping, I angled my face so I could see his. Lust shot through me so sharply I bucked my hips forward, chasing friction that wasn’t there. His head was tilted back, eyes shut, and he was silently mouthing words although all I could make out were “please” and “fuck.”

The mix of desperation and vulnerability in his face was my kryptonite. I knew it was a bad idea, but I surged up, still jacking him, and latched onto his throat. A moan ripped out of him when I bit down.

“God, I hate you.”

No, you just hate that you want to fuck me this badly.

I kissed up higher, sucking his earlobe into my mouth and nursing at it before biting it, too. His dick pulsed, tip dripping in a way that activated my nastiest urges.

“Fuck, Simeon.”

That plaintive whine, almost a plea for mercy, drove me to sabotage. I kissed over the side of his face and went for his mouth. He caught me by the scruff of my neck before I could make contact, and the frustration building in my chest made me want to punch him in the goddamn face.

“You fucking punk.” He sneered. “You don’t listen, do you?”

“Never been real good at it.” I kept jerking him, hand flying while my gaze stayed glued to his mouth. It was swollen from all the biting he’d done. God, I just wanted to soothe it with my tongue. “I thought you wanted to win.”

“I’m winning,” he rasped.

His hand dropped to the waistband of my joggers, yanking them down. What followed was the most intense few minutes of a mutual jerk I’d ever experienced. Me tugging him and him tugging me with our foreheads pressed together and mouths ajar. So close to touching, but not, except for the infrequent graze of my tongue if I wet my lips. Those touches set me on fire more than the feel of his hand trying to tug the come out of me. And I could feel it coming on fast and hard, a wave of liquid fire as I moaned against his clean-shaven face.

“Gotta go to my bedroom.”

“I’m close,” he rasped. “Gonna bust all over you.”

“Then wait so we can make a mess together. I been saving this load for you, and I don’t wanna unleash it in a common space.”

Adrián reared back, looking around quickly. I swooped in for another wet kiss to his throat.

“Marcus is my roommate, dumbass. And you just saw him on TV.”

“Right. I’m bugging.” Adrián reached down to tuck his dick away. “If we gonna finish this, lead on. I have to go soon.”

Yeah right.

I adjusted my throbbing erection and strode out of the room to the tune of nineties R&B blasting on a Spotify playlist that would play through the house. He was close behind me, still breathing hard. When we got to my room, he shoved me face-first onto the chaise lounge by the window, completely bypassing my massive bed. I started to get up, but he trapped me by pressing his hips against my ass and bracing one hand to the back of my neck.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“To jerk you off, you dumbass.”

“Nah, we’re good like this.”

Adrián grabbed my joggers and yanked them down. I automatically strained up against him, irritation replacing the heat that had scorched through me only a few minutes ago, but he was much stronger. The guy who’d blitzed me multiple times throughout our football careers was now grinding his hard dick against my ass while pinning me down with little effort. I was caught between lifting my hips in offering and elbowing him in the face.

“I think I’m gonna ride that tight fuckhole of yours.”

I sneered at the words even while grinding my erection against the smooth leather of the chaise. “Someone’s been watching porn.”

“Where’s your condoms?”

My dick got harder. We were doing this. It wasn’t a tease. And if I went by the hoarse edge of his voice and the breathless demands, he was gagging for it.

“Lube and rubbers in the drawer by the bed. We just got our physicals, but whatever you wanna do.”

Adrián dragged the tip of his dick along my ass. “Figures a thirsty slut like you would want it raw.”

The switch on whether I’d shove him off me or swallow my rising temper and let him ride me was poised smack in the middle. Figured a “straight” boy would resort to this route. So typical. He’d pound my ass but not without making sure I felt like his little bitch in the process.

He returned to my back and manhandled me into the position he wanted, getting rougher if I didn’t immediately comply. Only when I had one leg extended along the chaise and my other leg thrown over the side, knee pressing into the carpet, did he fit himself behind me. His thick muscular thigh trapped my own in place, keeping my knee planted to the floor, and he held me down at the small of my back.

Adrián pulled my cheeks apart and tapped the fat tip of his cock along my crack. His breath hitched—first sign that he wasn’t as sure about this as he’d originally thought.

“Don’t punk out now. Dunno how you can do me like this if you’re too fragile to accept a kiss, though.”

“Because from this angle you’re just a needy bitch with a tight hole. When I close my eyes, you could be anyone.”

“You’re pushing it,” I whispered, pressing my forehead against the cushion. “I won’t play this game regardless of how hot your dick is.”

“Shut your mouth. You want it regardless of how you get it.”

I pushed myself up and he slammed me down just as hard, powerful hands holding the small of my back. His dick tapped against my ass again, and I had to bite back a groan.

“I fucking hate you, Brav—”

Beneath him, I went taut. And then I almost laughed. He was doing it on purpose, and he’d almost gotten me. Somehow, somewhere, in the past few weeks he’d picked up on the fact that this was exactly the type of bullshit I hated—some dickhead acting like I was less of a man because of what I liked in bed. Someone pushing me around, trying to dominate me, and all the bullshit talk that went along with it.

But for today? I’d get along just fine. I relaxed, but he was inside me before I was ready for it. Judging from the way his voice went high as he cried out, he hadn’t been ready for it either.

I grinned against the cushion, in love with the explosion of sensation from my nerve endings, and the way he rammed through the tight ring of resistance in one powerful stoke. I pushed back on him and flexed my inner muscles.

“Yeah, baby,” he whispered. “Work that dick.”

I did, milking and squeezing to drive him insane, but the strength behind Adrián’s fucking was mind-blowing. He held me in place with his hands braced on the small of my back and moved in and out of me with such force that his hips slammed into me with jarring slaps. Each one pushed me against the arm of the chaise lounge no matter how I braced myself.

I was helpless beneath him, fucked open until my ass was just a tight vessel for him to use, and that powerlessness was addictive in a way I hadn’t expected. Scrabbling for leverage, I shoved back on him, chasing his cock in a frantic quest for more.

“C’mon, Bravo,” I said, hoarse and thick. “Let’s see if you can find my sweet spot.”

His fingers dug into me, reminding me who was in charge. He pulled out almost to the tip before slamming forward again so his balls slapped against me.

I arched up, mouth gaping and an anguished sound ripping out. He did it again and pleasure exploded inside of me, consuming me. I still managed to growl, “Not there, boo. Not even close. Maybe Judd would do a better job.”

“Fuck you, Simeon. This ass is mine.”

“Not if you can’t find my g-spot.”

Adrián grabbed a fist full of my hair with one hand, still holding me down with the other.

“Getting mad?” I panted. “I’m just starting to wonder if you’ve ever even found a girl’s clit.”

He shoved my face down, pressing it into the cushion. “Shut up and take my dick.”

Adrián rode me with a fierceness that must have been borne of frustration and anger and the confusing power of his own lust, because he went from hard to ruthless. I hung on to the flimsy chaise, feeling it jolt forward beneath me and distantly wondering if it would fall apart beneath our large bodies. The thought fell away when his tip slammed into my prostate.

“Oh fuck,” I cried out.

“Yes,” he said, and I could hear the smugness in his voice. “Right there?”

“Ahh . . .”

He rammed it again. My body was tingling as euphoria took hold, because this had to be the best feeling in the world. This sense of being fucked into delirium.

“Yeah?” Adrián yanked my head up by a grip of hair. “You better tell me.”

“Yes,” I gritted out, fighting the buzzing incoherence.

“Yeah? Louder. Fucking let me hear it, baby.”

“Yes!”

Adrián forced his way into me over and over, pressing into my prostate and driving me farther over the edge. Awareness of the room, the chaise beneath, the music, and the game vanished. It was just him lodged deep inside me as he released with a harsh cry, and me moaning shamelessly when I arched up just enough to touch my dick. It took barely a brush of fingers for me to come.

He hunched over me breathing hard while sweat dripped onto my back and ass. It took a few seconds for everything to realign in my brain. When I blinked away the disorientation, it was to the sensation of him pulling out. My toes curled, but I didn’t move from my sprawl on the chaise.

“Simeon.”

“Wh—” I cleared my voice so it wasn’t so rough. “What?”

His fingers dragged along my back and the top of my ass before I lost his touch completely.

“I gotta go.”

I closed my eyes. “Okay.”

He didn’t move. Even when I didn’t say anything else, when I didn’t roll over or joke, he continued to kneel beside me. His fingers ghosted over my back again, sliding between my shoulder blades and coming up to my hair. He stroked it away from my forehead in a touch so soft it had to come from someone else. No way was the guy who’d just murdered my ass being this gentle.

“I’ll see you Tuesday.”

I flashed the deuces.

Adrián inhaled and exhaled loudly. For a hot second I thought he would stay and keep prodding me into an answer instead of taking off while his semen was inside me and his sweat was still damp on my skin, but he didn’t. He picked up his clothes and left.

Chapter Ten

Adrián

I was going to kill Judd.

He stayed the length of every practice, unlike fifty percent of the others who took the bonus hours to get shit done while their kids were occupied, and worked on Simeon the entire time. Laughing at his jokes, asking questions about plays and technique, admiring his dedication to the kids, and asking questions about his family in Louisiana.

I learned more about Simeon by eavesdropping on their conversations than I’d ever learned on my own. It emphasized that I was trash, and Judd was actually serious about conning Simeon into liking him. Because in my world, a fan putting this much effort in had to be for a reason. There were bragging rights attached to hooking up with an NFL player, and that chance it would get serious and you’d get access to that money.

Except Simeon had said Judd was closeted, so it couldn’t be for the glory. And it seemed unlikely he thought they’d hop into a relationship that would get him money. Maybe it was a fetish thing.

My cynicism allowed me to consider all of that, and I didn’t know that it wasn’t at the back of Simeon’s mind either, but he seemed to like Judd. Unless he was good at pretending.

“Why are there so many cameras outside?” Delilah demanded. “Our scrimmage isn’t until next week!”

“They’re here to talk to us about the coming storm,” Simeon said. “About the way the Center has been helping with preparations.”

Delilah rolled her eyes. “It’s only a tropical depression.”

I laughed, and she flashed a triumphant smirk. Earlier on it’d been established that if I got along with only one child during this entire shitshow, it would be Delilah. Her family was cool, too, even though I barely spoke to them. I’d complained to Delilah one day about missing my mother’s pasteles, and the next Monday she’d come in with a pan of them freshly made by her grandmother.

“Sandy was a tropical depression, and look how much destruction it caused,” Judd butted in.

“Yeah, but there are like three other factors that combined to make Sandy a super storm soooo . . .” I was being immature, but I couldn’t help it. “Not the same sitch, homie.”

Judd seemed taken aback by my sarcasm. Simeon just shook his head from where he was stacking cones and putting equipment in boxes. I saw the edge of his mouth twitch before he schooled his face into neutrality again.

“I’m sure it will be fine. We just have to take precautions because this neighborhood is in a flood zone.”

“How does that affect your lives?” Brayden asked. “Are you just helping for the photo ops?”

God, these kids were little jerks. I’d hated it at first, but now I loved it. My mother would have smacked me in the head by now, but I found them hilarious.

“Yes,” I said. “I need all the publicity I can get to make people think I’m remotely likeable.”

“I know that’s right,” Simeon muttered.

The kids giggled. Judd smiled at Simeon like a loser.

“Why don’t you guys go get your stuff?” I suggested to the rest of the group. “We’re shutting down early to finish boarding up. Your parents will be here soon.”

There was a collective groan, but they complied. All but Brayden, who already had his small duffel bag and was impatiently waiting for his father. Shaking my head, I knelt on the floor and went back to gathering the padding that usually cushioned the floor.

“Are you coming over again, Coach Boudreaux?”

My head snapped up so fast something cracked.

Simeon ruffled Brayden’s hair. “Nah, kiddo. I’ll be here for a while, and then I have to take care of my place on Long Island.”

Brayden pouted. “Maybe after the storm?”

“Yeah, maybe.”

Hands tightening around the pads, I forced myself to shove them in the storage totes. I used too much force and slammed my knuckle into the edge of the hard plastic bin.

“Fuck!”

Everyone looked at me. Grimacing, I held up my knuckle before sucking on it. Simeon arched an eyebrow. He turned to Judd and Brayden again.

“I’ll see you guys after the weather calms down, okay? Hopefully we’ll have practice on Tuesday as planned.”

Brayden waved and started for the door with Judd reluctantly following. He started to say something but appeared to think better of it after glancing at me. I kept sucking on my knuckle until they were gone and the rest of the kids trooped out.

“You went to their house?”

Simeon had returned to stowing equipment in boxes. “Yes. Last week.”

After we’d fucked, I silently filled in. Huh.

“Why?”

“Because they invited me over to dinner, and I didn’t mind taking the invitation.” Simeon closed one of the boxes and glanced around for tape. “Judd made gumbo.”

“Wow. He’s trying hard to get in your panties, ain’t he?”

“Sure is.”

There was a hint of a smile in his voice that stopped me cold. I went from frozen to breathless to fired up in the space of a breath. I got to my feet and crossed the room, pushing the box away to stand in front of him.

“You didn’t really fuck that clown, did you?”

Simeon scoffed. “Why’s he a clown, though?”

“Because he’s a fucking jersey chaser, obviously.”

“Maybe he just thinks I’m pretty.” Simeon made his eyes go wide, blinking long eyelashes at me. “Don’t you think I’m pretty?”

“I think you’re an idiot who fucks without thinking.”

I sort of expected him to get pissed off and go off on me so we could argue, but he just snickered. “Okay, Gavin Brawley. I haven’t heard that one before.”

He returned to his quest for tape, and I stood there like a jackass glaring at him. My anger was like a snowball growing bigger the longer my mind went downhill, courtesy of supplied mental images of their stupid gumbo dinner and what may have happened after Brayden went to sleep.

“Why would you put yourself in that position after what happened last time?”

“Wow, you really do sound like Gavin.” Simeon put his hands on his hips and looked. “Y’all really expect me to give up guys because of a bad incident? I already cut back on going out. I’m supposed to stay at my house alone?”

“You don’t have to be at your house alone. Last week I asked if you wanted to go eat like three fucking times, and you told me you were busy.”

“I was busy.” Simeon jerked his thumb at the doorway. “With Judd.”

Heat flooded my face. “So you can hang out with him and not me?”

“Uh . . . yeah. Because he’s trying to date me, and you’re not.”

I pressed my lips together.

“Isn’t that right, Adrián?”

“Yeah, whatever.” My nostrils flared. “So, did you fuck him?”

Simeon was on the cusp of an incredulous laugh. I could see it in every twitch of that well-formed mouth and in the crinkling of his eyes.

“What difference does it make?”

“I just wanna know.”

“Why?” he pressed. “How does it concern you?”

How did it concern me? Every response, especially the pissed-off ones, were offensive. As I evaluated all of them before spitting them out, I knew they’d send the wrong message even if I didn’t mean it the way they’d sound.

Because I have a right to know who else you’re fucking if we’re still gonna fool around was the phony retort that kept wanting to leap out, but it sounded too much like a sub about gay dudes not practicing safe sex. It was no way in hell correct or in line with my real concerns. But now that I’d started checking myself before opening my mouth, I knew it was all wrong.

In reality, what I should have said was, Because the idea of him touching you makes me want to crack his skull open, but that sounded legit psychotic. And jealous.

Christ.

“Just tell me, Simeon.”

“Fine.” He lifted his chin. “I didn’t fuck him. But we did kiss.”

The half second of relief that had filled me drained away in the gutters that we were all hoping would keep the Center from flooding. They hadn’t had sex, but somehow this pinged me harder. It was worse.

I looked away, jaw clenching.

Simeon touched my chin, trying to make me face him, but I jerked out of his grip.

“Adrián,” he said softly. “All that shit that happened the other day . . . you know that was just fucking around, right?”

Wow. He was really going for it.

“You get that, right?” Simeon touched my face again, forcing me to look at him. His eyes narrowed. “It was just a game.”

My own words thrown back at me lodged in my chest and scraped at my typically impenetrable heart.

It made no sense.

I was the one who’d shoved him away first. The one who’d bounced after I’d had an orgasm so powerful I’d felt it in my balls for the entire drive home. He’d looked both decadent and completely wrecked, stretched out in front of me like an offering, and I’d turned away.

But him saying it to me sucked the air out of my lungs and the warmth from the rest of my body. It felt like a punishment. I couldn’t stop wondering if it’d hit him the same way, or if he hadn’t felt this chest-clenching sense of rejection at all.

“Yeah,” I said roughly. “I know.”

“Good.” Simeon clapped me on the shoulder. “Now fix your face so we can go talk to those reporters.”

Simeon

There were enough cameras outside of Grand Street Center for it to look like a movie set.

They weren’t anything new to me, nor were the reporters and hopeful autograph seekers lingering nearby, but them being set up outside the Center rubbed me the wrong way. It really did make this all look like a photo op when, in reality, I just cared about helping the staff. It hadn’t taken much to realize the place was understaffed and underfunded. The gratitude in Yaritza’s face had been enough of a reason for me to offer we help them prepare for the coming storm. But Mel, and then Casey, had jumped on the chance to add this narrative to the story of Bradreaux—our hybrid name assigned by the media—giving back.

“You’ve been here for four weeks now,” Stacey Conroe, my favorite MSNBC anchor, said while beaming up at us. “Are you starting to feel like part of the community?”

“It’d be hard not to,” I said with a smile. “The staff here are some of the most dedicated and hardworking people I’ve met since moving to New York. They took us in as if we were two of their own, gave us a quick rundown of what we could do, and expected a hundred and twenty percent just like they give every day. It’s been a real ride.”

“Ahh.” She turned to Adrián. “So no special treatment?”

There was an awkward pause as lights flashed blindingly around us. Adrián had his attitude tattooed on his face, and it showed no sign of being temporary. His lips were pursed and pushed out, big dark eyes focused on some distant point beyond the mess of people around us, and his hands were shoved in the pockets of his Predators hoodie.

Only when one of the paps called out to heckle him did Adrián’s gaze snap back to us. I had trouble controlling my body’s reactions to his anger, and I would never be sure what it meant about me that his fire-and-brimstone stare turned me on so much.

“No,” he said flatly. “They didn’t show us special treatment.”

Stacey smiled, undeterred, but she cocked her head in confusion. Usually he was entertaining in an interview, even if he was trash-talking. This new thing was reminiscent of Gavin Brawley.

“What made you decide to go above and beyond your coaching duties here?”

Adrián was already staring off into the distance again, so I picked up the slack.

“Unfortunately, Grand Street Center had their funding cut this year and they’re understaffed. With so much else to do, it was taking a long time to prepare and board up.. It was actually Bravo who started helping out first,” I said. “Just on his own, without asking, he stuck around last night to store the equipment. I jumped in, and despite the staff telling us they had it under control, it was the least we could do. After all, they took us in.” I couldn’t help a wry smile as I waved at the cameras. “Took all of this in.”

Stacey laughed. “Too right. But I’m sure they appreciate the efforts, especially given you both have experience preparing for a hurricane.”

I tensed. Beside me, Adrián snapped to awareness with a sharp cut of his gaze in her direction.

“Simeon, I know you in particular experienced a lot of turmoil during Hurricane Katri—”

“Can you not?”

Stacey’s mouth snapped shut.

Adrián crossed his arms over his chest and glared down at her.

“Let’s stick to the Center and not do the tragedy voyeurism thing, all right?” He rolled his eyes and turned to the camera. “Look, we’re here because we want to do right by Grand Street Center. If you want to help pick up the slack due to their recent loss of funding, you can go to their website and donate. I’ll match dollar for dollar until they get back everything they lost.”

“Wow,” Stacey said. “That’s amazing of you! It really shows that this has gone beyond a mandated assignment by the NFL.”

“Yep.” Adrián looked from her to the cameraman to the rest of the reporters. “We got everything?”

They didn’t, but things moved on a lot faster with him ice grilling everyone in the vicinity. Stacey was stalwart, though. She was going to do her damn job whether some beautiful linebacker had an attitude problem or not. And she never once rerouted to the Katrina questions.

