by Saxon James
“People would think I threw the game.”
“And then?”
“I’d be dropped, blacklisted.”
“Bingo.” Elliot drains the rest of his coffee before placing his mug in the sink with a dull thunk. “That’s why we’re saying goodbye.”
I let out a long sigh, knowing he’s right, but wishing desperately that he wasn’t. This whole situation sucks, but even without weighing the pros and cons, being kicked out of the NFL isn’t an option. “Why do you do it?”
Elliot shrugs, and I try not to focus on the light hair on his chest. “Money. It pays well.”
“So do a lot of other jobs.”
“Not as well as this one.”
I cast a quick look around because if he’s earning good money, it’s definitely not going into this place. But it’s not something for me to worry about because like he said, this isn’t going any further. I pat my pockets to make sure my keys, wallet, and phone are all accounted for, as I swallow back the lump building in my throat.
“Well…” I don’t want to leave, but at this point, our conversation is only heading one way, and it’s pointless to try to prolong it. “I guess I’ll head out.”
Even with those words, I don’t make a move, and Elliot rounds his kitchen counter with slow, measured steps. “I guess so.”
He’s not smiling, but his pretty lips tilt upward a bit anyway.
“Ah… thanks. For last night,” I say.
“No worries, rookie. It was good for me too, obviously.”
I smirk. “I should damn well think so.”
“You do have a magic mouth, I guess.”
“All truth.” Finally gaining a little confidence, I grab his bare waist and tug him toward me. “Kiss goodbye?”
“Like I can say no to that,” he whispers.
His lips crash against mine for a brief moment before I pull away again. His hair tickles my fingertips as I run a hand down the side of his face, taking a moment to look at him. The corners of his lips lift in a half-hearted smile and for the briefest moment, I can tell he regrets this as much as I do.
No more hesitating.
I press one more kiss against the lips I won’t be able to forget, throw out a see you around, and leave. The main door lets out an obnoxious creak as I close it behind me, and the click as the door latches sounds so final, I flee the building before I give up my resolve and go back.
***
After another hard practice there’s nothing I like better than catching up with Zane at The Hanger. We order a plate of buffalo wings each and because we go with water instead of beer, we’re at least attempting balance. That’s what we tell ourselves anyway.
“Lahna saw me out with Jessa and went absolutely crazy,” Zane says, shaking his head. He’s sitting in the booth opposite me and as the biggest guy on our team, he takes up almost his whole side of the seat. “What is it with people and thinking you’re exclusive just because you’ve fucked a couple of times?”
I raise my eyebrows, immediately remembering the other night. Could I have managed something casual with Elliot? “Yeah, I don’t know. I don’t date.”
“You should. I don’t know how you’re so calm all the time. I swear, if I didn’t hook up regularly my balls would explode.”
Urg, why are we talking about this? I snort, trying for playful but not sure I pull it off. I move my water out of the way as my wings are set down.
“Seriously,” Zane continues, not caring that the server is right there. “I know some people who are always keen to share. They’d lose their shit at a chance with you.”
I mentally cringe, holding it back since he doesn’t realize the reality of what he just said. Losing shit is literally the worst-case scenario. Holding back my smile I say, “Thanks, I’ll keep it in mind.”
Thankfully food is enough of a distraction, and Zane turns all his attention to the dish in front of him. I do the same, and we sit there eating, barely breathing, as we polish off the plates. Nothing we have to say could be as important as inhaling our food.
“Okay, here’s a question for you. Why don’t you use a hookup app or something?”
“Why are you so concerned with my sex life?” I laugh, almost impressed that Zane is keeping a conversation on track for once. At least I would be if that conversation didn’t have to do with my biggest secret.
“You’re literally my best friend on the team, and yet you’re the only one I’ve never heard talk about a partner.” He eyes me in a way that makes me shift in my seat. “I figured you might be nervous, and I just wanted to make it clear there’s no reason to be. We can talk about this stuff.”
I smirk, wondering what Zane would really say if I told him about the dick I had down my throat the other night. We might not have fucked, but we both put our mouths to good use. But… maybe I could explain the situation without actually explaining the situation? I’ve gotta admit a second opinion would be nice.
“I met someone the other night. We’ve been talking, then we hooked up and…” I almost say “he.” “Now they want to cut ties.”
Zane starts to laugh. “How shit are you in the sack? Is that why you don’t take people home with you?”
