by Saxon James
SAXON JAMES
To Simon.
No, you will never read this.
Chapter One
Everything about my house is the same.
And yet, totally different.
I glance over at Liam as he zips up his bag, the finality of the sound cutting through the quiet.
“Is that everything?” I don’t want to ask the question. My voice hitches on the way out.
He gives me a rueful smile. “Not like there was a whole lot to grab.”
I feel his words like a stab in the chest, because he’s right. We’ve dated for six years, and I’ve lived here for the last three, yet everything that belongs to him manages to fit in the one bag. Rubbing my jaw, I feel the urge to apologize again.
“Don’t,” Liam warns, and he actually manages a small laugh. “This isn’t on you.”
But that’s definitely how our break-up feels. “I should have done more.”
So help me, the little shit rolls his eyes. “Do we really need to go over this again?”
With a sigh, I drop onto my couch, trying to forget the nights we spent here. He can say this has nothing to do with my football career all he likes, I think we both know that if I’d come out a while ago, this wouldn’t be happening now. As a wide receiver, I can catch a throw from a football field away, but I didn’t catch on that this is where our relationship was headed until it was too late.
Liam drops his overnight bag onto the coffee table and flops down beside me. His big brown eyes hold all the sympathy in the world for me, but there isn’t an ounce of regret. “You didn’t even cry when I suggested we end things.”
“Neither did you.”
“That’s my point.” He takes my hand. Small, pale fingers link with my thick, dark ones. “For the last six months, we’ve just been two friends hanging out. It’s not like we’ve been having sex, and I can’t remember the last time I stayed over.”
“It was—” I frown. Not last week. The one before? How the fuck can’t I remember that? I drop my head into my free hand. “How the hell did we get to this point?”
“You’re incredibly focused. And yeah, we agreed you should keep your sexuality to yourself while you played but I guess I didn’t really know what that meant. But when I spent more time at events talking to your teammates than you…” He sighs. “I’m tired, Taryn. I want to travel, I want someone who loves me so much he’d risk everything”—I go to cut him off but he talks over the top of me—“and someone I love so much that I’d never expect him to.”
“You don’t love me anymore.” It’s not a question, just resignation.
“And you don’t love me.”
I wish like hell I could deny it, but he’s right. “What do I do without you?”
Liam stands up, stretching out his neck as he reaches for his bag. “You don’t need to be without me. We’ve been friends even longer than we were dating. Not right away, but… maybe we could have that again.”
“Maybe,” I mutter. But now this is it, the weirdest urge to beg him to stay comes over me. I won’t, because he’s completely right. But the change seems way too big for me to handle. Liam pauses in front of me and his fingers press against my chin, coaxing me to meet his gaze. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For being the best boyfriend you could, given the circumstances.”
The smile I give him feels as dry as my words. “So not a great one then.”
“You’re too hard on yourself. You’ve always been incredibly sweet, and if you were that amazing for a guy you weren’t in love with, I can only imagine how you’ll be with someone you are.” His pink lips curve into a small smile then he leans down and presses a kiss to my forehead.
Just as he turns away, I snatch his hand. But I don’t know what to say. It’s that panic again, that fear of change, and after a moment of waiting, Liam squeezes my hand and leaves. I hear his footsteps descending the stairs and a moment later the front door opens and closes, then…
Silence.
A silence so big it seems to ripple through the whole house. It makes it feel emptier than ever, even though Liam barely took more than his clothes.
Jesus.
I run my nails over my short hair. “What the fuck do I do now?”
My only answer is the lonely silence, stretching out around me.
Chapter Two
As I leave the office, my eyes feel dry and scratchy every time I blink. I left my glasses at home again, and while I hate wearing them most of the time, they’re necessary when I’m sitting in front of a computer screen all day.
Ahh. I rub my palms into my eyes, welcoming the relief. I’ve wrapped up most of my work for tomorrow, so tonight I’m really looking forward to letting off some steam.
Rainer answers on the first ring and agrees to meet me at a bar two blocks from my apartment in Newark. I swing home to change out of my button-up that stinks of stale office air fresheners and high stakes punting, grab a shower, and pull on a black Henley and some jeans.
The last thing I want is to wear my glasses while I’m trying to pick up, but with my eyes hurting the way they do, I seriously consider it. Some guys out there like nerdy work-a-holics. In the end, I put my glasses back down and scrub at my eyes instead, wishing I could handle contact lenses.
It’s dark by the time I walk the two blocks to Oscar’s Garage, and even for mid-September, it’s not too bad out. The fresh air is a nice change from the recirculated air in our office.
Oscar’s Garage is our usual haunt and Rainer’s already at the bar when I walk in. There are booths on a raised platform on the far side, a huge dance floor at the back of the room, and pool tables lined up near the entrance. Normally Rainer would be holed up in one of the booths—it’s easier to size up potential one-nighters that way—but it’s easy to see why he’s steered clear.
There’s a huge group up there, occupying almost all the space and being noisier than the normal crowd. I slide onto the stool beside Rainer and lift my eyebrows toward the commotion. “Party, you think?”