We ended the interview with another plea for people to donate to the Center, and then everyone started wrapping up. There were some gossip reporters practically oozing with the desire to ask inappropriate questions, but we hauled ass back into the safety of the Center while the NYPD cleared everyone out.

Inside, the Center was darker now that the sun had started to go down. Sheila and Yaritza had slipped out the back, trusting us to finish boxing up and putting away the athletic equipment as promised and shut down for the night. That kind of faith was humbling in a way I hadn’t felt in a while.

“You can take off if you want,” Adrián said. “Go out the back and head home. I’m just down the block.”

“I know, but I’m staying.”

“Your choice.”

There was a lot I wanted to say to him. About him interrupting the questions, about him pimping the Center unprompted and matching donations. And about him mean mugging the world as a direct result of our conversation about Judd. Judd who’d tried to kiss me and had smiled and apologized after I’d politely asked him to back off. In another life, I’d probably get a kick out of dating him and hanging with his son, but this life guaranteed I couldn’t bring myself to trust another fan.

We worked in silence, and after a while, the noise from the camera crews lessened. I glanced out the window just in time to spot the news vans driving off. A couple of determined paps were still lingering across the street with cups of coffee and heavy cameras around their necks.

“Everything’s off the floor,” Adrián said, dusting off his hands. “And they finished the windows while we were outside doing that bullshit.”

“Come on, Adrián,” I chided. “It’s part of the job.”

“Heh. Whatever.” Adrián grabbed his fitted Marlins cap and put it on backwards. “I hope everything at your house is good. I know you live by the water.”

“Up on a hill, though. Should be okay.”

We stared at each other, him still tense and guarded and me indecisive about where to take this. Whether I should take it anywhere. I had a very specific plan in mind for this boy, and none of it had to do with the confusing mix of desire and fondness that had welled up in the couple of minutes spent watching him get no-nonsense on a reporter.

“Thank you,” I said finally. “I don’t like talking about Katrina.”

“I figured. It can’t be easy. Definitely not worth going into for some bullshit interview.”

“It’s not. I lost several people. Extended family, friends . . . And the ones who survived lost everything. My mama had just bought our first house, then it was gone.” I ran a hand over my hair. “Not something I want to think about if I don’t have to. So I appreciate you cutting in. I never would have.”

“Because you’re too nice.” Adrián laughed dryly. “To people who don’t even deserve it.”

I wonder if he knew he was one of them, or if he thought him cleaning up his act now erased everything that had happened before. Starting with the Fox News bit and ending with his willingness to fuck me while refusing to treat me with any kind of . . . affection or respect. It was that that hardened my insides.

“I’ll see you after the storm, Bravo.”

I went for my backpack. After a moment, he followed.

“Simeon.”

“What?”

Adrián came up behind me, well within my personal space, and turned me to face him. With a large hand curling around the back of my neck, he pulled me in so fast that I only caught a glimpse of inky eyelashes and the tip of his nose before his mouth slanted in a kiss.

My hands rose, clutching the front of his hoodie. Everything else in my head crashed to a screeching halt. There was nothing but the drumming of my heart in my ears, the rustling of clothing as he yanked me tighter against him, and the faint way I sighed once our lips parted.

He tasted so good. His mouth was so warm. And his tongue was so talented, slicking against mine in a slow caress. Those long fingers slid up to cradle my face while he drank from my mouth like a man seeking youth from a fountain, at first questing and tentative and then hungry and demanding.

And I could do nothing but dig my fingers into his hoodie and try to keep up. I’d wanted to kiss him for a couple of weeks now, because it was part of the deal for me. If I had sex with someone, I wanted to feel their lips on mine. To be two humans sharing a moment in time and not just two people rutting together to get off. And I’d wanted it more because he’d denied it.

But this feeling building inside me? The trembling hands and satisfied moans while frantically returning his kiss? It had nothing to do with triumph and everything to do with the warmness I’d felt as I’d watched him shut the interview down.

We pulled away, but we continued to grip each other close. My eyes flicked open just enough to see him looking at me the same way—dreamy, flushed, and full of lust.

“I don’t need to go by my house.”

Adrián dragged his gaze from my mouth. “What?”

I licked my lips, taking a deep breath. “I don’t really need to go home.”

The fog cleared and a boyish smile crept up. “Wanna come by my way?”

“Yeah.” I dragged the pad of my thumb along his full bottom lip. “I do.”

Chapter Eleven

Simeon

The walk to his building was silent, and no one noticed us, as we were both hunched over and hiding beneath our hoods. The days of going unnoticed in the neighborhood were gone since the media had started coming out full force. I mostly didn’t mind, but Adrián didn’t want everyone and their mother knowing where he lived.

The silence made sense as we approached his place, but it neared awkward territory once we were still on mute in his apartment. He glanced at me and quickly looked away before muttering something about checking the Weather Channel.

I hesitated by the front door. How had we gone from kissing and whispered invitations to this bullshit in the span of twenty minutes? The knot of ever-expanding lust for him kept trying to force me in his direction, to drag him into a kiss and fuck him into speaking, but I didn’t. There was no way I was going to throw myself at this damn boy yet again. He’d brought me here. He could figure out his life and what he wanted from me.

“Hey, I’m gonna step out and make a call real quick.”

Adrián frowned over at me. “Why you can’t make it in here?”

“Because it’s none of your business.”

“Damn. Sorry. Go ahead.”

I winked and backed out the door, hoping there was no automatic lock. Loitering outside on the sidewalk was a crap idea, so I climbed the staircase to the roof. I’d expected it to have a couple of benches and some greenery, but there was a drained pool up there as well as a wet bar. What an interesting development. Maybe there was something to apartment living after all, but I’d never get over the lack of privacy every time I wanted to go outside.

I walked to the edge of the roof and, with my arms braced on the railing, called Marcus. The wind was already picking up as the outer storm bands whipped in from the Atlantic, but for right now, it felt good. The sky was beautiful, too—gray and dark blue and daunting, but the swirling clouds with darker patches here and there were like artwork. The sky in NYC seemed much smaller than where I was from, and there were times when I missed being able to see this open stretch.

“Hey Bradreaux,” Marcus greeted me. “What it is?”

Scoffing, I looked down at the water. “Please do not come with that dumbass ship name. People have way too much time on their hands.”

“I dunno. I think it’s kinda cute. Gav does too.”

“Is Gavin there?”

“Yup. We’re resisting the lure of the club because Noah will wild out on his ass if any pictures turn up of him dancing with anyone else.”

His voice had changed in the middle of it, going more distant as he put himself on speaker phone. I laughed.

“Bro, you think Brawley would dance with anyone?”

“Exactly,” Gavin’s low, deep voice chimed in. “And he’s lying, anyway. He wanted to stay in and watch some HBO show about titties and dragons.”

“It’s about political intrigue and murder as well as titties and dragons,” Marcus griped. “It was this or Pride and Prejudice. Your choice.”

I could picture Gavin giving him the blank stare of death with his golden eyes and golden hair messy and sticking out everywhere. My friends were way too pretty for their own damn good. Thank god the idea of fucking either of them gave me hives. We were too much like brothers.

“Okay, princesses, quit your bitching over television programs. I need to talk to you about something serious.”

“The hurricane?” Gavin asked. “I thought it wasn’t going to be that bad.”

“You never know,” Marcus said. “That city is fragile as shit.”

“It’s not about that. I had the house taken care of already, and I’m st—I might be staying in the city tonight, so my ass isn’t in a desolate mansion away from civilization if things go bad.”

That hadn’t been part of my thought process at all, but they didn’t need to know that. My original plan had been to send out a thirsty message to a former booty call in the Hamptons and spend the weekend riding him into a mindless stupor.

“So, what’s it about?” Gavin asked slowly, his voice lowering with suspicion. “Is it about that dumb fuck Bravo?”

I winced. “Uh.”

“I knew it!” Marcus shouted so loudly and triumphantly that his voice could likely be heard down on the street. “You’re fucking him, aren’t you?”

“No, he’s not.” At my pause, Gavin sighed. “You’re not, are you?”

“Once. And a blowjob.”

Marcus broke into laughter that still wasn’t loud enough to drown out Gavin’s irritated sigh.

“Man, what is with you? He treated you like shit, and you still let him hit it?”

The question wasn’t unexpected, but it still hit me like a kick in the stomach. I hunched forward to shield myself against the wind and to brace myself against their disapproval.

“It’s complicated, man.”

“Complicated,” Gavin spat. “A few weeks ago, you were ready to kill him because he was throwing all those gay subs, and now you’re sucking his dick. Goddamn it, Simeon. Why?”

“’Cause,” I said moodily. “I don’t know, okay? It started off as a joke. Us flirting and dissing each other and shit, but then I realized . . . he’s not straight. He’s into me.”

Marcus’s laughter broke off. “Oh shit, I was right. Man, I am the smartest person in this busted-ass group of friends.”

“What are you talking about?”

The wind whipped out particularly violently, gusting against the speaker and muffling my question. I turned again, trying to find a good angle so they could hear me.

“I was just telling Gavin a couple of weeks ago, when Adrián started trying to clapback at tabloids on Twitter, that the dude was always practically obsessed with you. When you first signed with the Barons, he subtweeted for weeks. Even after that, he stayed on you over every little thing. Dude was next level keeping tabs just so he could pop shit.”

“Okay, and?” I asked, confused. “What’s the point?”

“The point is,” Gavin boomed, aggressive and impatient. Noah had smoothed his edges a bit, but his prickliness was still present and accounted for. “That just because all of Bravo’s homophobe bullying shit was him trying to cover up the fact that he was sweet on you doesn’t mean you have to bless him with your mouth or ass.”

“All right, well, I wasn’t really trying to say it like that, but . . .”

I rolled my eyes. “You two won’t even let me talk. As usual, it’s like my two daddies bickering over what mistake I’m making now.”

“Sorry, man.” Of course Marcus was the one to check himself. “Go ahead.”

I waited just in case Gavin tried to bust in with another rant. He didn’t, so I cleared my throat and tried to put it into words. No matter how I tried to form the sentences, they sounded wrong. That I thought Adrián’s confusion had led to his hostility, and that him being brought up in the world of professional sports had fed into his behavior and lack of awareness about his own feelings for me.

And I was convinced he had feelings beyond lust. There was no other reason why he’d looked so hurt and rejected after I’d told him about Judd. Or why he defaulted to protective so quickly. It wasn’t just about being blessed with a blowjob. He cared about me in a way he wasn’t set up to deal with. My main question was . . . what should I do about it? Tell him to go fuck himself, or keep exploring whatever was between us until I figured out whether it was just a game to me or . . . if I really wanted to nurture this connection into becoming more?

I’d never actually had a relationship before, so the notion was abstract to me. Football had been my life since junior high, and even after I’d accepted my gayness, there hadn’t been a lot of opportunities to find out, gay boys around my age in high school. The fact that I’d had my sights set on the NFL from age sixteen had also scared me into never doing anything that could get me outed, which meant no sneaking around with the same boy.

But unloading all that on Gavin and Marcus while the wind whipped at me and raindrops started coming down heavier wasn’t going to happen. Especially . . . especially when they were both going to read me on my level of thirst outweighing my dignity and self-preservation. And fuck it—maybe they were right. Maybe I was ridiculous for even entertaining the idea of taking a chance on this fool boy downstairs, but I knew I was gonna do it. I could feel it in the growing impatience at how long this phone call was taking when I really wanted go back downstairs and see what he was doing.

“Let me let y’all go.”

“What?”

“Simeon, come on,” Marcus protested. “We’re just worried.”

“There’s nothing to worry about. I get to enjoy a dude who can lay that good pipe for a few more weeks without worrying about him taking blackmail video. He can’t screw me over without outing himself, right?”

Gavin exhaled slowly. It was sad that I could identify him by his disgusted sighs.

“Right,” Marcus said grudgingly. “Just be careful.”

“I’ll try my best.”

I hung up and went downstairs just as the pitter-patter turned into a downpour. The storm wasn’t set to hit the shore until after eight in the evening, but the wind was already causing tree limbs to swing wildly. It gave me a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach. This sense of foreboding that was likely overblown and based on my own paranoia about weather like this.

I paused in the stairway to make one last call to my mother, reassuring her I was somewhere safe, before reentering Adrián’s apartment. It was quiet inside except for the low drone of the news. The locks clicking into place were deafening. In fact, wandering through the apartment to look for him was a weird experience without his presence by my side or at least his big mouth booming through the space.

It was the first time I’d gotten a chance to take a real look around. Fancier than suited him with the chrome appliances, sleek furniture, and gray, black, and white décor. Adrián would fit more somewhere homey—a two-story house with a deck, colorful walls and soft furniture, and plenty of decorations pushed on him from his mother. He struck me as a mama’s boy, which was sort of adorable.

“Bravo?”

“Yeah.”

His voice floated from the upper level, which I’d never seen. The staircase was spindly, and I felt like a dinosaur stomping up it. The steps felt hollow beneath my tennis shoes, like I’d fall through, and wow, I was getting morbid in my anxiety. Shaking it off, I gave the upstairs a cursory once-over and found him in what I assumed was his bedroom. One entire wall was a window facing the waterfront, and the rest was in cool gray and blue tones with an enormous mattress on a low platform bed. He was sprawled on top of it, still wearing his hoodie and jeans but minus his Timbs.

“This apartment really isn’t you, Bravo.”

He didn’t come back at me with a smart comment. The change was made more obvious by his still expression and the hard set of his mouth. O-kay. This was going to be fun.

“It’s dreary. You strike me as a guy who loves bright colors and loud music.”

“I do.”

“So how come your apartment looks like my agent’s office?”

He finally cracked a tiny smile. “Truth? This was a model apartment. I told them I wanted it so I didn’t have to think too hard while traveling, and I was tired of sharing an apartment with Rocky.”

Ah, Rocky Swoops. The only other guy in the NFL who had a reputation as bad as Gavin’s. Although in his case, he deserved it. He wasn’t just aggressive by nature; he appeared to genuinely enjoy hurting people, if I went by his low-key bragging on social media. How he didn’t get tapped for his behavior was beyond me.

“Why didn’t you like living with Rocky?” I asked, throwing myself on the bed beside him. “You know I fucking hate that guy, but I’m curious about an objective comment on him.”

“Well . . .”

Adrián folded his hands behind his head, gazing up at the ceiling while I stared at his profile. It was an odd thing to be hung up on, but I loved his nose. Between it and his dimples, it was hard not to find him absolutely adorable. The lips and intense eyes upped the ante to fuckable. His body upped it further to cause-for-dehydration.

I stopped checking him out and realized he’d zoned out.

“Answer.”

“I’m trying to figure out how to answer without throwing my boy under the bus.”

Here we go. I rolled onto my side, face braced with my hand. “It’s just you and me here. I’m not about to publicize the fact that we were gabby about your teammate while we lay in bed.”

He laughed. “So true. Okay, well, I’ve been thinking a lot about my team in the past couple of weeks. I guess after you laid it down about why you were relieved to go, and how being around them made you feel, and I never thought of it that way before.” Adrián took a deep, slow breath and rolled his eyes over to me. “All that shit we say when we’re joking around . . . I guess I’d never thought about how it’d come off to someone who’s actually queer, you know?”

“Sugar, do you really think I’m the only gay man in the NFL? Or that Brawley’s the only bisexual?”

“Nah. I mean . . . a couple months ago I maybe thought that shit, but now I realize no one will ever come out if their team is as fucking hostile as the Predators. In fact, they probably double down on the homophobia just to cover up their queerness. To seem less . . . suspect or whatever.” Adrián’s mouth sank down. He reached out to pull at a thread in my hoodie, tugging it and hyper-focusing on the little string. “It’s just that I grew up with athletes, and a lot of people made jokes that weren’t ‘PC’ and shit, you know? It was just kinda normal, and I never thought anyone talking mess ever meant it, so it seemed harmless.”

“Uh-huh . . .” I sure as hell hoped this was going somewhere I could tolerate. “Now?”

“Now I’m just like . . . I dunno, man. I think a lot of people who used to make comments legit hated gay people, and I was helping to let it slide by going along with it or laughing or saying their sense of humor just ‘wasn’t PC.’”

“Like Rocky.”

“Yeah,” he said dully. “Like Rocky. It’s weird because . . . he’s different when it’s just us. When I was living with him, there was this whole other side of him. He’d talk about books and knows all of this random trivia. His favorite movies are like Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings, dude. He has an entire personality that nobody knows about. And then all of a sudden he’s out in public or on social media, or in the locker room, being a monster. It doesn’t make sense how he flips so fast. I’m starting to think the only one who has ever seen that other side of him is me. When I try to tell other people, even guys on our team, they look at me like I’m making shit up.”

“Okay, so, please enlighten me as to why you’re so hung up on this now? No offense, but I knew Rocky was a homophobe after he steady subbed me after I came out. You thought that was a joke?”

Adrián didn’t say anything. I sat up and leaned over him, glaring.

“Uh-uh. No sir, you do not get to clam up now that I’m asking the hard questions.” When he stayed shut, I shoved his shoulder. “If you’re trying to clear the air with me you need to speak up.”

He sighed and flicked an annoyed glare at me, but it dissolved as soon as it landed. “I’m sorry, Simeon. I’m sorry I’m so stupid I didn’t see how awful he was until I started . . .”

Lord, we were about to be here forever if I left it up to his hesitant ass.

“Until you started catching feelings for me?”

Adrián covered his face with his hands, fingers digging in. “Fuck. Yes.”

My posture eased, and tension I hadn’t realized had been clinging to me dissipated. I’d been waiting for this moment for a few weeks now—wanting him to admit he wanted me and later that he liked me. What I hadn’t anticipated was this relief. Or to feel like it’d mattered outside of my secret project to help him realize he’s fucking queer too.

“Why’d you get quiet?” he asked from behind his hands. “I figured I made it obvious today.”

“It was obvious for a while, Adrián. I just didn’t think you’d ever accept it.”

“Because it’s ridiculous.” He pushed himself up and hunched over to bury his face in his hands. The turtle mode was serious. After all the flirting and touching and even the fucking, it was this moment that was breaking him down. I didn’t know whether to be in awe of how much straight men valued their heterosexuality or to be sad that he was potentially going to mourn it this hard. “I’ve only ever wanted women. My entire life, the only dude I’ve ever looked twice at is you. From the moment I saw the ESPN clip about you on signing day like seven years ago. You were talking about how being in the League was an honor, and you kept stressing your community instead of just talking about yourself. I guess I related, because when I signed, the first thing I thought of was how proud my mom would be.”

It was legitimately heartwarming. The last time a guy had told me a story about the first time he’d noticed me, the emphasis had been on my dick print.

“Please tell me more. I love a good story about how charming and alluring I am.”

Adrián dropped his hands with a laugh. “You’re such a jackass. I’m tormented here.”

“I understand your torment, but I’m pretty hype about hearing the tales of you lusting for me.”

His mouth twitched up, and he grabbed my sweater, tugging me forward playfully. I had no idea if he was going to mush my head or shake me, but I swooped in for another kiss against those sweet lips. There was another moment of that automatic tensing before he parted his lips for mine and swiped my tongue with his own.

Groaning, I leaned back. “I hope this conversation isn’t going to end up with you telling me we can’t fuck anymore. I kind of like being able to mess with someone I can trust not to expose my filth.”

“How you think I feel? I just figured out I’m probably not straight.” He stumbled over the words, but it was beautiful nonetheless. Another athlete finding his queer wings. “I probably should have figured it out before . . . back when I found an excuse to talk to you at training camp and then hounded you until you’d come out with me.”

“And when you acted like a scorned lover after I signed with the Barons?”

“That too.”

Silence blanketed us as the wind picked up outside. It wasn’t exactly a howl, but the whipping against the windows was foreboding. The room grew dimmer as daylight became less capable of breaking through the thickening storm clouds. For outer bands of the storm, it was a lot. For the first time, I wondered if we should have gone somewhere more secure than this building.

I grabbed Adrián’s hand without thinking and squeezed.

“Keep talking,” I said.

He looked down at our entangled fingers and half smiled. It didn’t seem boyish as much as tense. We were both on edge, but the sense of impending doom was hitting us for vastly different reasons. I’d wanted him to know how it felt to be alone in the harsh world of professional sports, but the acceptance of his queerness was blighting the customary Bravo shine. I couldn’t help wondering: is not being straight really this much of a death sentence in his mind?

“Fine, I’ll talk,” I said. “Marcus and Gavin were betting on whether or not we were sleeping together.”

“Are you for real?”

“Yeah. They know me. And they know I have no self-control when it comes to pretty boys who are bad for me.”

“Ha. Pretty boys? Speak for yourself, with your red hair and freckles. Looking like an extra on Eve’s Bayou and shit.”

My laugh was so loud it filled the silent house. “You dumbass. Is that the only movie you could think of with Creole folks?”

“Yeah. Basically.”

“Yeah, well, I fucking love that movie, so good job.” I shook my head, smiling. His sense of humor needed to stay intact so I didn’t start tripping about him becoming a self-loathing bisexual. I could already hear the rant formulating at the back of my skull, before I even knew it was true. “FYI, Gavin didn’t think I’d touch you with a ten-foot pole. He’s pissed.”

Adrián’s spine snapped straight. “You told that fucker?”

“Yeah,” I said, unapologetically. “He’s my friend. I tell him and Marcus everything.”

Adrián’s brows drew together and annoyance darkened his eyes, but he just sucked his teeth and flopped back on the bed. “Must be nice to have someone you can tell that shit to.”

“Yeah. It is. You should invest in some non-phobic friends.”

“I’ll get right on that.” Another sarcastic smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. “You know, there were times in the past few months I swore you and Gavin were fucking.”

“Because we’re both queer?”

“I guess? But also because . . . that dude who sold the video was big and blond. Brawley is big and blond. Guess I started assuming your type was blond-headed white boys.”

“Why were you even pressed over my type?”

The answer was so obvious that it didn’t need to be spoken aloud, but he said, “Because I was resentful about it, even though I didn’t realize why at the time. The first thing that popped into my head when you came out was . . . how come you’d never tried to kick it to me if you were gonna get on your knees for some fucking frat boy at a club. I got so pissed.” Adrián rolled his eyes at himself. “Even at the time, I knew it was a weird thing to think, so I blocked it out. But it came back today. Earlier.”

“Because of Judd,” I said. “Because he’s another blond-headed dude trying to get in my ass.”

“Bingo.” Adrián sighed long and loud and utterly disgusted with himself. “This is so messed up, man. Why am I only knowing this now? Why you and not anyone else?”

“I don’t know, Adrián. Would figuring that out really make you feel better?”

“Uh, yes. I’m not used to this. This is not—”

Thunder cracked so loudly outside that I literally jumped up from the bed with my heart in my throat. Adrián snickered, and I flipped him off.

“Fuck yo—”

This time when the sky lit up and thunder rolled out from the ocean to muffle every other sound, it was accompanied by a low hum in the building. The room was already dark, but the LED lights on the various devices that had been plugged into the wall blinked out. White noise I hadn’t even noticed in the background abruptly ended, and there was nothing but the storm and voices ringing out from outside.

I looked out the window and winced. The sky was apocalyptic, and all the street lights were out. With Adrián’s windows facing the East River, I could also see, across the water, that some of the lights in Manhattan had gone out as well.

“Well,” I said. “Looks like shit just got serious.”

“What happened?” Adrián asked from the bed. “Lights out on the block?”

“Maybe in the whole damn city.”

“For real?”

Adrián slid off the side of the bed and joined me by the window. He pressed his fingers against the glass, smudging his fingerprints against it like a child, and let his eyes go wide with surprise.

“I didn’t think the lights could ever go out in this city, man. I know they said it happened a few years back, but I never seen it with my own eyes. I lived in Jersey at the time.”

“Freaky, yeah?”

Adrián nodded slowly. I watched him scan the streets below his building, a furrow in his brow.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing, it’s just that—fuck.”

“What?” I followed the trajectory of his scowl but saw nothing. “What are you seeing that I’m not seeing, boo?”

Adrián jutted his finger in the direction of the pier. “Brayden. Like clockwork, every day, he goes down to the pier and meets some lady.”

My eyes flew to the pier in question, and, sure enough, I spotted Brayden’s slim figure walking towards the railing on the pier. A woman waited there, but she was so heavily wrapped against the wind and rain that it was impossible to make out her features.

“Who is that?”

“I dunno. I figured it wasn’t none of my business to ask, since I put a moratorium on personal questions, you know? But she can’t be too savvy if she’s dragging this kid out on the pier in a hurricane.”

“Tropical depression,” I muttered. “Why are they just kicking it down there? The wind is nuts.”

“I don’t know, but he needs to take his ass home. I swear to my mother, some of these kids have no kinda common sense.” Adrián exhaled roughly. “Fuck. I’m gonna go down there.”

It was the first thing that had gone through my mind as soon as I’d realized they were planning to stand there, unmoving, even as the weather continued to deteriorate. But Adrián saying it first was a surprise.

He started for the door, worry visible in his strained expression and rigid back. I grabbed his shirt before he was out of reach, and pulled him into a kiss. A surprised huff escaped him, but I licked into his mouth with two hungry swipes of my tongue before shoving him to the door again.

“Let’s go, but we’re finishing this conversation, Bravo. And then I want to spend the rest of this storm sitting on your cock.”

Adrián’s nostrils flared, his mouth still damp and open.

“Sounds good to me, gorgeous.”

Chapter Twelve

Adrián

The air was thick with rain, a smell that hit me with a wave of nostalgia. It took me back to childhood, spending days with my dad out on his boat, and pretending I knew how to fish while my mom sunbathed and issued orders from her elegant sprawl. Things had been a lot simpler before I’d been old enough for anyone to expect anything from me. As soon as puberty hit, I’d spent every day chasing those Ws.

They hadn’t forced me into it, but I knew what they’d wanted for me, and damned if I didn’t put my all into trying to live up to those expectations. Athletic—check, even if I’d fallen in love with the wrong sport. Celebrated college athlete? Check. Professional athlete—yup. Most of all, I’d kept my nose relatively clean with no dirt to bring embarrassment to my family’s name. It’d all gone according to plan.

Until now.

Simeon’s hair slicked down the sides of his face as the rain rushed down in steady sheets. Despite that green rain smell usually accompanying balmier weather, the rain was icy cold. I shivered, wishing I’d worn a jacket, and followed Simeon towards the pier. He didn’t complain about jogging through the rain alongside me, but his intensity betrayed his concern. We had a couple of hours before the eye was set to slam into us and conditions were already getting worse minute by minute.

The wind slammed into us once we were away from the barrier of buildings. Folks we’d seen leisurely walking had long since walked inside, and Brayden and the mystery woman were long gone.

“Where the hell is he?” Simeon shouted over the pounding rain. “We couldn’t have taken more than five minutes.”

I turned in a circle, squinting through the storm. There was nothing in the immediate vicinity except recklessly driving cars rushing to one place or another and their sickly yellow headlights breaking through the gloom. It was the only light on the street, which was the most deserted I’d ever seen it.

“Man, I don’t know. You think we should notify his dad?”

“We can check—”

Another catastrophic rumble of thunder rolled overhead. This time it was me who jumped, especially when lightning struck in the distance quickly followed by a muted explosion and a bright green flash.

“Another transformer blew.”

“Jesus.” Simeon grimaced. “Let’s check the park and then go see his father. It really chaps my ass that an adult would have told him to meet in the rain.”

“Maybe it’s someone they both know.” I turned towards the street, waiting for another rushing car to cut through the rapidly growing pools of water. “Or maybe they even headed back to his place.”

“Did they ever do anything besides stand there?”

I thought back, scanning my memory for a handful of moments I’d observed without thinking twice. And now I wondered why I hadn’t questioned these daily meetings. Should I have? Would Simeon have? More and more I was beginning to doubt my judgment when it came to being aware of the people around me and the best ways to respond to them.

“No,” I said finally. “They just stand and talk. The second time I noticed, I kept watching until they went their separate ways.”

Simeon jogged beside me, his features drawn in the lines of an overprotective parent. Why hadn’t I had that reaction?

“Maybe it’s fine,” he said.

“Yeah. Maybe.”

We stopped at the light, not flinching away from the small waves of water lapping up over the curb and onto our feet. I squinted at each car that passed, wariness taking hold until I was searching for an assailant that might not exist.

Simeon touched my hand, fingers so tentative and so light it broke my heart. He shouldn’t be afraid to touch me.

“Don’t worry,” he said, giving me that big smile. “It’s gonna be fine. This isn’t your fault.”

“How do you know I’m thinking like that?”

“Because it’s all over that pretty face of yours. Your worry looks mean, but I can tell by now. And I can also tell you this is gonna be all right. He’s probably home with his dad.”

“I hope so.”

The light switched to red, and we darted across the crosswalk as lightning struck again. Closer this time. Each bright flash had us picking up our pace until we were sprinting through the rain like we were heading for the end zone where the safety of a kid was our concern.

Relief crushed me when Simeon indicated their apartment building—a four-story brick walk-up that lacked the overdone art-deco exteriors of the newer condos nearer to the water. The lock on the front door was broken, allowing us to slip inside and drip puddles of water all over the lobby. Grimacing at the mess, and the hazard I was creating just by being so damn big and wet, I trudged up the stairs after Simeon. He knew exactly where to go, which reminded me that he’d been here before. In Judd’s apartment. Where they’d kissed.

My jaw set.

It wasn’t the time to be picturing the moment that might have led to a hookup under other circumstances, but I did it anyway. Wondered how Simeon’s deep bronze skin would look with someone as pasty as Judd, with his dishwater-blond hair and corny-ass polos. Fuck, I hated that guy.

Simeon tapped his knuckles on the door once, twice, and then took a step back. I stayed leaning against the wall and hoping I wouldn’t have to do any of the talking.

The walls were so thin I could hear his footsteps approaching even before he was in front of the door. Either that or the dude had some monster feet with zero stealth. Even I knew better than to dance up to the door making your presence known, and I’d grown up in a gated enclave full of rich people.

“Whoa,” Judd said after opening the door. He looked from Simeon to me, smiling awkwardly. He had on a pair of black rain boots and a soaked windbreaker. “What brings you here?”

“Well,” Simeon started haltingly. “I know this is strange, and we should probably be minding our own, but about twenty minutes ago we saw Brayden on the pier over by Kent Avenue. I know it’s nothing to do with us, but the weather is getting really bad, and once we headed that way, he was gone.” Simeon smoothed his hands over his wet hair, causing water to drip everywhere. “I just—we just—wanted to make sure he was home safe.”

Judd didn’t react. My first hint that he knew Brayden was somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be and he still wasn’t home.

“Was he alone?”

“No, sir,” Simeon said, ever the sweet little Southern boy. “He was with a woman.”

“Fucking shit.” Judd backed into the apartment and sharply waved us in. “I knew this was happening. I goddamn knew it.”

“What’s happening?” I demanded, following him inside. The door opened into a living room crowded with about a million DVDs and VHS tapes on a variety of shelves and bookcases. There was a television that was way too big for the room, and two armchairs. “Is he okay?”

“I have no idea.” Judd crossed the room in two strides and leaned down to peer out the window. “Was she older than him? Maybe it was some girl he’s dating.”

“Nah, she’s older. Has to be in her early forties or late thirties. I’ve seen them together a few times now.”

Judd’s back snapped straight. He whipped around with wide eyes and a seriously pissed-off look blooming over his face. I’d seen it a ton of times before—when my own father had been hit by a realization way after it should have already come to mind. But with Judd, he sent his frustration slamming into me with a single demanded question: “You’ve seen them together before?”

“A few times. Always in the same spot at the pier. My apartment overlooks it so I’ve noticed.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

My head jerked back. “Whoa, wait up, now. I didn’t really think it was any of my business to be reporting on your kid’s movements to you.”

“My son is only thirteen. You didn’t think I should know that he’s meeting a grown woman at the pier every day?”

I glanced at Simeon, flailing for some help or a defense, but he was too busy frowning at the back of Judd’s head to catch my alarmed glance. How was this my fault?

“Look, man, I never saw anything inappropriate going on. They legit stood there and chatted and went their separate ways. Always right there out in the open on that pier.”

Judd shook his head, seething. “She wouldn’t have done anything inappropriate. She’s his mother.”

What the fuck drama had I swanned my way into?

“Okay, is he not supposed to see her? Because when we started, Yaritza had us go over emergency contacts just so we knew who was who. And she never mentioned any alerts on his file that he wasn’t supposed to have contact with anyone in particular.”

“It’s not about that,” Judd gritted out. “You just should have told me.”

I threw my hands up. “Dude, the way you stay hanging around Simeon, maybe you should have dropped a hint that Brayden wasn’t allowed to see his own mother. For fuck’s sake, man. You’re his pops—not me. I’m a football coach, not a monitor. It’s not my job to keep tabs on your kid after hours. And along that line, how the hell you didn’t know where he was? My mom would have had a GPS up my ass when I was his age.”

“How dare you?” Judd took a step forward, his pale skin flushing red as anger settled over him. “You don’t know anything about my family so don’t make assumptions. It’s not like you care—”

“Okay, that’s enough, now.” Simeon stepped around Judd so he was between us, his big, broad back blocking my view of Judd’s angry face. “It was Adrián who suggested we go check on Brayden. He does care. Don’t put your family problems on him, Judd. It’s not cool.”

I wished I could have seen Judd deflate, but I only heard the hot air leaking out of him like a balloon. It wasn’t the time or place to get indignant, especially because he was just worried about his kid, but I couldn’t help it.

“What do you want us to do?” I asked, stepping around Simeon so we were shoulder to shoulder. “I came here because I wanted to help, not get screamed at. So just tell us how we can do that.”

Judd looked like he’d rather drink a bottle of Fabuloso than ask for my help, so he directed his words at Simeon.

“I just got back from looking for him, and I was ready to call his friends.”

“Can we keep looking?” Simeon asked. “Adrián made it out like they never spent too much time together by the pier. He could have ducked into a friend’s house to get out of the rain. It’s cats and dogs out there.”

Way for him to be adorable in the middle of a crisis.

“If you really don’t mind, that would be amazing,” Judd said. “Please call me to come get him if you find him. It isn’t her weekend with him, and she has no business coming here when he’s with me.”

“All right, J. I’ll let you know.”

Simeon avoided the family drama with a grace the opposite of my big bulky ass in a china shop. He inclined his head, reassuring grin in place, and trooped back down the now water-covered stairs. I only slipped once. Thankfully. The last thing I needed was to have my time off the field extended because I’d broken my leg sprinting down a slippery staircase.

“What the fuck was that about?”

Cringing, Simeon peered out into the rain. Cascades were falling across the street in sheets so condensed it was hard to see through it all.

“There’s a lot of bad blood between them two. No abuse to the child, but their relationship?” Simeon shook his head back and forth. “No good. There was cheating and manipulation. I think they both brought in personal things during the custody fight, maybe even Judd being bisexual and him bringing up her drinking.”

“Yikes. Hot mess.”

“Yes indeed. And now Brayden’s caught in the middle.”

“Heh. Well, fuck.” I pushed the door open, instantly letting in droplets of water and the roar of the storm. “I guess we’re all up in it now, so let’s go find them both and make sure they’re safe.”

“You sure?” Simeon eyeballed the weather outside with a skepticism. “If anyone knew we were doing this, we’d be deep in it.”

“Oh well. Gallivanting in a tropical depression isn’t listed as a restricted activity on my Predators contract, but abandoning a damn kid and his mom in a bad storm is sure as hell restricted in my own personal one. Let’s do this.”

I stepped outside into the mess, and yet again Simeon caught me with one of those discreet touches. Just enough of a brush of his hand against mine as we stepped out onto the flooding sidewalk for me to know he was really feeling me right now. It lifted me up off the ground and propelled me forward, because I’d been feeling him for months and hadn’t even known it.

The search came up short, but the strength of the first few bands of the storm began to wane. It seemed backwards to me since the eye was apparently approaching, but I had no idea if it was set to hit here or if it was going to miss us completely and land somewhere else. Either way, not having to fight my way through the downpour lessened my anxiety a few degrees.

After a solid forty-five minutes of wandering the neighborhood, we backtracked towards the Center and stood on the corner in front of the diner where we’d shared our first meal.

“Did you text him?”

Simeon nodded, hunched over his phone beneath the diner’s awning. “Brayden’s still not home and no one’s seen him.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.” Simeon shoved his phone into his pocket. He stood there with his hands balled up and his hazel eyes sweeping over the streets as they’d done countless times in the past near-hour. “Goddamn it. I wish I knew where they’d gone. Do you think we should call the police?”

I blanched at the idea. “No. Come on, now. He’s with his mom. She probably took him somewhere out of the rain.”

“I know, I know,” he growled. “I don’t mean call the police on her, but the wind was so strong. What if something happened on the pier?”

“Something like what?”

“Like—” he broke off, struggling. “Like the wind . . .”

The sentence choked off, and I knew he was picturing something terrible. Something he couldn’t even bring himself to say. There were shadows gathering over him that I’d never seen before.

“Simeon, it will be okay.”

He shook his head back and forth, emotion clogging his voice shut. Where I was concerned, he was starting to seem terrified. I stepped forward, closing the gap between us, and yanked him into a hug. He froze at first but then melted against me and pressed his wet face into the crook of my arm and shoulder.

“He’s fine,” I whispered in his ear. “They’re both fine. We had our eyes on him not even five minutes before the storm got really bad.”

“I know, but I can’t stop picturing the worst. What if we’re too late?”

He gripped me tighter, fingers digging in so hard he was likely breaking capillaries. I didn’t mind. I’d felt worse.

I brushed my hand over his soaked hair and kissed the side of his neck. I hadn’t thought twice about it until he jerked away, wide-eyed.

“We’re outside.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” I said harshly. “How else am I supposed to get you to crawl out of your brain?”

Simeon’s lips parted but no sound came out. Instead, he searched my eyes with an intensity that both startled and turned me on. Even soaking-wet in the middle of the street, in the middle of a damn monster storm, I wanted him so bad. And now that I’d accepted it, it was easy to identify the heat and the twisting in my gut.

I couldn’t wait until we were alone.

“You’re killing me, Adrián,” he whispered. “You’re dangerous.”

“I’m not apologizing for it. I like making your heart beat faster.”

“It does. Trust me.”

I grinned my cockiest grin and leaned in for a kiss right on those pillowy lips of his, but a gasp nearby struck between us like another bolt of lightning. We jerked apart just in time to see Brayden and his mother standing in the entrance of the diner.

Chapter Thirteen

Adrián

“You think they saw something?”

The flame of the candle lighter was the only thing signaling Simeon’s location in the room. It’d gone from gloomy to pitch-black in the house not long after we’d returned from the long walk back to the apartment. With only the flashlights on our phones, we’d dug out the devotional candles my mother had stocked one of the cupboards with—all of patron saints. Jesus was literally showing us the way.

“I don’t know.” Simeon lit the entire twelve pack and picked up two. “Bedroom or living room?”

“Bedroom. I want to look outside.”

“You like storm watching?”

“Usually, but now I just feel like I need to see out the window in case the damn river floods.”

“Mmm . . .”

I trailed behind Simeon. He found his way in the dark better than I did, even though it was my apartment. I chalked it up to him being collected in an emergency whereas I was sweating the fact that a snotty kid had seen me macking on a dude. Neither Brayden nor Cheryl, his mom, had said a word, but I had the creeping feeling that they’d been gaping in shock and not just surprise wouldn’t leave me alone.

After awkwardly explaining we’d gone on the quest to find him at the urging of his dad, and our own concern, everyone had fallen silent. No eye contact, no smart comments from Brayden, and not even careful questioning from his mom. Total fucking zipsville.