“Nope. It’s the Sharks.”
I hum as he orders me a drink and lean back a little to try to get a better view. The Sharks won today, and since their game was at the stadium a few blocks away, I’m not exactly surprised to see them here.
Trying to block out the rowdy group, I turn my attention to the rest of the bar. It’s busy for a Sunday, and I can only assume it has something to do with the mass of recently victorious NFL players. Not that I mind. The more people here, the more chance I have of hooking up.
It quickly becomes clear, though, that no one is interested in paying attention to anyone who hasn’t spent the night tackling sweaty dudes, which is unfortunate considering that’s exactly what I want to spend the night doing.
“This blows,” I moan over my beer.
Rainer shakes his head. “I wish it blowed. I don’t think we’re gonna get far here tonight.” Which is surprising, because Rainer never has a problem hooking up. And now he’s back from Ibiza, his fresh tan makes his hair look blonder and his eyes look bluer—I would have assumed he’d be fighting guys off.
I don’t want to admit defeat, but after another half an hour with absolutely no interest, I figure it’s time to move on. “Should we head out?”
“Damn, I thought you’d never ask. Grenade?”
Even when I’m desperate to get off, gay bars aren’t really my scene. I never have a problem finding a guy willing to go down on me then and there, but what happened to conversation? Flirting? The thrill of is this happening or not happening? At Grenade all it takes is some h
eavy eye contact, grinding on the dance floor, and then you’re in a bathroom stall with your cock buried down some rando’s throat.
“Let me take a piss first,” I say, resigned to the fact that’ll be all the action I get tonight. I stop by the bar and order a shot that I throw back before moving on. I cringe against the taste as I turn into the hall leading to the bathrooms.
Considering how busy the bar is, the hallway is clear and the bathroom is empty. The smell of piss and alcohol blankets the urinal, so I rush through my business as quickly as I can before finishing up and washing my hands.
As soon as I glance in the mirror, I regret not wearing my glasses. Even my own face doesn’t look right through my hazy vision. It lowers my standards massively, though at this rate, tonight is probably going to be a bust. Usually by now, I’m buzzing with energy and alcohol and have hit the dance floor at least once. Tonight… nothing.
I’m getting too old for this shit.
Not that I have a whole lot of other choices. Most of the guys I had on rotation have paired up and moved on, but my job makes that nearly impossible. Bookmaking follows the NFL roster, and with three game nights a week it doesn’t leave much time after balancing the books and taking the next round of bets. Still, I take what life throws at me, and so far, I’m making good money and living a comfortable life, even if I don’t have time to share it with someone.
Things could be worse.
I grab some paper towels as the door swings open, and a guy stumbles inside. He barely glances my way as he heads for the urinal, and while I’m all for letting people get on with their business, there’s something about the way he’s leaning into the hand propped on the wall that makes me think this guy is way past wasted.
I clear my throat, but he still doesn’t notice me. I wait until he finishes up. “You doing okay?”
He turns sluggishly, tugging at the zipper of his fly. Something about him seems really familiar, but I can’t pinpoint what it is. We definitely haven’t met before, but with my blurry eyesight and his cap, it’s nearly impossible to tell.
He doesn’t answer, just stumbles over to the sink and pounds his hand against the tap until it turns on. The guy is a complete mess. I try to stop my eyebrows from creeping upward, but the effort is useless at this point, and frankly, he’s paying me next to no attention.
I cross my arms and lean into the wall, figuring I might as well watch the train wreck unfold since I have nothing else going on tonight.
He flicks his cap back as he shoves his hands under the water and splashes it on his face, but the cap’s pulled down low again almost immediately. I grab a bunch of paper towels and hand them over to him.
“Feel better?”
He grunts, drying his face.
“Sorry, I don’t speak Neanderthal,” I reply.
The guy blinks as he turns his head, seemingly trying to focus on me. “Do I know you?”
“Do you know anyone at this point? You’re trashed.”
“Eh. Nothing new.”
“Sounds healthy.”
He grunts again, leaning his hip against the counter, which I guess is as good a signal as any to keep this going.
“Want to tell me why you decided to write yourself off tonight?”
Snort. “Jesus, where would I even start?”
“I’m assuming you started with the first drink and it all went downhill from there. Are you celebrating or sulking?” I hesitate before adding, “Or that bad at holding your alcohol?”
“Supposed to be celebrating, permanently sulking, and I’m normally way better at holding my drink, but I haven’t eaten today.”
It takes me a moment to realize I’m looking up at him which is a nice change. Tall guys are my type, but it’s rare I find one this much taller. And he has tattoos that start under his sleeve and end at the elbow of his left arm. Tattooed guys are definitely my type. Still, I don’t know where to go with everything he’s unloaded. I guess I’m supposed to ask about the first two things, or even why the hell he hasn’t eaten today, but it all feels a bit too personal to get into while standing in a disgusting men’s bathroom.
“Okay, I’m going to be real with you here. While any other night, I’d love to stand around chatting through your issues, I’m here to hook up, so I’m going to head out and try to make the most of it.” Even if a tiny part of me recognizes it’s probably a lost cause.