“I think they saw us.”

Simeon exhaled through his nose. “Do you really think Brayden would have been able to keep his mouth shut had he seen anything?”

“Okay, that’s a good point.”

“I know. I’m much smarter than you. Just be pretty and look at the candles.”

The candles did look pretty cool. My mother hadn’t given them to me for the aesthetic, but stretching out on my bed with crashing waves and beating rain as ambiance and flickering candlelight all around was calming. I let the sounds wash over me and let my eyes unfocus while gazing into one of the flames. Or, I tried for a few minutes. Then I looked at Simeon, who’d settled beside me.

“What the hell would we do if he saw us?”

Simeon’s sigh was louder this time and less patient.

“Hey buddy, don’t forget you only got outed a few months ago. I bet you were shitting bricks when you first found out about the story.”

“Oh, I was. I was shitting bricks from the moment that asshole bragged that he was going to kill my career with that video.”

“Whoa, he told you to your face? I kinda figured you just caught them recording.”

“Nope.” In the shadows, I saw Simeon slowly shaking his head. “And you know what really sets my soul on fire? He did all that because he’s a Predators fanboy.”

I sat up straight. “No way.”

“Yup. That fool boy went through all that trouble to entrap me in a bathroom after finessing me all damn night just because he hates the Barons.”

“Ave Maria.” All I could do was shake my head and wonder what the hell was wrong with people. “Some people really take this rivalry to the next level, don’t they?”

“Yeah, they do. But we all kind of egg it on.”

“How you figure?”

Simeon laughed quietly. “Think about how we all act on social media. Even at games—how many times have both our teams been flagged for unnecessary roughness? Football is already a fanatical type of sport, but then you add in how much we hate each other? Shit . . .”

“At least it’s not like in Europe where fans be burning shit down and getting into huge brawls after matches.”

“Boo, our fans do that shit too. The media just acts like it’s no big deal because football is everything.”

I leaned against the headboard and returned my gaze to the candle. There was no wisdom to be found in Jesus’s illuminated face. When lightning once again struck outside, I told myself it was the Holy Ghost telling me to take responsibility for my part in this mess.

“You know, there was a time when I swore us playing up our hatred for you guys was directly connected to our rival games always selling out.”

“You’re probably right. They even make merchandise specifically for it. My mama owns a “Barons Own the Predators” jersey.”

“Oh man! My mother hates all that shit.”

Simeon shook his head, smiling. “Not mine. Joanne Boudreaux is queen of trash talk and loves her some rivalries. She makes big dinners whenever our teams play and throws a party. If we lose, the party upgrades to dancing and everyone pretends the game was never on.”

“That sounds pretty dope. If my team loses, especially if I screw up, my pops acts like someone died. He’ll send me long narratives via email explaining what I did wrong, why I did it wrong, or how he thinks the team as a whole could improve. He actually thinks the coaches give a fuck about his emails.”

Simeon stifled a snicker, but still came back with his sweet New Orleans-boy charm. “Some people would. He’s famous.”

“Yeah, he is. That’s why he thinks everyone should listen to him. Even about sports he doesn’t play.”

The laughter broke free of Simeon’s mouth, and I joined him.

“What do you think your parents would say if they knew you were into guys?”

“Into a guy,” I corrected, nudging his thigh. “It’s just been you.”

“You know what I mean.”

I did, but it was easier to avoid thinking about the “what ifs,” even though it’d been a constant question in the back of my head as we’d walked back from Judd’s. He’d been a salty mess even though we’d brought his kid home, but the jackass had acted like he hadn’t wanted to let Brayden’s mother into the house. Their divorce must have been a wreck, but it wasn’t any way to treat a human being, regardless of the bad blood. Luckily, she’d already paid for a hotel a few blocks away.

“Adrián?”

“Sorry.” I shook my head. “To be quite frank with you, I’ll probably never tell my father anything about my personal life. It was the same way the one time I seriously dated a woman. He’s suspicious of everyone, and I didn’t want to put her through the interrogation.”

Simeon’s eyes were heavy on the side of my face, the first indication that my words mattered to wherever this conversation was going.

“But my mom? I think I’ll probably tell her. She’s been doing a lot of Facebooking about queer rights and shit lately. If she came down on me for a little bisexuality, I’d never let her live down how much of a hypocrite she is.”

“A little bisexuality.” Simeon guffawed, sinking further into the bed and covering his face with one of my pillows. “You’re such a dumbass.”

“Hey, at least I’m owning it and not still claiming to be straight.”

“True.” There was a smile in Simeon’s voice, betraying his excitement and also his pleasure at my word choice. He rolled onto his side and stroked the back of my hand with his thumb. “I’ve met dudes who say they’re straight even after I turned them out with my ass.”

“Because they probably were just in it for the sex.” And that was a leading statement if I’d ever made one. Shit. Way to set myself up. I licked my lips, nervous and overly aware of how keenly he was analyzing me. There was no way I could end that statement there. “If I didn’t like you so damn much, I probably would be trying to claim the same thing.”

“Fortunately, it’s impossible not to like me. My personality is as pretty as my face.”

“And your head is getting to be about a million times the size of where it started back in August.”

“Ooh . . . now look who’s being a size queen.”

We laughed together, loud and bright in the midst of a storm that was doing its best to beat the city. But my bedroom had become a haven against the weather, and this bed was our cocoon. I felt safe here with Simeon, and the rest of the world seemed very far away.

His addiction to touching prompted him to slide his questing fingers up my arm and chest. In the past, the littlest brushes of our skin had sent me into lust mode, and this was no different. Except now, I listed forward with obvious yearning and scooted over until my knee was lodged between his thighs. His dick was already getting hard—a turn-on in and of itself. That he could have just about any guy he wanted and was choosing me, the asshole who’d spent years antagonizing him, was a gift.

I rocked my knee against him, my breath hitching, more so than his. He just drew me in and laughed quietly in my ear.

“You’re getting to be needy.”

“Yup.”

Simeon ran his tongue along the edge of my ear. “After all this time, why’re you so thirsty for it? Hard up in general, or is all this for little ole me?”

“It’s all you. And it’s happening now because I can finally admit how bad I want it.” I nudged my knee against his bulge and tried not to shiver when he nipped at my earlobe. “To you and myself.”

“That’s deep, boo.” He nipped then sucked to soothe the sting, but it was the sting that went straight to my already-aching dick. “Now tell me what you want to do to me. I have the feeling that reality is gonna catch up with us faster than we want, and then the fantasy of Adrián Bravo being comfortable with all this is gonna go out the window.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

I grabbed his shoulder and flipped him onto his stomach, using more strength than I was used to exerting if I got a little rough in bed. His size was unfamiliar and exhilarating at the same time.

“You think I’ll ever get over wanting to fuck you?”

“I mean, I’m fine, but shit happens.”

It was hard to be serious with him sassing me left and right. I ground my cotton-covered erection against the seam of his ass to shut him up. After coming out of the rain, I’d changed into loose black shorts and he’d opted for keeping on his thin briefs. If the lights were on, they’d probably be see-through.

“Fine, I’ll play along. Let’s say this all fades away once we’re back with our teams and only seeing each other when we have to.” I kept rocking against him and braced the back of his neck with one of my hands. He turned his head just slightly so I could speak directly into his ear. “So that means I should be inside you as much as possible before that time comes, right?”

“That’s exactly what that means.”

If this turned out to be nothing more than an extended fantasy, I was happy to get as much out of it as I got before our number came up. And judging by the eager way he rolled his ass back on me, he felt the same way.

I dragged him up by the neck, forceful but not too rough, and turned his head to the side. It was darker with our backs to the candles, but I found his lips by searching the side of his face with wet wandering kisses. The sting of his stubble and the musky taste of rain, sweat, and his cologne set my heart to a steady gallop, more so than the crown of my dick cresting along his ass.

Maybe Simeon was right that those thoughts would fade once we were uprooted from this situation, but right now they prompted me to kiss him so hard he ran out of breath. Or maybe he ran out of breath because there was a two hundred and forty-pound man humping him while sucking on his tongue. I preferred to think it was the talent of my kisses.

There was a hardness and a sweetness to Simeon that intoxicated me with every touch. It made me pant for him, salivate for him, and think of nothing but my aching need to feel his body completely bared against my own.

“Take your underwear off,” I mumbled against his swollen mouth. “Lemme in that ass.”

“Lube,” he commanded hoarsely, writhing as my hands wandered all over his bare torso. “Especially if you do me like you did last time.”

“Last time I was too busy playing games to enjoy this beautiful fucking body of yours.” I sucked on his shoulder, hoping it left a mark. For the next three weeks, I planned to leave signs of my touch all over his body. “It will be different this time.”

“How?”

“First things first . . .”

I rolled over onto my back and lifted my own hips to shimmy out of my shorts. My dick sprang up, proud and needy, as I extended an arm to destroy the side table looking for my jerk-off lube. It was water-based, not the heavy-duty silicone shit he’d probably prefer for what I wanted to do to him, but it’d have to do.

“Put this on me,” I said, pressing the tube into his hand. “Please? Every time you touch my dick I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

Simeon straddled me. “How do you know you’re not? Maybe that first encounter launched you into an extended fever dream, and now you’re just plum crazy.”

He finished the sentence with a slow drizzle of the lubricant all over my piece. It strained against the liquid like it was a signal for more suction and tightness to come. Simeon granted me that promise by tugging on my dick with both hands. He twisted them in opposite directions, fingers tight around my shaft while one of his thumbs pressed against the slit.

“Oh yeah,” I hissed, bucking my hips up. “You’re so good, baby.”

“I know.” He moved his hands faster, twisting and tugging in coordination I’d never be able to mimic. “I can feel you pulsing. The blood rushing through your veins. Makes me want to suck the come out of you.”

“Fuck.” I tilted my head against the pillows, eyes rolling back. "You love the taste, huh?”

“I do love the taste. You should try it.” At my skeptical grunt, he leaned over and down to lick the side of my face. “One day I’ll swallow all yours and kiss you with it still in my mouth.”

“That’s gross,” I muttered unconvincingly. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“You’d love it because you’re as filthy as me.”

“Well, we got time to try it out, right?”

“We have a few weeks, which means we have to pack in a lot of fucking if that’s the deadline we’ve both chosen.” Simeon pumped harder, his breath hitching even though his own dick had so far gone ignored. “Right now I’d rather have you in my ass.”

I throbbed, my balls tingling, at the promise of what was to come. I’d been jerking off fantasizing about being inside of him every night for weeks, since he’d bragged about liking it, and especially after I’d gotten a taste. Except that had been part of a game, and this was something else.

“I want you to ride me,” I said. “Wanna see that pretty face of yours when you nut.”

“And I want to nut all over you.”

“Bet.”

I leaned against the mountain of pillows behind us, thighs spread and knees bent for leverage. He straddled me, grinding his round ass against my dick. I had a serious obsession with the muscular globes of flesh, and took the chance to run my hands along them, squeezing and probing his pucker with my finger.

“I thought you wanted to hurry up and get in me.”

“After I get my fill of touching you.”

Simeon’s hands tightened on my shoulders, and his fingers dug in harder once I mouthed at his chest. His nipples were pebbled, so I followed the lead he’d shown me weeks ago and sucked one into my mouth.

“I love a fast learner,” he breathed, writhing against me. “I guess you really wanna hear me get loud.”

I released his nipple just enough to growl, “I want to hear you fucking shout.”

The delight on his face was enough of a reward, but I wanted that delight to turn into desperate cries and pleas for more. If he was as vocal as he’d been the other day, when I hadn’t even been doing him exactly like I’d wanted, I had hope that we were about to have a real good time.

I tongued at his chest while playing with his dick, not quite jerking but more idly stroking. A few pumps here and there, but I used the kind of measured strokes and teasing touches that I did to myself when I was set up to enjoy a full hour of good porn without wanting to blow my load in the first five minutes.

Simeon writhed, tilting his head back and undulating while I stimulated his chest, his dick, and his tight hole all at the same time. If I judged by the way his ass clenched around my finger, the more turned on he got, the more he wanted to be nailed.

We made a mess of the lubricant. Both too eager and both trying to have control of the situation, we wound up squirting too much and getting stickiness everywhere. It turned me on more, and I was trembling by the time he leaned up so I could position the crown at his opening.

“I been wanting this so bad,” he whispered. “Even though sometimes I hated that I did.”

“You still hate it?”

Simeon yanked my head back and graced me with a harsh kiss as he seated himself fully on my dick. The force caused me to entirely fill him, pushing past the ring of his muscles, and going in deep enough for his ass cheeks to rest against me once I was in. My eyes rolled back, a smile finding its way onto my lips.

“You like that?” he asked, still kissing all over my face.

“God yes. You milking me that way is like an out-of-body experience.”

“You ain’t seen nothing yet, boy.”

Simeon smirked, filthy and promising, before leaning back on his splayed palms. His entire body stretched out in front of me, naked and glorious, as he raised himself up and then slammed down onto my cock again. I lifted my hips to meet him and to drive it in deeper and harder. His decadent moan was all the encouragement I needed.

We fucked like it was going to be the last time, even though I knew there was no way I would allow that to happen. Pounding our bodies together too fast and hard and causing the slapping of our skin to echo throughout the apartment.

I gripped his waist with one hand and used the other to stroke his erection as it smeared messily against my torso. The infrequent tap of his cockhead against my stomach was almost as erotic as him clenching around me as I plundered his ass. I wondered how it would feel to have all of his warm come splattered on me while I filled him with my own. The thought alone propelled me to another plane of existence.

There was nothing for me but the grip of him around my girth, the flexing of his hips, the pounding of our bodies, and his agonized moans. I muffled them with my mouth, unable to stay away from his lips for long. All this time, I’d not only been starving for his body—I’d been deprived of his kisses. Now I couldn’t get enough.

Our lips were crushed together when he released on my stomach, and I cried out against his lips when I followed not long after.

He slumped against my chest, grinning. I responded by kissing him again.

“You’re so into me,” he said.

“You damn right.”

Simeon threaded his fingers through my short dark hair, sliding his chest against mine and making a bigger mess.

“Can we still pretend not to like each other in public? It will make for more sexual tension before you dick my brains out later on.”

“Ha,” I said. “Nah. I don’t think anyone would buy it from me now.”

Simeon whistled. “Damn. It’s like that?”

“Yeah. It is.” I bumped my hips up. “And you better get ready, because I’m going to fuck you through this storm.”

He laughed again, eyes twinkling. “Then you better make good use of tonight, Bravo. The clouds will be gone by tomorrow.”

I smacked his ass lightly. “Don’t worry. I will.”

Chapter Fourteen

Simeon

“It’s cold as hell outside.”

Adrián snorted, but he’d gone running in just as many layers as me. You weren’t about to catch either of us wearing running shorts and a sleeveless shirt like some of the other regular joggers in the area. It’d already been getting chilly, but the storm had dropped the temperature a good ten degrees colder.

But if the options were a brisk wind or a flooded city? I’d take the cold.

“You’ve been an East Coaster for how many years?”

“Anything less than a decade doesn’t count. I’m not set up for this kind of icy-ass cold.”

Adrián waved me off while pushing the buttons on his espresso maker. I wasn’t a fan. Give me a Café au lait over a couple ounces of super strong tar any day.

“You ready to see this kid?”

“I’m ready to see all the kids,” I said. “I honestly didn’t expect to have started enjoying this program so damn much, but I do. I’ll miss them. Even the jack wagons like Brayden.”

“Jack wagons,” Adrián repeated with a chuckle. “You stay talking like someone’s grandfather.”

I ripped off my hat and tossed it at him, rolling my eyes when he did an exaggerated dodge and roll to get out of the way. He was going to end up destroying shit in his own house trying to be a clown.

“Probably because I was always surrounded by other people’s grandparents in church.”

“I didn’t take you for a church boy.”

“Then you’re a fool. Religion was a huge part of my childhood. Just ’cause I’m gay doesn’t mean I can’t have respect for the Book.”

Adrián swiped my hat from the floor and put it on the table. He propped his forearms on the counter and watched me suck down an extra-large cup of coffee.

“My parents were Catholic as fuck, but they never took my ass to church. I used to actually feel left out since all my friends went on Sunday, but then I got older and realized I was getting over. My life was so much cooler.”

“And then you hit puberty and realized how uncool you were.”

He flipped me off. “You wasn’t saying that shit last night when I was balls deep in you while doing the old fleshlight wraparound.”

Mention of the previous night was enough to get my body ready for another round. Unfortunately, we’d both agreed to call a time-out on sex. The more we fucked, the harder it was to keep our hands off each other, and keeping that chemistry and attraction hidden from the kids and the staff at the Center was important. We’d been screwing constantly for the two days after the storm, and now it was time to get back to the real world. The power had come back on in the middle of the night, although we’d left our long-dead cell phones uncharged all morning, and our coaching gig was calling. We had to wake up from the fever dream, even if only ten hours ago I’d ejaculated so hard my knees had given out.

“You’re looking at me like you want to get it in before we head out.”

I forced my eyes away from him, scoffing. “No.”

“Uh-huh.” In my peripheral vision, he was smirking. “You’re so hot for me.”

“Shut it, Bravo. We have plenty of time to ravage each other before we put the brakes on our filth fests.”

“Mmm. ‘Filth fest.’ I like the sound of that.” Adrián came around the corner to bury his face in my sweaty neck. “You smell good.”

“Fuck off, Bravo. You’re trying to make me break my promise.”

“That’s because it’s a dumbass promise that you made to yourself. Self-made promises are made to be broken.”

“Breaking self-made promises is the entire reason we’re fucking,” I said, laughing.

“See? There you go. Your life is way better as a result.”

I shook my head. “You’re wrong on just about every point. Now get up off me so I can go wash up.”

Adrián let me push him to the side, once again flinging himself dramatically. The guy was the biggest joker I’d ever met, and that was saying something, since I usually joked a lot. He swatted my ass as I jogged up to the master bathroom to shower. I wasn’t surprised when he joined me and coaxed me into a sloppy make-out session and mutual jerk while the water beat down on us from three sides.

As we walked from his building to the Center, I kept thinking this was going to be the best three weeks of my life. Okay, maybe not my life. But of my post-NFL signing adulthood. I’d had sex with a ton of guys since my teenage years, but none of them had had this effect on me. Not even Gavin or Marcus, or my lingering worries about how I was gonna deal with things once we went back to our teams, could bring me down.

If I wanted to close my eyes to complications and walk on sunshine for the next month or so, then that was my problem. And I was going to have a fuckton of sex in the process.

The number of looks we exchanged, and the times we deliberately bumped each other, on the way to the Center, was probably in the thousands. We had to be stopped. Even the mailperson could probably tell we were banging.

“All right. Be cool and—”

The fast-falling footsteps coming up beside us drew my attention first. I jerked to the side, startled, and lowered my face out of reflex. The photog kept snapping pictures of me, and then both of us, without missing a beat.

“Damn, man, you can’t let us get inside the building?”

The photographer didn’t respond. He apparently was all business—so not a pap. Not TMZ. He took several more pictures and returned to where ever he’d come from.

“That was random. They haven’t been that on it in a while.”

“Uh, yeah, apparently they all got the fucking memo to be on it.”

I stopped looking after the skinny-looking ferret dude to glance in the direction of the Center. There was a circus waiting for us by the door.

Adrián

They knew.

Everyone knew.

And I knew as soon as I saw the gang of photogs and journalists from gossip blogs waiting by the Center. They’d shown up here and there over the past several weeks, but usually when there was a specific reason for them to be clustered. Like our first few days, or a scrimmage. The only reason they’d be here right now was if they knew about us.

“Fuck.” My heart had stopped but now it galloped ahead of us. “Oh my God.”

Simeon dropped a large hand on my shoulder and steered me forward.

“Adrián! Tell us how it happened! Couldn’t resist the Boudreaux charm?”

“Bravo, are you gay or bi?”

“Do you think your team will accept you back into the locker room?”

“Was the fight just a way to throw everyone off your relation—”

The shouted questions were muffled by the door once Simeon shoved me inside the Center and kicked it shut. His hand was still on my shoulder, and it was the only thing bringing me comfort. Strong, reassuring, and warm. Just like him and every moment we’d shared since the night of the storm.

“Fuck.”

“Adrián, hush.”

I blinked away the camera flashes and looked around slowly, refamiliarizing myself with the inside of the Center. It’d already been unpacked and put back to rights since reopening this morning. I tried to think about that, and how shitty we were for banging our way through this process instead of offering a hand, but the questions rang in my ear again.

“They know.”

“Adrián, I said to shut up.”

Simeon wrenched me around, forcing me to face the entrance to the rec room. Brayden was framed in the doorway, his face in his hands and shoulders shaking as Sheila consoled him. It was all the confirmation I needed that yes, he’d seen us. And yes, he’d done something to expose us to the world.

The previous night, I’d woken up off and on while wondering whether he’d spend this afternoon dropping innuendos or teasing us. I’d expected to be angry, but right now I felt nothing but resignation and fear. Genuine fucking fear.

Because my team was going to make my life a living hell.

“Brayden,” Simeon said quietly. “Are you okay?”

A louder sob ripped out of the kid at the sound of Simeon’s voice. Sheila pulled him closer, rubbing his back and glancing over at us with a frown etched into her lovely face.

“I’m sorry,” he wailed. “I didn’t think this would happen!”

Simeon moved towards him, but I was rooted to the spot. Torn between this brokenhearted kid whose body was literally shaking due to the strength of his sobs and the sound of hostile and hideously amused questions being shouted at my back.

“What happened?” Simeon asked, hovering by Brayden’s side. “What did you—what do you think you did?”

Brayden buried his face in Sheila’s hair, still crying, and shoved his phone in Simeon’s general direction. My heart sank as soon as Simeon cringed. He looked up at me, hazel eyes big and worried, and held the phone out to me.

The original Snapchat image wasn’t on the screen, but a screenshot was embedded in the middle of an article of a popular gossip column the night before. The image was of me and Simeon embracing outside the diner, although you couldn’t see either of our faces. The caption read: My two coaches making out in public. I guess the NFL is more gay and bi friendly than we thought?

I tried to skim the article, which appeared to be a grown-ass adult attempting to analyze everything from our height to our sneakers in order to prove it was us, but my eyes were stuck on the picture. We looked so comfortable with each other. Frankly, we looked fucking in love. If this was a picture of a man and a woman holding each other in the middle of a rainstorm, it would have been a New York One Picture of the Day. Because it was two men, it was call for a full-on investigation and smear campaign.

Fuck them. Fuck all of them. No matter what they said, or how they used it, that picture was beautiful. Even if it got me dragged through the mud by my own team, the media, and my parents. My defiance reared up hot and angry, but the idea of entering the Predators’ locker room once again set my nausea rising.

“Brayden . . .” Simeon softened his tone and his accent, slowing things down from the usual flurry of words. “Did you know what would happen?”

“No!” Brayden finally ripped away from Sheila to face us. His face was swollen and puffy, and his usual meticulous clothing was rumpled. “I don’t even have that many friends on Snapchat! It was stupid, and I was mad, but I didn’t actually think . . . Like, I thought it’d just be us at the Center who would see it.” Another wave of sobs overtook him. “The kids here are the only friends I had, and now they won’t even look at me!”

It was time for me to throw in some comforting words, but I was frozen. I couldn’t think of a single goddamn thing to say. Simeon nodded slowly, but even he seemed to be at a loss for words. He kept looking down at the phone then over at me. His mouth set in a single grim stripe.

“What were you angry about?” Sheila asked, breaking the silence. “They’ve been so good with you. If it weren’t for Coach Bravo and Boudreaux, you would still be hiding in your shell.”

“Yeah, but also if they’d never told my dad that I snuck out and met my mom sometimes, he wouldn’t be threatening to take her back to court.” Brayden hiccupped and ripped an arm across his eyes. “My mom and dad hate each other so much and tried to do and say everything they could to hurt each other during the divorce. And it makes no sense because they cheated on each other. But she’s not supposed to come around when I’m with him, but . . .”

“You don’t have to explain anymore,” Simeon said. “I understand. And we tried to stay out of your family’s business, but when we saw you and your mom at the pier during the storm, we were worried. That you were going to get hurt, but also that you were spending time with an older adult we’d never seen before.”

Sheila nodded beside Brayden. “I would have reacted the same. Especially during such a bad storm. She shouldn’t have even had you on that pier.”

“That’s only because—”

“You don’t have to defend your mother to us, Brayden,” Simeon said. “But what would be nice is if you explained that you’re now fully aware that outing someone against their will is dangerous. And wrong.”

Brayden burst into an explanation, but my mind wandered away. Back to the ensuing conversation with my father, and to the moment in a few weeks when I’d have to face my team. Maybe I should make a statement, I thought dimly. Officially come out as bisexual now that the truth was out. Be an adult and handle this head-on instead of burying my head in the sand for weeks.

Accept the shit storm and do my best to bear the brunt of it before my next game. Everyone would be watching me now. And everyone would be waiting for me to fail.

“Let me talk to Coach Bravo alone,” Simeon said. “Why don’t you go sit with Ms. Sheila in the office, Bray?”

Brayden nodded, still not looking at me, and trailed behind her like a puppy.

“Don’t be angry with him.” Simeon put his hands on my shoulders and looked into my face. “He’s a kid with a pair of parents who are doing their best to put him in the middle of their drama, and he took matters into his own hands in the only way he could. It’s shitty, but . . . I get it.”

“I’m not angry. I’m not anything.”

Simeon took a deep breath. “Adrián, you’re freaking me out.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re not reacting.”

I glanced towards the window again. How many were out there now? Had any left or would they camp there all day?

“We should call Casey and Mel. I bet they’ve been trying to talk to us all night,” I mumbled. “Or maybe not. Maybe they just saw it and found out just like we did.”

“Adrián, stop worrying about our agents for a minute and look at me.”

He looked so fearful—for me. He’d already experienced this nightmare. This sense of helplessness and terror that everything he’d worked to build for the past nearly fifteen years, from the moment we’d started playing competitive football, had been for nothing. The contracts, the comradery, the fanbase and the brand we’d both worked to build—ruined by something neither of us could control. Wanting each other. Maybe even . . . more.

My chest clenched. God, there was definitely so much more between us, and I wasn’t even being given the chance to explore it. To figure out whether we would have continued discreetly sleeping together, or seeing each other, after we got back on the field. Maybe even after the season.

“I’ll fix this.”

I blinked. “What?”

Simeon forced a smile, but it was too big. Too manic. His eyes were a little too wide. “Boo, this is easy stuff. Your face isn’t in the picture. I can squash these rumors with a few words.”

My brow puckered. “Wait, what? Why?”

“Because you’re not ready for this,” he said bluntly. “I can see it in your face. It’s a mistake—”

“Me kissing you wasn’t a mistake. You were upset and I wanted you to feel better.”

The strain in Simeon’s expression intensified. He took a deep breath.

“Adrián, please. Just let me fix this. I don’t want you to go through what I went through for the past few months. Not when you just figured out who you are a few days ago.” His hands squeezed me gently. “And not when I know who you’re going back to in the next few weeks. There’s no way Rocky will let this slide.”

“Fuck Rocky,” I said harshly. “He’s nothing to me. But you—”

Simeon covered my mouth with his hand and closed his eyes very briefly. “Please just let me fix this, Adrián. We can figure out the rest later.”

Could I do it, though? Was I enough of a coward to let him go out there and lie?

“Please don’t expose what we have to those vultures before we can figure it out for ourselves,” he pleaded. “They’ll ruin it.”

And just like that, I caved. “Okay,” I croaked.

Simeon inclined his head in a sharp nod. He smiled bravely. “I got this, baby. But you’ll have to keep an open mind.”

I didn’t know what he meant, and at the moment I couldn’t process it. With every step he took towards the door, I felt farther away from him, and I panicked. My vision went funny, darkening at the sides, and my knees weakened. What was wrong with me? I’d played football in full pads on the field in over a hundred-degree heat. Why couldn’t I withstand this?

My eyes followed Simeon as he headed for the door, and I forced my feet to do the same. He held out a single hand to thwart me from going outside, but I pressed my ear to the door once he was on the other side.

“Well, good morning to y’all too.”

A cacophony of shouts answered his greeting, a jumble of questions about me, him, us, and how long we’d been keeping our relationship a secret. Simeon answered them all with a single booming laugh—a laugh he was famous for, and which quieted them all with the mere power of his charm.

“Come on, now, y’all,” he said in his usual jolly manner. “I woulda shut this foolishness down days ago if my phone hadn’t been dead and electricity out, but you gotta know better than this. A kid tweets because I got him in trouble with his parent, and y’all jump on the first crumb of gossip like some hungry-ass pigeons.”

“So you’re saying it’s not true?” someone shouted. “It sure looked like you two!”

“This is Brooklyn, man. You know how many out-and-proud gay dudes who are all big and jacked up there are round these parts? Get serious.” Another booming laugh, this one tinged with derision. “Now don’t get me wrong, do not get me wrong . . . Bravo is a good-looking man, but there’s a few major flaws with this here rumor. First off—I don’t fuck with football players. There’s only so much testosterone I can take, and I got enough.”

A collective laugh went up from the reporters.

“Second—Bravo is straighter than my granddaddy, and Paw Paw was a pastor.”

The laugh grew.

“Third . . . Y’all really think I forgot what that fool did to me?”

I sucked in a slow breath.

“Yeah, we’re working together right now and sharing meals, but that’s because we’re colleagues. We’re professionals. We have to plan for these doggone kids, and we’re taking it seriously. Other than that? It’s a wrap after we go back to work. I can be a man and treat him like an equal, but Adrián Bravo won’t never be nothing to me but yet another bigot. And nothing in the world will make me forget that.”

He’d planned to say these things. I knew he had, and I knew he didn’t mean all of it, even if I deserved his lifelong scorn. But deep down, he was right. And he wouldn’t forget what I’d done and said.

And it would be hard to come back from my actions and the declaration he was making in front of the world.

Chapter Fifteen

Simeon

“I guess you can say I’m disappointed with how things turned out.”

I was shirtless and drenched with sweat in the middle of my gym, a complete contrast to Mel in her sharp suit and tall black heels. With her towering over me, tall and strong and exuding irritation, I felt like a little kid who’d let his parent down. After speaking to my mother and auntie the previous night, the feeling was familiar. Except they’d watched my speech on whatever network they’d watched it on, and hadn’t believed a word of it.

They’d known I was half in love with that “little Puerto Rican boy” as my five-foot-nothing mama liked calling him. She thought his dimples were so cute, even if he needed to be “smacked in the face with a dick.” God, I missed her.

“Simeon, stop spacing out.”

“Sorry.” I went back to unlacing my sneakers. My socks were drenched with sweat after the grueling workout my trainer had put me through. “I don’t know what to say. They were trying to drag him, and I was trying to help.”

“Trying to help by calling him a bigot on a clip that would inevitably go viral?”

My stomach twisted. It’d been a week since my big disavowal of an alleged relationship between me and Adrián Bravo. A week since Yaritza had asked us to take the week off until the drama and media circus died down, and a week since I’d spoken to Adrián.

“I didn’t mean it that way,” I said quietly.

“Really? His agent called me screaming like someone had just snipped his balls. I never knew Casey Rose’s voice could go that high.”

Swallowing thickly, I kicked off one shoe and switched to the other. “Do you want me to apologize?”

“You may have to if we’re going to get this situation back under control. The League isn’t thrilled either, although they’re smart enough to understand why you said what you said. The Barons and the Predators are playing again in Week fourteen—”

“Oh my fucking God, I forgot about that.” I scrubbed my hands over my face. It was several weeks away, but it was still far too soon, when I hadn’t anticipated seeing Adrián on the field again until the next season.

“No one else has. That’s why the NFL is disappointed their plan to patch things up between your teams and hopefully lessen the aggression between fans didn’t go well.”

“Why?” I demanded. “I did what everyone wanted, right? Would they prefer I kept my mouth shut and let everyone know Adrián is bisexual?”

Mel crossed her arms over her chest. “So, the picture was of the two of you.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to. You said you didn’t want everyone to know Adrián is bisexual.”

Replaying my own words didn’t make it any less true. Abandoning my laces, I slumped forward with my head in my hands. “I screw everything up.”

“No, you don’t. But honey . . . you don’t think before you act or speak, even when your heart is in the right place.” Mel put a hand on my head, tilting my face up. “Now listen to me. I’m arranging for some photographers to hang out around the Center this week. It won’t be a media circus,” she hastily added when I shook my head. “And they’ll be stationed at the field for your last scrimmage with the kids. It’s important for them to see there are no hard feelings between you and Adrián.”

“Did you clear this with the Center and did they clear it with the parents?”

“They’re in the process of doing so now.”

I kicked off my shoe. “And you’re sure Adrián is gonna be there?”

“Casey said he was. Besides, Adrián Bravo doesn’t strike me as the type of person to not finish what he started.”

She was right, and I hoped it was true.

I crawled into the bathtub after Mel left, soaking in the water and willing my body to relax. It wasn’t likely to happen, but between the tension in my back and neck, and my constant teeth grinding, headaches had plagued me for days. My every thought and dream were full of nightmare scenarios where Adrián was harassed by his teammates due to Rocky egging them on, where he lost his endorsements, and also where he blamed me for it all. Regretted our game and our talks, and the way fucking had subtly shifted to simply wanting to spend time together. To maybe extending us spending time together beyond the end of our coaching at the Center.

The security system chimed, signaling Hendricks was home. In the past, if we had a night we’d take the opportunity to go out. Now, he spent a lot of time at Jasmine’s house and only went home to chill. Kicking back and taking it easy had never been my thing when there were so many hot queer dudes and easily conquered straight dudes to plow through the next morning, but now I could see the appeal. Especially if Adrián was kicking back with me.

“Knock, knock,” Marcus hollered. His footsteps boomed up the stairs. “Where you at?”

“In the bath!”

Marcus barreled in with Gavin right on his heels. Gavin had a black eye and a broken nose from the previous week’s game, but it didn’t seem to faze him. The dude was a warrior. If there was such thing as reincarnation, I was positive he’d been a fucking Viking or a Spartan in a previous life.

“What you need an ice bath for?” Marcus demanded. “You’ve been sitting on your ass for weeks.”

“Fuck you. My trainer’s been tearing my ass up for weeks in preparation for me hitting the turf again next week.”

Gavin sprawled on the sleek silver couch, long legs extending so far they still nearly reached the tub. But even with three football players in the room, it was still the size of Adrián’s master bedroom. The contrast of his apartment to the mansion I shared with Marcus was ridiculous, but . . . I liked the space. I liked the grounds, the pool, the personal bowling alley and movie room, and the fact that my bathroom was basically a spa. I’d been waiting for the time when I could invite Adrián back and take him on a tour, but that was likely never going to happen.

“How’s fuckboy?”

I sank lower in the water, but it was just a tub of ice so it did nothing to cover me. “Stop calling him that.”

“Why?” Gavin demanded shrewdly. “He your boyfriend?”

“No.”

“Then why do you care?”

“Because he’s not that bad, all right, man? I told you before.”

Gavin, rubbing his thumb over his split lip, glared at me. “I hate when transparent people think they can lie and that I’m stupid enough to believe it.”

Marcus laughed. I sneered at them both.

“Fine. You want me to admit it?” I kicked the button to drain the bath and threw a leg over the side. “We were starting to like each other, and that stupid picture was of us.”

“So his bisexual cat is out of his bisexual bag?” Marcus asked. “Guess he’ll figure out how it feels now.”

I snatched my towel and wrapped it around my waist, scowling. “Funny you should say that, M. I thought I wanted him to know how I felt, but now I just feel awful that he’s in this position. When it comes down to it, I don’t want him to be ostracized from his team. Can you fucking imagine how training camp would have been if the Barons were less tolerant?” I asked Gavin. “The jokes would have been unreal, and your ass would have been upside someone’s head on day one.”

“That is a fact,” Marcus said. “Some dudes acted a little funny, but at the end of the day most people didn’t really talk about it.”

“I told that to Noah, and he said them pretending it never happened is also a microaggression,” Gavin said. “I want to fuck the shit out of him when he starts ranting about social justice. Is that normal?”

“That’s how I get when Jasmine does it, so I vote yes.”

Marcus and Gavin gave each other pound, grinning. I rolled my eyes and walked out of the bathroom. “I don’t have the guts for y’all’s happy-and-in-love shit right now.”

“Because your boy Bravo doesn’t want to be happy and in love with you?” Marcus asked. “We were trying to comb social media for clues, but his accounts have been ghost town. Not a word about anything since you dismissed the rumor that you were bumping NFL uglies.”

I’d noticed the same thing and hadn’t known what to make of it.

“I’ve never seen you this bummed out,” Gavin said. “I’m starting to think you’re legit in love with this guy despite him being an actual worse asshole than me.”

“He’s not that bad,” I said sharply. “You guys don’t even know him.”

They exchanged looks while I yanked up my underwear. I knew exactly what they were thinking. Not only did I sound like a cliché, I was validating their suspicions.

“Fine, you want the truth?”

“Duh,” Marcus said.

I glared. “I like him. A lot. And if the situation was different and our careers weren’t riding on us making too many waves, I’d probably be looking to pursue an actual relationship with him.”

“Why? Just because you had some good sex?”

“No, it’s not just the sex. It’s—” I spun around, looking for my sweatpants. “Besides you two and my family, I don’t spend a lot of time with anyone. I don’t trust anyone anymore. And even before that shit happened, I didn’t think I could have a relationship without worrying someone was in it for my cash. After you two found people I started having hope for myself, but . . . you know how hard it is to meet people. Like really meet people.”

“Yeah, I know. That was my struggle for years.” Marcus was at least sympathetic as he sat on the edge of my bed. “But you really think Bravo is . . . good enough for you? I’m not blowing smoke up your ass when I say as far as rich-ass athletes go, you’re top-notch. One of the nicest cats I’ve ever met.”

“It’s true,” Gavin said. “It’s disgusting.”

I tugged up my sweatpants with a snap of the elastic against my waist. Their worried looks made me smile, and I remembered why they were being so overprotective. Less to do with giving me a hard time and more to do with them just worrying about me like they always did.

“If you really like him . . .”

I shook my head. “Nope, we’re not going there. I have a snowball’s chance in hell of having anything with Adrián Bravo but a quick fuck at random when we’re in the same hotel during the season. And even then, I’d be too terrified of someone seeing us together.”

“You’d be terrified? Not him?”

“That’s the funny thing. He seemed ready to let the world know the truth last week. It was me who rushed out to tell them it was all a lie.”

Gavin’s jaw dropped. Just like that, I could see his gears churning and him reevaluating the entire situation. And Adrián himself. Deciding to come out had been gut-wrenching for both of us, and we’d ultimately done it to take the situation into our own hands. Also, with Gavin, because he’d wanted a life with Noah.

Adrián had been willing to do the same, and I’d put a stop to it, because I didn’t want to be responsible for his downfall.

For the first time, I wondered how he’d felt about me taking matters into my own hands.

Adrián

I got to the Center early, hoping to regain my bearings before Simeon arrived, but he was already there. That strong body was beautifully showcased in a pair of thin joggers and a baseball T-shirt that made it clear his shoulders were in competition for width with the football field.

“Hey,” I said.

His eyes lit up, face creasing with a big smile. There was no way he’d meant the things he’d said if he was looking at me this way. I refused to believe it, no matter what the voice in the back of my head was whispering. And my own teammates who’d been texting me nonstop about him calling me out after I’d “manned up and put in work with his gay ass for almost two months.”

And I’d bit my tongue and stayed quiet. Like a coward.