He chuckles. “Go get some pussy.”
I cringe, and I’m not sure if it’s the assumption or the bitter tone he uses that makes me react that way. “No pussy for me, but thanks for the support.”
That gets his attention. His tight jaw loosens, and if I could see them, I’d bet his eyebrows were near his hairline.
“You’re…”
“Queer as fuck.”
I’m expecting him to take the usual step away, but instead, he subtly shifts closer under the pretense of turning his back to the sinks. I probably wouldn’t have noticed if I hadn’t been watching for it. The guy clears his throat and looks down as someone else enters and makes their way toward the urinal, throwing us odd looks. Nothing I’m not used to, and yeah, I’d probably be doing the same if I walked in on two guys hanging out by the sinks.
The man washes his hands, still looking at us without looking at us, and the guy next to me tugs his hat down a bit farther.
I should follow the man out, find Rainer and leave, but curiosity has always been my enemy. When we’re finally alone again, I offer a smile. Wanting to tease him a bit, I take a moment to give him a really obvious once-over. His arm muscles are one of the first things I notice as well as his incredible square jaw. He looks to be in crazy good shape, and everything about him is dark. Dark skin, coarse stubble, and short hair almost fully hidden by his cap. By the time I meet his black eyes again, they’re wide, like he’s in shock over being checked out. Yep, I’m getting a vibe from this guy that he’s maybe interested but deeply closeted
“Well, good talk.” I’m pretty content staying here, but I want to test him. If I’m right, he’ll either let me leave—no loss there—or if he’s desperate enough…
A hand grabs my arm before I can take two steps.
Bingo.
He lets go before I turn back to him, but sorry, man, the damage is done. Now I know exactly where his head is at. What I don’t know is where this is heading.
If we were at Grenade, I’d have my tongue down his throat by now, but his hesitance is cute and probably more of a turn on than it should be. I don’t say anything, not wanting to make it easy for him. Instead I leave him enough silence to feel like he needs to fill it.
“Ah, I… thanks. For talking, I guess.” He huffs out a breath, and I get the feeling he wants to say more. This time, I help him out.
“I might be totally off base here, but I feel like there’s a lot you don’t talk about. Like maybe how similar our tastes are.”
He rubs the back of his neck, basically confirming my theory.
I push on. “That kind of shit can eat at you, so you might want to think about finding someone to talk to.”
“I’m talking to you.”
“You don’t even know me. And you’re drunk. That doesn’t count.”
“Maybe it’s easier because I don’t know you. And… you don’t know me.”
I tip my head to the side. He’s right about that. Sometimes it’s easier to let things out with people who have no preconceived ideas of who you are. That said, I’m not so sure I want to play the role of shrink when I’ve got so much else going on in my life.
“I tell you what, give me your cell.”
He hesitates. “Why?”
“I’m going to put my number in there, and if, when you’re not drunk, you feel like talking, you’ll have someone to reach out to.”
He stares for a moment, all dark and brooding, before attempting to slide his cell from his jeans pocket. And he must be well and truly wasted because he can’t ev
en manage that.
It must be the liquid courage that makes me step forward, dig my fingers into his pocket, and slide out his phone. I’m doing my best not to look at him, not to focus on his drool-worthy arm muscles that work beneath his dark skin as he lifts his hand to unlock the screen.
I focus on getting my number right, still, this close to him, I can’t block out how good he smells. The potent smell of alcohol is balanced out by whatever scent he’s wearing.
I flip the phone around and his hand comes up between us so he can look at the screen. My number is saved under A Friend which I thought sounded marginally better than “Bathroom boy.”
When I finally give in and look up at him, he’s already staring at me. His eyebrows are bunched together, and his dark eyes are wary. This close, he looks even more familiar, like when you briefly knew someone years ago but can’t remember from where. Fuck, I wish I’d worn my glasses.
I don’t mention the familiarity, in case we’ve hooked up before. He clearly isn’t up for anything like that tonight—unfortunately—because I have a feeling he’d be a good lay. And I also have a feeling Rainer’s found a hookup, or he would have been in here ages ago.
The guy clears his throat, as though he’s only now noticed we’re blatantly staring at each other. “I’m T,” he says.
I smirk a little at him only giving a letter, but I play along too. “E.”
T’s face relaxes for the first time since he stumbled into the bathroom, and damn if it doesn’t make him look even hotter. His gaze slides over my face, tracing down my body. Warmth builds in my stomach as he pins me with a heated stare, and if he wasn’t so drunk and confused, I’d push him up against the wall. I’m still kind of tempted. We’re so close. I try to focus on his incredible, full lips but my vision isn’t cooperating. Which isn’t such a big deal when he shifts subtly closer and my skin prickles at his body’s warmth.
So instead, I step back from him. “You’ve got friends out there, right?”
“Yep.” He doesn’t sound happy about it. Maybe they’re not close? Maybe they’re work colleagues? That would explain why no one’s come looking for him either.