“How’ve you been?” he asked, shrugging off his backpack and stepping into the rec room. “I haven’t heard from you.”

“It’s not like you tried to reach out.”

“I know.” Simeon closed the door to the rec room and leaned against it. “I thought maybe . . . you needed some space from me.”

“Why?”

“Because I said a bunch of awful things about you in front of journalists.”

I nodded. “Yeah. And they were true.”

Simeon’s generous mouth flattened into a line. He glanced at the windows then at the clock before jerking his head at the storage room. “We need to talk.”

“About what?”

“Just come on. I don’t want anyone busting in on us.”

The chances of that were slim since the rec center was rarely used at this time of day, and Yaritza was having a meeting with some of the new counselors. Even so, I followed him and shut the door once we were both inside.

He leaned heavily against the opposite wall, a glimmer of sunlight from the high thin window illuminating the red and golden highlights in his hair. When he flashed that crooked smile, abashed and almost shy, the knot that had formed in my chest over the past week dissolved.

“Fuck, I missed you.”

“I missed you too, boo.” His crooked smile grew. “Seems silly, eh? Suddenly a week of not talking is hard.”

“It’s not silly. We went from straight up walking on sunshine to being cold-turkey cut off from each other.”

“Does that mean you were suffering from Boudreaux withdrawal?”

“Yeah. It does. Sex aside, I missed you, dude. I never expected you to be at the top of my favorites, but you’re the one I want to text or call anytime anything hap—”

Simeon crossed the distance between us in one step and pushed me up against the door. My lips eased into a grin, hands going up to his shoulders. All the darkness in this storage closet was swept away by the power of him softly brushing our mouths together. It was barely anything, but I moaned against him with shaking hands and a galloping heart.

I flicked my tongue out, coaxing his to slide against mine, and gladly lost my mind to the feel of him exploring my mouth. He leaned into me harder, causing the door to slam in the frame. It was hard to care with his crotch pressing against mine as his hands slid down to grip my ass while I tangled my fingers in his hair.

There was so much I wanted to do to him before this day ended. Our last time at the Center together. Our last reason to spend time alone together. But all I could do was worship his mouth and wish for unattainable nonsense.

“You’re making this so hard, Bravo.”

I tilted my head against the door, breathing hard as he mouthed kisses along my jaw and down my neck. “What?”

“Trying not to catch feelings.”

“I thought we agreed it was too late for that.”

Simeon’s laugh rumbled in my ears. “You said it was too late. I was still trying to play myself like this was just us fucking, and it would be okay to say bye-bye.”

I grabbed a handful of his hair and jerked his face back to mine. He instantly leaned in for another kiss, and I was too weak to dodge it. We needed to have words, but right now I couldn’t handle not having his taste in my mouth and his hands on my body. The desperate sound I released when he pulled away would have been shameful if I had any shame about how badly I wanted him.

“Kids are gonna be here soon,” he panted against me. “And I’m really fucking hard, so maybe we should stop.”

“Will you come over after the scrimmage?”

Simeon’s eyes flicked down. I gripped him tighter.

“Please? I can’t—I just . . . I just need to extend this a little bit longer.”

“It’s not a good idea,” he whispered.

“I don’t give a fuck. I need you, Simeon. I dream about you. Just let me have this before you cut me off.”

His gaze snapped up to me again. He opened his mouth to speak, but his lower lip trembled and no sound came out. I kissed him again, hard.

“Okay,” he breathed. “I’ll come over.”

It took every ounce of self-control I had to drag myself away from him, and all the thoughts of what I wanted to do to him, and prepare for the game.

To the kids’ credits, they all acted completely normal, except for Brayden, who couldn’t quite meet my eyes. I refused to discuss the situation with a kid, or to pull him aside and tell him that what he did was okay, so I settled for treating him the same as always. Pointers on the game peppered in with wise-cracks about his less-frequent-than-usual wisecracks until everything seemed normal.

And what do you fucking know? Our kids won.

“So, I guess we’re never gonna see you guys again,” Delilah said bluntly.

They’d celebrated hard for thirty minutes as the photographers captured everything, and we were now huddled together in a circle. Most of them were still grinning their excitement, and their celebrity status, since their win would be all over the news and YouTube in a while since it was our last day of coaching, but Delilah and Brayden were visibly bummed.

“Nope,” Simeon said. “This has been a real trip, us coaching y’all, and this won’t be the last time we’re face-to-face.”

“You’re probably just saying that,” Delilah said. “So we won’t act dumb.”

Simeon wagged a finger at her. “Look here, young lady, you’re blowing our temporary farewell.”

“And he’s not lying,” I piped up. “We already talked about coming back and planning an event for the Center after the season.”

The kids began asking simultaneous questions, but Simeon held up his hands. “Relax, get yourselves a cool drink, and you’ll hear all about it in time. Right now, just focus on all that teamwork that helped you win.”

We all said the last of our temporary good-byes before Simeon and me played our usual game of dodge-the-photogs and dove into separate cars before meeting back at my place a while later. It was barely an hour, but it was long enough for my desire for him to turn into a live thing—churning and churning inside of me restlessly until I was jittery and pacing.

When he finally knocked on the door, I sprinted to it and dragged him inside to draw him into a kiss. He laughed against my mouth, probably wanting to drop a joke about how needy I was being after weeks of backing away from his sweet lips. He was right, and I deserved every joke, but right then I just needed to feel him against me and bask in the fact that he was here.

“Mmm,” he said after pulling away. “Could get used to a greeting like that.”

Grinning, I dragged him backwards and towards the stairs. “I’m not done yet.”

“Oh yeah?” Simeon let me tug him along, smiling broadly. “Is that serious conversation you wanted to have part of it?”

“Nah, not yet. I want to do something else for you first.”

The way Simeon’s eyes darkened, and the way he dragged his teeth over his lower lip, made me wonder if he knew what I had in mind. He was breathing fast by the time I pushed him onto the edge of my bed. I knelt in front of him, grinning my cocky-as-fuck grin while tugging his joggers and underwear down.

“You sure you know what you’re doing with the goods, Bravo?” Simeon asked, voice low and husky as I wrestled his pants over his sneakers. “Don’t tell me you been practicing.”

I snorted and braced my hands on his thighs, digging my fingers into the tight muscle. “Been jerking off thinking about it, if you call that practice.”

“I don’t, but I’m here to watch you make a mess.” Simeon slid his hand into my hair and jerked me closer to his erection. “Get it.”

I don’t know what possessed me to try to take him down to the root, beyond pure desperation and horniness, but I did it and instantly gagged. My throat throbbed and my eyes teared, but the languid groan that came from Simeon made it worthwhile.

“Go slow,” he uttered above me. “Nice and slow.”

With both his hands lightly bracing the back of my head, I took him in deep once again. Slower this time. Just enough to enjoy the taste of his precum already filling my mouth, salty and tangy and better than I’d expected, as well as the smell of his musk and sweat.

“Mmm. Yeah, love,” Simeon breathed. “Just like that.”

Because I was a slut for praise, his hoarse words spurred me on. I may not have known what the hell I was doing, but I was damn sure gonna give him a good time. Mimicking what I’d watched him do to me time and time again, I worked him with my hand and mouth, stroking up each time I pulled off him with a wet slurp. He’d been right about me making a huge damn mess, but it had me so turned on that I found myself grinding my own erection against the air.

Simeon inched farther onto the bed, coaxing me to follow, and lay back with his thighs spread and sneakered feet pressing into the mattress. On any other day, I would have had some words about him disrespecting my bed with street shoes, but there was something painfully sexy about Simeon Boudreaux in my bed bare-assed naked except for a pair of Jordans.

I had serious issues.

“Come up here,” he said. “Get back to work.”

Not needing to be told twice, I lay on my stomach with my arms braced under his thighs for leverage and my ass in the air. I serviced his dick while grinding my own against the bed, and moaned around his length once he started bucking his hips.

Simeon in the zone turned into Simeon void of encouraging comments as he vibrated beneath me while grunting and swearing in a thickening accent. He got rougher on me too. Fisting his hands in my hair and riding my face until I had to pull away to catch my breath.

“You’re a natural,” he breathed. “Almost made me come.”

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and grinned. “Isn’t that the point?”

“Not when I want you inside me.”

Point taken.

I flipped him onto his stomach, not missing his smirk, and watched as he assumed the position. Forearms folded before him, thighs spread and knees digging into the bed, and beautiful ass raised just for me. I ran my hand over one of his smooth ass cheeks, squeezing, and then slapping it hard.

“Can I tell you something?”

Simeon looked over his shoulder, one eyebrow arched and a dirty smile firmly in place. “You can do whatever you want right now.”

I smacked his ass again, loving how his mouth fell open and his eyes slid shut at the sensation. “Even before all this shit started, I was obsessed with this ass of yours.” Running my hands up the firm rounded flesh, I fanned my fingers out and dragged my nails along his back. “I’d find myself staring you down and wondering how the hell it’s fair that someone could be so good-looking. Everything from those lips to your skin to that ass.”

Simeon was biting his lower lip and giving me the heavy-lidded stare that made my dick pulse. “And you never thought that was . . . a little queer?”

“I tried not to analyze what it meant.” I stopped caressing him just long enough to swipe the lube from my bedside table. “I just knew that I was fixated on you, and it pissed me off. But now? Now this ass is mine. You are mine.”

He held my gaze a moment longer then exhaled slowly and dropped his head down to the bed. Pushing his ass back to rub against my swollen length, he said, “Let me feel it then.”

Something about the throb in his voice got to me just enough for my hands to tremble as I lubed up. They kept shaking when I breached him and slid into the core, encasing myself in all that hot tight flesh. I planted my hands on his ass cheeks again, spreading them apart so I could watch myself pump in and out of him with slow shifts of my hips. He rocked back on me, a signal for me to go faster, and clenched around my dick when I kept going slow.

“Shit,” I breathed, tilting my head back as he twisted his hips and fucked himself on me. “I could die right now and be real okay with it.”

Simeon looked at me again, gaze scanning me with heat that scorched my skin. “Better not. I have long-term plans for you and getting a lot more of this.”

“Me too, gorgeous.”

I jerked him upright, enjoying the look of surprise that washed over his face every time I effortlessly manhandled him. Simeon may have been used to being with other men, but he’d never been with one like me—a linebacker who doubled as a wall of ruthless muscle. And he loved it. I could tell. Especially because I could hold him up against me while still moving in and out of his ass with nothing more than an arm crossed over his chest and a hand bracing against the headboard.

“Adrián,” he panted. “Pretty sure you were born to be a bomb-ass top.”

“Maybe just yours.”

He gave me another one of those wild-eyed looks, and I responded with a kiss. Sliding our tongues together and then sucking on his while our lower bodies moved together. It was perfect. He was perfect. We were perfect together.

An explosion of urgency went off inside me. I shoved him up against the headboard so he was holding on to the edge with my hands covering his, and moved faster. His ass bounced back on me, milking me with a rhythm that had my eyes sliding shut and my mouth hanging open. The bliss seeping into every pore of my body was humbling, and it blotted out everything else in my mind.

The only thing I could think clearly, through the rough gasps for air and the frantic string of curses pouring out of my mouth the closer I came to my peak, was that I never wanted him to leave.

I shouted his name when I came, and he gasped out mine over and over after I pushed him onto his back so I could take his dick in my mouth again. With everything raw and frayed from the orgasm that had ripped out of me, I bobbed my head with no care about my gag reflex or how deep he was going. When his semen coated my tongue, I kept sucking because I wanted more and didn’t stop until he shuddered and pushed me away.

We lay on the bed breathing hard until he exhaled loudly and stretched.

“You’re pretty good at sex,” he said.

“Yeah, I know.”

Simeon smacked my thigh, but grinned broadly. “Is this the part where we talk? ’Cause I don’t know if I have the brain cells for it right now. You sucked ’em out.”

I burst out laughing so hard the bed shook. He rolled onto his side with a grin and draped an arm over me. Us together in this bed, sweaty and reeking of sex, was natural and good, and something I didn’t want to have to miss. Ever.

“I want to keep seeing you,” I said bluntly. “I don’t care if we have to sneak around.”

Simeon rubbed his thumb against my clavicle, half of his face hidden by a pillow. “Like . . . be boyfriends?”

There was a hint of a snicker in his voice. I didn’t care.

“Whatever you want to call it. I definitely would prefer you didn’t fuck anyone else, or I’d be fighting dudes every weekend. My ass would stay on suspension.”

Simeon bit his lip, but it did nothing to disguise the smile creeping over his face. “Adrián Bravo wants to be my boyfriend.”

I poked his stomach. “Come on. Be serious.”

“Okay.” He tried to school his face and failed, laughing again.

“Simeon, please?”

“Please, what?”

“Please give me a chance. Let me keep seeing you. I’ve never felt like this about anyone before. I know I fucked up in the past, and I know you’re not gonna just get over it—”

“It’s not about that anymore,” he said. “That’s what I wanted to tell you before. All that shit I said to the reporters was how I used to feel about you. Back before I knew you were a confused queer boy lashing out because he wanted me.”

I could tell by his teasing tone that he expected me to launch into banter, but I nodded. “I was. And I did. And I still want you. Do I have to beg?”

Simeon looked at me sideways. “Hush, boy. You know I don’t need you to beg.”

“Then what do you need from me?”

He closed his eyes and pressed his face harder into the pillow. “I need you to tell me I won’t ruin your career by being in your life. Because no matter how hard I try to be discreet, I know somehow . . . I’ll screw it up. ’Cause that’s me, boo. I’m a mess. A lovable mess, but still a goddamn mess.”

“And what the fuck am I? I didn’t even know I was bi.”

Simeon laughed. “A lot of people don’t figure that shit out from jump. It’s not just you.”

“Still. We’re both messy. Can’t we just throw caution to the wind and be messy together?” I drew him in for a brief kiss. “And it might be kinda hot. Secretly meeting up before a game, dicking you out hard and then blitzing you the next day on the field.”

“And then taking out all that aggression and adrenaline on each other after? Mmm. Actually that does sound kinda hot.”

“Because it is hot. As long as you don’t get all caught up in your feelings after we beat you guys when we play again in a couple of months.”

“Keep dreaming, Bravo.”

We kissed again, longer this time, before we backed off just enough to speak.

“Gimme an answer, Boudreaux. Just tell me one way or the other. You gonna give me a shot?”

His breath whooshed out in a shuddering gush against my face. I held him tighter, wanting to squeeze out his fears and replace them with the reassuring weight of my arms.

“Okay,” he said after a while. “Let’s give each other a shot. But you gotta stop calling me Booty, and never try to joke with Gavin. Like ever, man. Trust me.”

My laugh bordered on hysterical, but I didn’t care. I didn’t even care how goofy I was acting when I rolled him so he was stretched atop me with our faces crushed together. This was as close to relationship goals as I’d ever gotten, and I was fucking happy.

“We’re gonna be awesome, Simeon. For real.”

“How do you know?”

“Because . . .” I squeezed him in a bear hug. “Something that feels this good can’t go wrong.”

Chapter Sixteen

Simeon

Fall started with a hurricane and the end rapidly approached like a damn tornado. Four out of six games leading up to the holidays were away, and after my mini break I felt ill-prepared and out of shape.

Hits seemed to impact me harder, my ears rang a little bit longer, and sometimes I had to blink several times while on my back in the middle of the field before I could regain my bearings. Had I gotten that soft in the first two months of the season, or was I distracted by . . . other things? Things like spending every scrap of a moment that wasn’t at the training facility or in a shitty hotel room with Adrián Bravo.

We’d been together, secretly, for over a month, and it was going strong. We met up on off days, usually him coming over or me sneaking into his building, and fucked each other senseless for hours before embarking on a Netflix-and-chill. And in a few hours, he was meeting my mother for a belated Thanksgiving on Long Island. The holiday had to be postponed since we’d both had away games on the day of.

“Yo, what if she fucking hates me?”

“Don’t curse around her, and she won’t.”

“You think I’m suicidal, man? If I curse around my mom, she’d beat my fucking ass.”

I smirked. “Man, I’d love to see that.”

“I bet.”

Adrián was sitting on the floor of my kitchen and staring in the glass door of the oven at the pork shoulder he’d been roasting for hours. He’d also taken to swatting me every time I opened the door to pull off the crispy bits that were already done.

“Gotta say, you cooking is definitely good for sucking up.”

“Well, I figured I had to do something besides looking cute and making coquito while your ass preps an entire turkey.”

“I dunno, boo. That coquito was like magic in my mouth.”

“That’s also what you said last night, so I dunno how valuable that statement is.”

I smacked the back of his head, laughing. He grinned up at me, big brown eyes twinkling and dimples popping with that little-boy mischief. It was hard not to jump him right then and there, but I’d just forced him to change out of his basketball shorts and jersey into pants and a button-down. My mother wasn’t trying to have Thanksgiving dinner with some boy looking like he just came from the park.

“You really think she won’t hate me?”

“You’re fine, Bravo. Stop being insecure.”

He pushed himself up with a grunt. The shirt had managed to stay impeccably unwrinkled, but I noticed he was still barefoot.

“Did you make the rest of this shit too?” he asked, sweeping a hand at the covered platters on the counter. “It just appeared suddenly.”

“I ordered the cranberry sauce and dressing from a restaurant.”

“Dressing?” he wrinkled his nose. “You fucking with some Ranch?”

“No, dumbass. What you call stuffing, I call dressing.” He flipped me off, and I laughed before continuing. “My mom is gonna cook some other stuff when she gets here because that’s how she is.”

“Okay, but who else is coming? There’s a million plates on that table.”

“Dude, there are eight plates. Me, you, my mama, Yaritza, Marcus, his girlfriend, Gavin, and his boyfriend.”

Adrián outright cringed. A mote of guilt caught into my excitement of having all my favorite people, minus my auntie Ashley who hadn’t been able to make the trip across the country, together. I hadn’t warned him about the others, but I hadn’t thought I needed to. Everyone coming knew about our relationship, but it was true that only Yaritza really knew him.

“I’m gonna go call my parents,” he said abruptly. “I’ll be down by the time everyone is here.”

“Why are you being nervous?”

“I’m not nervous.”

I snagged his hand before he could rush from the room and pushed him up against the doorway. It’d been established early on that Adrián was aggressive and dominant in bed, but there were times when I liked the reversal. Catching him off guard and dragging him into a sloppy kiss until he was vibrating with the need to be inside me.

As tempting as it was to do that now, and wipe his mind of worries, we only had about ten minutes before the car arrived with my mother. I kissed the corner of his mouth, then his dimples, finishing off the worship with a nip at his lower lip. He smiled, unable to help it or the way his eyes lighting up and crinkling at the sides spelled out the extent of his adoration of me.

“Hey,” I said gruffly. “You’re sweet and funny, and you’re clearly pretty infatuated with me. They’ll like you.”

“But—”

“No buts, Bravo. Not until everyone leaves, and you spend a few hours playing with mine.”

Adrián’s nostrils flared. He dragged his teeth over his lower lip, eyelids growing heavy, and dick swelling as I pressed against it.

“I can dig you out real quick. Right now.”

“Nah.”

He reversed our positions, competitive spirit flaring with a feral smile, and backed me up against the wall. “Come on. Let me hit it before your fam arrives and sends me running.”

I snorted and bucked my hips against his. “You being a baby about this ain’t really stirring my arousal.”

“I bet this big dick is, though.”

Laughter boomed out of me before I could help it, but Adrián was a good sport. He just kept grinning and rubbing all up on me, trying to woo me away from my self-control because he knew what a thirstbucket I was for his pipe game.

“You nasty little bastard.”

“Little?”

I laughed harder and shoved my way past him. He made a mournful puppy sound and pressed himself to my back, squeezing and burying his face in my neck with a deep inhale. Resisting him was futile. Or it seemed that way until my security system went off, indicating someone at the gate.

Adrián scowled. “I’m really gonna go call my parents this time.”

“Uh-huh. You better not stay up there.”

“I won’t.”

He didn’t sound convincing, but he’d been too worried about meeting my mother to bail out on her. I hoped, anyway.

After watching his cute ass for a few seconds, I buzzed the gate and met my mother at the door. Her face broke into a huge smile when she saw me, and I grabbed her up in a huge bear hug.

“Simeon, do not pick me up, child.”

“Sorry, Mama.”

I set her down, still smiling so hard my face hurt. She was stunning as always. Black hair in a shorter, sharper style than I remembered, and wearing a black and silver dress, heels, and a huge furry scarf over her leather jacket. Thank Lord I’d convinced Adrián to change.

“You look great.”

“Thank you, honey,” she said, walking inside while carefully unwrapping her scarf. “Where’s that boy of yours?”

“Making a phone call.”

She swung around to pin me with a side eye. “Now? He knew I was coming, didn’t he?”

Oh shit. Just what they needed. An already insulted Mama Boudreaux.

“I don’t think he knew the exact time. He’s calling his mom.”

“Uh-huh.” Joanne Boudreaux, queen of trash talk and skeptical tones. “Mmm. Well, tell him to get his self down here and make sure he’s dressed right. I don’t want to see any tennis shoes at the table.”

“I already told him, Mama.”

“Good. Marcus, Jasmine, and the boys will be here in a minute.”

“How do you know?” I asked, following her across the entry hall. “I haven’t spoken to him all day.”

“Marcus sent me a text.”

I should have known. Marcus loved being a second son.

“All right, but you need to be nice to Adrián,” I cautioned. “He’s scared as hell of messing up in front of you.”

“He should be, after talking all that social media mess. You know I will not hesitate to give him the business if I need to.” She hung her scarf and jacket on the coatrack and clacked across the room towards the kitchen. “Are you cooking already? It best not be catered, boy. I will buy my own groceries and cook my own meals.”

And she damn sure would, even after a long flight in high heels, so I wasn’t going to fight this battle. “There’s enough for you to do if you’re so set on it. But Adrián is already making a pork shoulder. Should be ready to come out.”

She went from skeptical to impressed while skeptical, which was an upgrade. I grinned and jogged up the stairs to find my wayward . . . whatever he was. Man? It sounded too permanent, considering we hadn’t yet put a label on our relationship, but I was pretty sure it fit. And I was pretty sure we were permanent, given the idle murmurings about him really liking my house. I liked it too. Even better if he was in it more often. Especially since Marcus was fixing to move out once he and Jasmine got married this summer.

“Knock, knock,” I said, opening my bedroom door. “Are you—”

Adrián wasn’t exactly as I’d expected to find him. Instead of pacing while he spoke, as was his usual MO, he was sitting in the corner with his knees up and his head tilted against the wall. One hand gripped the phone while the other balled into a fist.

Concern shot through me. I wondered if I should leave, but one glance at his tight mouth and narrowed eyes prompted me to sit next to him on the floor.

“Yeah,” he said flatly into the phone. “I get it.”

“What’s going on?” I murmured.

Adrián’s jaw clenched. He put his phone on speaker so I could hear the conversation.

“—not that I don’t support you, mijo. I love you, and I saw this coming. I did. The way you always talked about Simeon—”

Holy shit, he’d come out to her. My heart seized. I grabbed his hand and brought it to my lips.

“—I knew there was something there. Some obsession or fixation, whatever you want to call it. And you know it doesn’t matter to me, you can’t help who you want to be with.”

“I can’t,” he said in the same dull voice. “And I do want to be with him. I want to live with him.”

He raised his eyes to meet my own as he said it. There was misery there, real unhappiness, but a defiance aimed at me as well. Daring me to reject his declaration. And his invitation to my house. He was such a punk. Even while being a sweetheart. I smiled against his hand and felt the fist loosen.

“Adrián . . .” A warning edge crept into her tone, one I knew well from my own mother. “How will you keep this a secret if you’re living with him?”

“I dunno, but I’m not waiting until I retire to shack up with him. Unless he doesn’t want me shacking up with him.”

I bit his knuckles. He cracked the tiniest smile.

“So, you’re saying to me that your reputation no longer matters? Your father’s feelings?”

Ah-ha. And here the bullshit was. The reason he was coiled and ready to snap despite her appearing to be overall accepting of his queerness. It was okay as long as it was hidden. Discreet.

“I’m supposed to ignore my own happiness and sneak around forever just to spare his feelings?” Adrián demanded. “Let’s say we did wait until I retire. Fine. But Dad would still find out after that. Or you thought I’d keep Simeon a secret until I fucking die?”

“Shhh,” I murmured, pressing closer to him.

“Nah, fuck this.” Adrián slammed his fist back against the wall. “This is bullshit. Just because Simeon’s a man—”

“Do you not understand your father will die of a heart attack?”

“So, I’m supposed to die of fucking heartbreak? Pretend I have no one in my life or that I have no family, because you can be damn sure I’m spending my holidays with him. Not you evil people.”

She scoffed and sounded so much like my mother it was eerie. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“I’m saying, though! How come I get to meet his mother, and he can never meet mine?”

Heavy silence followed his plaintive question. I pressed my face to his neck, trying to soothe away the anger I could feel building inside him and wanting him to know he had me, my family, my friends.

“Ay dios . . .” A gusty sigh broke through the line. “Okay, querido. Let me speak to your father.”

Adrián sagged against me, a big muscular marionette whose strings had been cut. “Thanks, Mami. I love you.”

“I love you too, Adrián.” A pause. “And I support your relationship with my son, Simeon.”

I sat up straight. “Sorry, Mrs. Bravo. I swear I just walked in a few seconds ago.”

“Mmhm. In any case, thank you for forgiving his behavior. We didn’t raise him to be a bully.”

“I’m sure you didn’t, Mrs. Bravo.”

Adrián’s jaw dropped. “Geez. Already bonding over my bad behavior.”

I nudged him and kept talking. “Also, I know it won’t be easy for your family. My own had . . . a rough time when I came out. So, if you ever want to talk to anyone . . .” Volunteering my mother to be someone’s queer mom counselor was suicide, but I rushed out, “Maybe you could reach out to my mother?”

“Maybe I’ll do that. Thank you for the suggestion. You’re much sweeter than my troublemaker deserves.”

“Wow,” Adrián muttered. “Already you’re the favorite.”

We laughed and hung up after she said her farewell. Adrián went slack against me, his big body weighing me down until we thumped against the carpet all wound together.

“Ugh, that was awful.”

“She seemed supportive. I don’t know about your father, though.”

“My father will probably ice me out. No lie.”

My instinct was to object for no reason other than to soothe him, but I didn’t. He was probably right, at least for a few years. If I judged by the reactions of some of the men, and the more religious people, in my own family, people tended to act betrayed to find out they share blood with a queer. Like it would infect them. Or worse, that we’d somehow tricked them into thinking we were normal. It was really telling how some people viewed us as subhuman.

“Your father seems like an ass, anyway.”

“True.” Adrián sighed against the side of my face. “I’m glad you were here.”

“So you could indirectly declare your love for me?”

“Heh. Yeah, that too. So, am I moving in or what? I could fuck with a bowling alley and an Olympic pool and blowjobs every morning.”

The laugh that rushed out of me was full of relief and incredulity. He was so ridiculous. So fucking absurd. And I loved him. I absolutely loved him. It didn’t even matter that I’d hated him not even three months ago. What mattered now is that it was hard to sleep without him in my bed, and the very idea of moving on without him had the capacity to tear apart my heart.

“So, you’re just in it for the dick-sucking?”

“And the ass-fucking.”

I bit his ear, eliciting a low moan instead of a pained yelp. “I want you to move in, but not now. After the Super Bowl.”

“Duh. No one was trying to pack boxes between games every week.”

“I like how this is turning into the most unromantic chain of events ever.”

“Simeon, we started fucking as a dare. We’re not romantic.”

I bit him again, relishing the way my linebacker, the one who was on his way to bypassing NFL records for most sacks and interceptions, reacted to such a minor touch. Maybe I’d use it against him on the field when our teams played next week.

“I dunno. You’re kind of romantic. After you come out, I think I’m going to write a big ole Facebook post about how sweet you are on the downlow.”

Adrián, of course, loved this idea. “Bet. I’ll pose for selfies being cute as fuck. Turn it into a book and make bank.”

“Lord Jesus. Forget it. You ruined it.”

I got to my feet. He smacked my ass.

“Come on. My mom is about to flip when she sees I bought stuffing from some restaurant on Long Island, and I’ll have to talk her down by telling her I saved the giblets and drippings for gravy.”

“What about the rest of your crew?”

The door beeped to signal Marcus’s arrival with Jasmine, Noah, and Gavin. Adrián groaned again, louder, and I knew it was at the thought of eating a meal while Gavin Brawley gave him the ice grill all night. Thankfully, Noah had promised to run interception.

“You ready?”

Adrián sighed tragically and checked himself in the mirror, running a hand over his shaved face and then adjusting his clothes. He claimed to not want to be around anyone, but everything he was doing made it quite clear that he wanted to make a good impression.

“Ready.”

I nodded, watching him start for the door. At the last moment, I pressed myself to his back and whispered in his ear, “I love you, Bravo.”

He turned for a kiss at the side of my mouth. “I know.”

Completely unsurprised, I pushed him out the door.

Adrián

There were more than eight people attending this post-Thanksgiving shindig, and I felt betrayed.

Jasmine, Marcus Hendricks’s ridiculously gorgeous fiancée, and the giant rock on her finger, had brought along her parents. And Noah, Gavin Brawley’s boyfriend, who looked kind of like a school teacher who would get really dirty once he took off his glasses and tie, had brought his dad. There was also a child present. If I went by the black curls and huge brown eyes, he had to be related to Jasmine. I had no idea what his name was, because as Joanne Boudreaux made all the necessary introductions, I blanked out. Half because of nerves and half because Gavin was still looking at me like he wanted to break my neck.

Or maybe that was just his face.

“I’m Adrián,” I added pointlessly, when she was done.

“We know who you are, baby,” Joanne said.

I know she probably wasn’t trying to make me feel like an asshole, but my face burned anyway. Simeon thankfully didn’t come to my rescue, and went about collecting all the dishes everyone had brought over. It was a good distraction mostly because I felt like I’d gotten over on everyone by roasting a big-ass pernil even though I could legit eat the entire thing by myself.

“Not a green-bean casserole in sight,” Simeon said, nodding his approval at Noah and Gavin. “Good job, y’all.”

“I don’t even know what that is,” Gavin said flatly. “I’m not a holiday person.”

“You weren’t one,” Noah said. “Holidays with me are the best. Me and my dad—”

“Eat Entenmann’s pies,” Jasmine filled in. “And watch the parade on mute.”

She and Noah glared at each other before they snickered. I had no idea what they were talking about, so I pulled at my collar and counted the seconds until everyone either filed into the kitchen or the theater to watch TV.

Judging from the easy chatter, everyone was acquainted with each other. The best course of action was to pick the group I needed to impress the most and stick by them, so I followed Simeon, his mom, Jasmine, and her mother, Yvette, to the kitchen rather than follow the guys to watch football.

“Oh man,” Jasmine moaned, practically floating to the counter where someone had set the pernil. “What delightful creature made this?”

“Adrián did,” Simeon said, grinning all proud-like. “I didn’t know he could cook until today when he started tearing it down in the kitchen.”

“I have a whole bag of tricks I haven’t shown you yet,” I said with a wink.

“Like not being a dickhead on social media?”

Gavin had come in behind us and muttered the comment, but it still cracked through the room like a gunshot. I set my jaw and looked back at him, wanting really badly to talk shit to him, but faltered when he just smirked.

“Young man, this is not the day to start all that fussin’,” Joanne said before anyone could get a word in. “And I won’t have you using that language either.”

Gavin, broad as me in a charcoal button-down that had to have been tailored for his biceps, shrugged. “Sorry.”

He sounded the exact opposite of sorry. Joanne pinned him with a stern glare before nodding towards the door. “Why don’t you all go to the theater? There’s beer, lemonade, cool drinks, and wine.”

If Jasmine and Yvette seemed reluctant to go, Simeon was outright defiant. He crossed his arms over his chest, brow furrowed, and stared at his mother.

“Mama.”

“Uh-uh. You too.”

My heart jolted, and I looked at Simeon with panic. She caught my expression and pursed her lips.

“I will not bite you, child.”

“I don’t think you will, ma’am, but I already had it with my own mother today so . . .”

“He came out to her,” Simeon said helpfully. “Uh, and I sorta said maybe you could be her mom-of-a-queer-athlete life coach. Sorry.”

To my surprise, Joanne just nodded. “That’s fine. I’m pretty sure I have her number.”

“Why do you . . .”

She cut me off with a wave of her hand and seamlessly transitioned to shooing Simeon out of the kitchen. “We’ll call you if we need you, Simeon. Now go talk to Gavin before I do.”

Simeon glanced between her and the door, and seemed to decide that having words with his besties was more pertinent than rescuing me from his mother. It was the right choice, especially since Gavin’s way of looking at me made me want to pop off and smack the shit out of him.

“Gavin won’t let up for a while,” Joanne said once her son left the kitchen. “Learn to take it in stride. I love that boy like he were my own blood, but he is damn hardheaded when he’s being overprotective.”

“I’m not gonna hurt Simeon,” I said. “I know I messed up—”

“Yes indeed.”

My stomach tied up in a knot, and I ran my hands through my hair. “I don’t know what to say to convince anyone. This whole thing was probably a bad idea.”

Joanne arched an eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest. “Looky here, Adrián, it’s not every day my son wants me to meet someone he’s seeing. So, this is a special occasion, yeah?”

“I mean, I guess . . .”

“No guessing. It is.” She inhaled slowly, lips pursing again. “I love my son, but his judgment isn’t always what it should be. He is talented and sweet and handsome, but he can also be a damn fool. Especially nowadays when he should know his every action will end up in the spotlight, and he still makes silly mistakes.”

“Because he’s too trusting,” I blurted out without thinking. The arch look she gave me made it clear that was also her concern, and that the concern was also aimed at me. “But I’m not—look, I’m not gonna be another mistake. I don’t think so, anyway. He knows how much I regret the way I acted. I fuc—freaking think back on it and regret it every day. And he trusts me now.”

“But why should he trust you is my question,” she pressed. “Why should I trust you with my son? Marcus and Gavin with their brother?”

“Because . . .” I glanced at the door again, waiting for Gavin or Simeon or whoever the hell else to appear. “Because . . .”

She made that face again—the raised eyebrow while her mouth pursed—while spreading out the store-bought food Simeon had purchased. I couldn’t tell if she was more disdainful of me or restaurant hors d’oeuvres and sides. Being up there with crab puffs wasn’t a good feeling, and I was starting to think I was on the precipice of making her lose her patience.

“Mrs. B, I’m so scared of messing up again that I’m carrying around multiple mirrors to watch my ass.” She burst out laughing, clapping her hands, and I heaved a sigh of relief. “Seriously, though! I feel blessed that he even gave me a shot after all my nonsense. I’m doing everything in my power to make him happy. Why do you think I’m here eating with Hendricks and Brawley, who both fuc—freaking hate me?”

Joanne walked around the counter to pat my arm, still grinning broadly. “They don’t hate you, baby. They’re just protective of Simeon. And if you really care about him, you’ll find a way to get along with them.”

Was she giving me a bros-before-hos warning? I had no idea, so I just blinked at her while cringing. She laughed again.

“Go try your best. And send Noah’s skinny behind in here. That boy needs a meal.”

Send Noah? I didn’t even know the guy, besides the fact that he was screwing a giant blond jackass who wanted to rip my throat out like a pissed-off Viking. Even so, I shot her a weak smile, rallied when she gave me a big hug, and shuffled out of the kitchen. Right into the pissed-off Viking in question once I hit the entryway again.

We stared each other down for a beat before he looked me up and down with a scoff.

“You know you’re gonna be outed at some point, right? And that your team is gonna treat you like you suddenly transformed into a pile of hot garbage?”

“Yeah, I know. Thanks for that glimpse into my future.”

“You can save your fucking sarcasm for someone who thinks you’re cute,” he rumbled. “I’m just giving you the what’s what and you can do with it what you will.”

“What do you think I’m gonna do with it?” I demanded incredulously. “Not be with Simeon because eventually some assholes will treat me like shit? I’m not blowing my shot with him over that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I fucking—” Love him. I clenched my jaw and rolled my shoulders. “Because I want him in my life, and he wants me in his. You feel me?” He stared flatly, unimpressed, and I rolled my eyes. “All right, tough guy. Go ahead and mean mug me until the end of time, but I’m gonna be around regardless, soooo . . .”

“So then don’t fuck it up. I’d hate to have to go back to wanting to choke your bitch ass out every time I see you.”

And with that beauty of a comment, Gavin Brawley shoulder-checked me on his way into the kitchen. It took me a second to realize that his comment had been as close to a compliment as I was ever going to get with him.

Well. It was a start.

Chapter Seventeen

Adrián

The vibe in the locker room hadn’t been this bad since a game back in ’14 when we’d lost Billings, our quarterback, and his backup to injury in the first quarter of the game. But it was our second time on the field with the Barons this season (no one was talking about the embarrassment of our preseason game anymore), and once again they were whupping our asses.

It stung. I couldn’t deny it stung. The rivalry had become a running joke with every loss, especially since my boys talked so much shit. But fans had caught on, and “#SonthePredators” had been the number one trending hashtag on Twitter for three days. Everyone was pissed, especially Rocky. But I could not deny some of those memes were funny as hell, and Gavin Brawley had definitely sonned Rocky during the first game of the season.

Not to mention . . . Simeon’s arm was golden tonight. My dude had thrown a fifty-three-yard pass just before halftime. I was going to fuck his brains out later. Just thinking about his delicious ass rocking as he bounced reverse cowboy was heaven. And probably inappropriate to be fantasizing about while our coach was reaming us.

We trooped back out to the field, but instead of feeling energized, everyone already looked bummed out and defeated. Except Rocky, of course.

“I’m gonna get that motherfucker.”

I followed his gaze and saw him staring at the screen of the Jumbotron. A camera was aimed at the Barons’ sideline huddle, but mostly on Simeon. He was grinning as their corner, Wyatt Dawson, gave some pump-up speech. I’d met Dawson enough times to know he was an aggressive bastard who played like he was marching across a battlefield even though his biker gang-looking ass was likely looking to retire in a couple of years.

“C’mon, man,” I said, nudging Rocky and putting my helmet on. “Just try to have some fun.”

Rocky’s head snapped to the side so he could pin me with a look so lethal I thought his eyeballs were going to emit lasers.

“All right, have a real bad fucking time then. But it’s not Simeon’s fault he has a golden arm.”

He didn’t find it funny. In fact, he just kept staring me down like. . . things were clicking together and everything was about to make sense. Like he knew.

“You think I’m stupid, Bravo?” Rocky thumped me in the middle of my chest. “He has you acting all soft and brand new just because you spent a few months letting him suck your dick. I knew it was going to happen as soon as you told me you had to work with him.”

I rolled my eyes, and all of a sudden . . . I didn’t care. I wanted to tell him. “Okay, good. So, you know. And what? We can’t watch Game of Thrones together anymore? Or Harry Potter marathons on ABC Family?”

His eyes went so wide I could see the whites, and his jaw dropped. Which was odd since he’d just said he’d known, but nothing in his expression indicated he’d expected me to cop to it. “Wow. So you’re joining the Barons’ queer brigade?”

“Nah, I’m starting one right here in the Predators,” I said sarcastically. “If you stop being such an asshole, I’ll let you join.”

A spasm went through him, an aborted movement, and I knew he’d been about to hit me. “I’m not gay. Don’t you ever say that. Ever.”

My eyebrows shot up. “Uh, okay, bro.”

I started to turn away, but he grabbed my arm and hauled me back until he was right in my face. “Do you understand me, Bravo? Never say it again. Don’t even think it. Just because you think it’s time to fucking help queer up the NFL doesn’t mean anyone else wants to join in.”

“So, if we left the NFL alone and queered it up on the down low, you’d want in?”

His expression went from angry to flaming with rage. “Shut the fuck up and mark my words, Bravo. Before the end of this game? I’m gonna get your motherfucker. Then you’ll know what happens when you try to be all out-and-proud when surrounded by people who fucking hate you in a game where they’re paid to hit you.”

I watched him storm onto the field, and the sight left me cold. The rock forming in the pit of my stomach had nothing to do with whether or not we got creamed in the second half, and everything to do with Rocky’s mean streak turning straight up sociopathic just to prove a point. And right now, he seemed to want to prove a point by humiliating Simeon.

The second half started with the Barons calmly murdering us in front of the entire country. I couldn’t even blame the slaughter on our skills—we had some pretty fucking athletic guys on the team. Myself included. But like I always said—the failure was getting to us. Psychologically. Instead of keeping our eyes on the field and our heads clear, everyone was pissed off and racking up one penalty after another. And it didn’t matter.

Simeon was relaxed and tossing the ball for Marcus to drive forward, and their entire offense just moved with well-practiced precision. They were a well-oiled machine, and we were made up of multiple hydras with heads that didn’t talk to one another. It didn’t help that the defensive coach was snarling at us from the sidelines.

After their second down, Rocky was a ball of rage. I heard fucking faggot leave his mouth at least twice, and I knew exactly who it was directed at. Everyone else looked uneasy, but I stared him dead in the face. Once the game was over, me and him were going to have some serious words. There was something off about his vehemence. About how desperate he was to prove that being out and queer was a bad idea. And like Simeon was a bad influence for putting it in my head. Yeah, we needed to talk. And I had a funny feeling it was going to lead to me realizing he was protesting a little too much.

On the next series, we loaded up against their run with the intention of preventing Simeon from throwing the ball anywhere. There were open receivers in good spots, but we had him so pressed he’d have to throw another bomb-ass Hail Mary to get that ball across the field.

And what do you know? He fucking did it.

Which is when Rocky mimicked my preseason dick move of barreling into him after the ball had already left his hands. Except this time, he went full helmet-to-helmet. Laid Simeon down flat.

The rest of the game disappeared around me as my heart stopped. Simeon was completely motionless on the field. The terror gripped me so absolutely that all I could do was stand there with my arms dangling and my mouth open.

A lot was happening all at once. Marcus running to kneel by Simeon, trainers rushing around him, and the game coming to a grinding halt. My ability to move returned with a shrill collective shout from the crowd, and then a louder boo. Aimed at Rocky Swoops.

I turned to him just in time to see Gavin charging at him like an enraged bull. Rocky tossed his helmet to the side, looking a little frantic and putting his hands up. I did the only natural thing—intercepted Gavin to clock Rocky myself.

The booing had become excited shrieking, but I didn’t give a shit. The image of Simeon motionless behind me was burned into my corneas, and the anger was all-consuming.

“Motherfucker,” I shouted so loud my voice cracked. “I’ll fucking kill you.”

Rocky wiped a hand over his busted lip, blood smeared across his face. “If this is how you’re gonna act every time someone touches your man, you’ll see real quickly why the shit he put in your head is a bad fucking idea. Consider this a lesson learned, Bravo!”

He didn’t have his hands up this time, but I hit him again. This time, it was him laid out on the field with me on top of him with my fist cocked back to put his lights out. The rage in me was unraveling into violence that would get me more than suspended for a few games, but strong arms encircled me. Someone huge jerked me back, holding me in a bear hug.

“Calm the fuck down.”

Brawley’s voice. Gavin held me from behind, which was amazing since my own teammates appeared to have gathered around to watch without lending a hand. A member of the Barons was putting a stop to this shitshow. Of course.

“You’re gonna kill his ass. That’s what you want?”

I stared down at Rocky, the breath ripping out of me and my eyes burning. “Simeon—”

“The doc is looking at him.”

My heart sank. Gavin let go of me just long enough for me to spin around and search for Simeon. He was being carted off the field on a stretcher.

This couldn’t be happening.

I threw my helmet to the side and sprinted after the trainers. People were shouting at me, but their words, the screams of the fans, and the announcers all blended together in my head. It was just a rush of white noise that did nothing to muffle the fear cutting its way through me, or to distract me from the tears streaking down my face.

By the time I stopped running, they were already off the field and in their locker room. And everyone was looking at me. The lights were bright around me, the Jumbotron trained on my face. I could barely see it through the glare of the lights and the dampness of my eyes.

And then, before I could steel myself for the onslaught, reporters swarmed me.

“How do you feel about Simeon’s injury?”

“Do you think he’ll be back on the field?”

“Will you be suspended for the rest of the season?

“Adrián, why did you hit your own teammate?”

I looked up at them, barking out an ugly laugh. “Because that homophobic motherfucker planned to hurt Simeon.”

“What’s Simeon to you, Bravo?” Another reporter shouted through the fray.

“I love him. And whoever doesn’t like it can go straight to hell.”

Simeon

“I don’t need to go to the hospital, Dan.”

“Yeah, you do. You were immobile for a few solid seconds, kiddo. Gotta get that skull scanned.”

If my head wasn’t throbbing, I’d have given him one of Adrián’s big eye rolls. The ones that reminded me of an insolent kid sassing his teacher over being disruptive in class. A laugh welled in my throat, but the motion made my head hurt so bad my eyes teared.

“Lord. That fucker really smacked me, yeah?”

“Uh-huh.”

Dan, my favorite trainer in the world, avoided my eyes. My first tip-off that something was going on, but I was a little slow on the uptake given my processing speed was down by half. Instead of interrogating him or my coach, or any of the other annoying people lingering around my prone body, I shut my eyes.

The best-case scenario was that there was no real damage, and he’d just knocked the wind out of me. I’d never lost consciousness. I didn’t think so, anyway. All of it had happened in one big blink. One minute I’d been throwing the ball across the field like a dart, and the next . . . I was staring up at the night sky. Shit, maybe I had been out.

Fear took hold of me faster than it ever had before. What if I had a real concussion? The real deal, where they told me another hit would kill me. It’d happened to other guys I knew, even rookies who’d only gone through training, but I’d never thought it would to me.

Or what if it was a neck injury? What if I ended up like Ricardo Lockette—retiring after suffering a career-ending injury from a single hit? Seeing him drop to the turf had been one of the most terrifying moments in my career, and I’d only been a spectator. After watching someone go down like that, you never stop asking yourself when your turn will come.

A gasp tore out of me. Fuck, I couldn’t breathe. Suddenly, everything felt wrong. My neck, I was light-headed, every symptom of every tragic thing manifesting all at once. I was going to lose my mind before we even got to the hospital.

“Simeon?”

His voice snapped me out of it. Mostly because he was definitely not supposed to be here.

My eyes tore open to the sight of Adrián Bravo looming over my stretcher with red eyes and wet cheeks. I instantly tried to reach up to touch his damp face, forgetting I was strapped down.

“What the hell are you doing back here?” I hissed. “Someone will see you!”

He laughed, sardonic and with a tinge of hysteria. “A little late for that.”

“What—” I strained to look around as I was carted out to the ambulance. No one was looking at Adrián, and he was keeping pace. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“To the hospital with you. Duh.”

He’d lost it. He’d really lost it.

“Love, you are in the middle of a football game.”

“It’s not like I’ll be back in the game, man. And after that shit, I’m probably in the middle of my release from the Predators by Monday. At the very least, I’ll be suspended rest of the season, and they’ll fine the hell out of me.”

“Wha—”

I was loaded into the ambulance before I could finish my question. Frustration filled me, but before I could shout, Adrián was at the foot of the vehicle arguing with the EMT.

“Please? I’m begging you. Is that what you want?”

The EMT was speaking in lower, calmer tones than Adrián’s surround-sound voice, so I couldn’t hear his end. I did, however, nearly have a heart attack when Adrián exclaimed: “Whatever, son. We’re about to move in together. Does that count for shit?”

He’d lost his mind. It was the only explanation. I’d taken a hit to the head and somehow, maybe because he spent so much time with our bodies locked together and connected, he was feeling the aftermath.

Adrián appeared at my side, holding my hand and grinning his little-boy grin. It was even more absurdly charming with him sweaty and bloody and wearing all his pads.

“You—” The words jumbled in my mouth. I took another deep breath. “Adrián, you’re going to ruin everything.”

“No. I’m not.”

“You think—” I glanced at the EMT, feeling the burn of an audience. “Adrián, please.”

He smiled again and leaned down to kiss my hand. The touch was so goddamn gentle, and the exact thing I needed, that I couldn’t argue anymore. I just stared in wonder.

“What did you do?”

“Beat the shit out of my own teammate, and then told a reporter that I love you.”

The EMT’s eyes bugged out of his head. I ignored him and kept my eyes on Adrián, wondering . . . how much of this was real. Maybe I was dreaming. Maybe this was a symptom of whatever was wrong with me.

“Don’t worry,” Adrián said, stroking my hand. “Like I said, they’ll fine me or they’ll release me, and I’ll go free agent. To be honest, I hope they go that route. Fuck them. All of them.”

“But—you told . . . How . . . ?”

“Because I’m tired of lying and hiding. And if they don’t want me back because I’m a big bisexual linebacker, then fuck ’em.” Adrián winked. “’Sides, like I said, I’m about to move in with you. You can be my sugar daddy.”

This time it was my laugh bordering on hysteria. “You crazy bastard.”

“I know, right? But Rocky had it coming. He was gunning for you.”

“Yeah. I believe it.”

Adrián held my gaze, his sweaty hand still holding mine.

“They said you’ll be fine, Simeon. You answered all their questions, counted all the right numbers, and you never once showed any confusion. This is just precaution.”

It was exactly what I needed to hear, and it was exactly what the trainers had been saying for the past several minutes, but somehow coming from him . . . I believed it. Because Adrián, my beautiful brash asshole of a lover, wouldn’t lie to me. He’d mock me, tease me, and challenge me, but he wouldn’t lie to me. And I knew there was no way he would be able to smile right now if my career was about to end with an illegal hit from a homophobe with a weird vendetta.

“I’m glad you’re here,” I whispered. “Even though you’re giving them a reality TV show right now.”

Adrián looked up at the EMT. He turned his face sideways, suspicious. “You filming?”

“Uh. No.” The guy looked at us both and scooted towards the front.

“Good looking out,” Adrián said to his back.

“Don’t be a pain in the ass,” I muttered. “You’re not even supposed to be here.”

“I know, but I have to be here. I wouldn’t have been able to function without knowing you were okay.” Adrián squeezed my hand tighter. “I was scared. Really scared. So if I’m able to say you’re fine, it’s because the trainers managed to convince me. And I was a wreck.”

“A wreck how?”

“Crying. Shaking. Like . . . in front of the country and probably on twenty thousand GIFs by now. We better be trending.”

“Oh shit.”

“Right?” Adrián rolled his eyes at himself, grinning wryly. “But guess what the good news is?”

“How is there any kind of good news?”

“Gavin Brawley probably thinks I’m pretty cool. Considering how he stonewalled me on Thanksgiving, I think that’s a step up.”

He’d declared his love for me on national television, and now he was worrying about what Gavin thought. This had to be a fever dream.

“This isn’t a real conversation. Can’t be.”

“It is.” Adrián rubbed my hand, grinning down at me. “And you know what else is gonna be real? Me getting you home in one piece so I can play Nurse Bravo.”

“Kinky-sounding. Maybe take it easy tonight since I’m down for the count.”

His face clouded over at that, red eyes narrowing at me. “Don’t joke. If your trainers say you’re fine, then you’re fine. Above anyone, those guys are the only people I trust with your life. Well, and Gavin and Marcus. And your mom.”

My mother. Fuck. She’d gone home and must have been freaking out.

“I need to call—”

“I texted her as soon as I talked to the trainers and right before I conned my way onto this ambulance.”

I relaxed on the stretcher. Tension I hadn’t even realized was still inhabiting my aching body released, and the pain eased up a little more.

“Thank you. You’re scoring all the brownie points with my loved ones today, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, but what about with you?” He went back to stroking my hand as his voice dropped lower. “Are you pissed about all this? I know I just took matters into my own hands, went full speed ahead with my mouthing off and rage, but I couldn’t help it.”

“Why?” I asked softly. “All I’m worried about is how this will affect you.”

“I know.” Adrián sighed. He wiped his eyes, but his eyelashes were still clumped together from moisture. “This just matters to me more, Simeon. Being here with you. At the end of the day, there’s only one of you. I needed to know you were okay. And not because of a tweet or a news report or a rumor. I needed to see it. To see you.”

How was this real? So much of it seemed like a dream, but there was no way the feel of those rough, callused hands was anything but reality.

“Kiss me,” I whispered. “Please?”

Adrián leaned down to brush his lips to my forehead then to my lips. It was brief, chaste really, but he managed to pour every ounce of affection into that touch. I sighed when he pulled away.

“Besides,” Adrián said, holding my hand tighter. “I’m not even mad. I’m kind of happy it went down that way.”

“Because you’ll be the subject of every single newsroom for weeks?”

“Hells yeah. And a Lifetime movie. Shit, they better find someone fine to play me.”

This time I didn’t try to hold in a laugh.

“God, Adrián. You damn lovable fool man. I fucking love you.”

“And I fucking love you too.”

I closed my eyes again. The pressure that had been building inside me and manifesting in phantom injuries began to dissipate. There was nothing but the sound of the sirens, the radio, the low voices of the EMTs, and the comforting weight of Adrián’s hand. His presence by my side.

I couldn’t imagine what would happen because of his actions—with the media, his fans, or the League. All I could imagine about the future was that we would be going through whatever came our way together. And with him by my side, we could take on the entire world.

Epilogue

Adrián

Watching my dad grill burgers alongside Joanne Boudreaux, who’d made delicious sides from scratch, was as close to surreal as anything had ever been.

The fact that several of the Barons were present for the Grant Street Center benefit barbecue just made it even more dreamlike. But it was real, and it was happening, and me and Simeon were grinning broadly and handing out plates of food as my mother collected the donations.

“This is nuts,” I muttered while grinning winningly at the next person in line. “What if we run out of food?”

Simeon glanced back at the dozens of coolers. “Nah, that ain’t happening, love.”

“Well, what if—”

“Hush,” Simeon said in one breath before saying “Take care now!” in another to one of the people who’d lined the block to donate, get some boss food, and snag a glimpse of the famous athletes involved.

When the next person was going down the assembly line of NFL stars-turned-food servers, Simeon nudged me.

“You worry too much. This was your idea, and everyone loves it. The reporters are practically jizzing themselves about this exclusive. And looky there—” He nodded over at our parents. “They’re basically besties now.”

I followed his gaze and had to blink another couple of times to make sure the vision wouldn’t disappear before my eyes. Coming out to my father had been taken out of my, and my mother’s, hands after my big declaration at my last game of the season. After the adrenaline had faded, and I’d returned home with Simeon, panic had set in. Not about the NFL, but about my parents.

And they’d stayed silent for almost a week. I’d thought it was a sign of them officially writing me off . . . but it hadn’t been. Week two of post-coming out drama had started with my father calling me with a “game plan” about getting out of my contract if they gave me shit, and potential teams who would pick me up in a heartbeat. He’d tried to ignore the big bisexual elephant in the room, but my mother hadn’t allowed him to.

Turns out, he’d been bracing for the news since that first photo at the diner. He’d fucking known all along, and he’d come to terms with it on his own. He still wasn’t impressed by my fight with Rocky, though.

Week three of post-coming out drama, and my new suspension, had started with me getting an intense fine for my attack on Rocky Swoops . . . which had been paid by the rest of the Predators. It had taken an incident like that for my team to step up and show that they could be decent people—which they’d done by supporting me and apologizing to Simeon on behalf of Rocky. Rocky had gone radio silent since then. No statement, no mention of his own suspension, and his social media had all been deleted. He was just gone.

Part of me worried. I’d been doing a lot of reflecting, especially about the time we’d been roommates, and now I was wondering if Rocky was queer and closeted. Deeply closeted and self-loathing. But I hated that I even cared. Simeon found it sweet. I thought I was turning into a sucker.

“Hey look, it’s Brayden.”

I followed Simeon’s gaze to see Brayden, who’d grown a good six inches in the past six months, and his parents (both of them) having an animated discussion with Noah. Noah was talking a lot with his hands, and his loud Queens accent carried enough for me to distantly realize he was talking about Brayden working part-time at an LGBT community center.

“How’d Brawley find himself such a do-gooder?” I asked, shooting a glance at the hulking Viking of a tight end. He didn’t even smile as he dropped loads of potato salad on each plate. Fucking grim reaper. “Jesus, does he ever smile?”

“He smiles at his do-gooder,” Simeon said. “Just like you get all cuddly and sweet with your QB.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered. “I’m still waiting for that giant Facebook post about how amazing of a boyfriend I am.”

“Jasmine is helping me draft it, but she thinks boyfriend is too casual, since we’re living together now.”

“True that. How about . . . companion? Lover?” I handed a drink to another donor, grinning widely. “Hey, question for you—”

The lady raised her eyebrows, looking from me to Simeon in shock. “For me?”

“Yup.” I leaned forward, popping my dimples. “Do you think I should call Simeon my boyfriend or my companion?”

“Oh good Lord.” Simeon looked up at the sky. “Someone please save this man from his self.”

The woman burst out laughing. “How about partner? Or soul mate?”

“Soul mate!” Simeon crowed just as I said, “Partner works.” We looked at each other and snickered before he threw an arm around my shoulders and pulled me in for a half hug.

She looked between us and laughed again. “You two are adorable.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the photogs snapping away. They lived for this shit. And shockingly, the NFL was loving all the feel-good publicity that our collective queerness had brought on. I’d expected to lose endorsements or for my agent to struggle trying to save my career, but . . . it seemed like the world was evolving more rapidly than I’d given it credit for. And at the end of the day, even if I’d had to cut my losses and move on, Simeon was worth it. Our new life together was worth it.

“What are you smiling about?” he asked, nudging me. “If you’re making big plans for what we’re gonna do after the cookout . . . keep in mind the boys are coming over.”

“So you gotta stay quiet while I fu—”

Simeon’s brows crashed down. “No, sir. Keep it discreet or keep it shut.”

I laughed. “I was kidding anyway. That’s not why I was smiling.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yup. I was smiling because I’m happy.” I glanced at our parents again, unable to help another grin as Joanne pointed to the grill and schooled my father on how he was overcooking the meat. “This is in the top three best days of my life.”

Simeon greeted another donor, quickly scribbling off an autograph. “I’m right there with you, boo. But what are your other two?”

“The day I was drafted,” I said quickly. “And . . . finding out I was gonna be stuck working with you for two months. If it wasn’t for that, none of this would have happened. We’d still be stubborn assholes who hated each other. Well, I’d be an asshole.”

“I don’t know about all that. Soul mates have a way of finding each other.” Simeon managed to not crack up for all of five seconds before breaking. “All right, Noah said that to me, but he’s right. I think we would have found each other. Once you took your head out your ass.”

“I dunno. It was pretty far up there.”

“I’m glad you know that, but either way . . .” Simeon glanced around just as I had a moment ago, and the smile on his face was so warm that it was hard not to drop the drinks and pull him close. “You and me belong together, Adrián Bravo. There’s no way either of us could have wound up with anyone else.”

He was right. I knew he was right.

So I smiled back and, audience be damned, pulled him into a kiss.

Santino Hassell was raised by a conservative family but grew up to be a smart-mouthed, school-cutting grunge kid, a transient twenty-something, and eventually transformed into a grumpy introvert and unlikely romance author with an affinity for baseball caps. His novels are heavily influenced by the gritty, urban landscape of New York City, and his desire to write relationships fueled by intensity and passion.

He’s been a finalist in both the Bisexual Book Awards and EPIC Awards, and was nominated for a prestigious RITA award in 2017. His work has been featured in BuzzFeed, Huffington Post, Washington Post, RT, and Cosmopolitan.

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