I ball up a napkin and lob it at his head. “The decision was made as soon as they found out who I was. The other night, they weren’t wearing their glasses and couldn’t see me properly. The thing is, it was so fucking hot. Easily the hottest sex I’ve ever had.”
“So what’s the issue? Fuck and forget seems your speed.” Zane smooths out the napkin I threw and uses it to wipe off his fingers.
“I think I like… them.”
“And they’re not interested?”
It’s a relief when he doesn’t say “she” because now I don’t technically feel like I’m lying. I’m not sure if it was on purpose on his side or if he’s just mirroring my language, but it makes it easier.
“I think they are. But let’s just say the NFL wouldn’t be too happy about our relationship.”
“Why?” He laughs. “Do they play for another team?”
At first, I think he says “the other team” and then his actual words register and they aren’t much better. Does he… No. He’s chuckling to himself. It was only a joke. One he doesn’t know was uncomfortably close to the truth.
“Look, it’s something like that, okay? I don’t really want to go into it, but…” I swallow, remembering what Elliot looked like sleeping. “Do you think I should message them anyway, or…”
“Can’t hurt.” Zane props his elbows on the table and leans forward. “I mean, don’t get stalkerish and shit about it, just text them and say, hey I had a good time, any chance you’d wanna hang out again, and then see where it goes. Maybe they tell you to fuck off, maybe they don’t. You won’t know until you ask.”
I do know, though. Elliot was pretty clear about why we couldn’t keep hooking up, but if I want to and he wants to, and he has to be a secret anyway… maybe this won’t be like Liam all over again? Especially if it’s just a casual thing?
“You’re a wise dude, Zane.”
He lifts his water like he’s about to toast. “Too right I am.”
I knock my glass against his.
“Hey, tell me,” he starts, “do you think the world would be a better or worse place if people could only tell the truth?”
I recognize his random philosophical musing for what it is, but there’s too much weight in my mind for me to answer lightly. Imagine if I had to be honest about my sexuality. Or if people had to be honest about what they thought of my sexuality. I think I’d rather be in the dark.
“Depends on the level of honesty, I guess. I mean, is withholding information dishonest?”
“In this case, yes.”
“Then definitely worse.” I lick my lips and can’t quite meet his eyes. “Some things are better left unsaid.”
When we finally head out and say goodbye, I drive back home mus
ing over whether I’m going to do it. Zane’s right though, a message isn’t going to hurt. A message just opens the door, let’s Elliot know I’m up for a repeat. It’s been a few days, and he obviously hasn’t said anything to anyone because there have been no articles about Taryn Adderson liking dick.
A message won’t hurt. And if he tells me to fuck off, I’ll have my answer.
I get home and change into sleep shorts, prolonging the time to make my decision in case I change my mind.
I don’t. And as I drop onto my couch, the sun barely a line of orange hanging onto the horizon, I pull out my phone and open up his contact. Staring at the screen, I’m suddenly blank on what to write. I’m tempted to go with a basic “hey” or a “what are you doing,” but get the sense it needs to be more than that.
I’m nervous, really fucking nervous, and I’m actually enjoying it. This weird high that comes from not knowing what’s next, and hoping so damn much that more is the answer.
I lick my lips and type out a message.
Me: Why did the football coach go to the bank?
It’s a lame joke, a pathetic attempt to reach out, but my stomach squirms as I stare at the screen, and when those three little dots appear, I’m barely holding it together. Just please don’t let him tell me to fuck off.
A Friend: To get his quarter back.
I snort, surprised he knows the answer. And if he’s playing along, that has to be a good sign, right?
Me: Why didn’t the skeleton play football?
A Friend: His heart wasn’t in it.
Me: What’s it called when a dinosaur gets a touchdown?
A Friend: A dino-score.
I laugh, surprised he’s gotten them all. I’ve heard all the lame jokes I need to from my sister, but Elliot knowing them too is a surprise.
Me: Wow, you’re good at this.
A Friend: My superior intellect makes even the most complex jokes easy.
I’m about to reply when another message comes through.
A Friend: Also I have Google, dumbass.
I laugh, realizing I never thought he would do something that sneaky.
Me: That’s cheating. You’ll have to pay for that.
A Friend: Oh yeah? Don’t go making promises you can’t keep.
Me: Oh, I could keep them. But you’re the one who bowed out, you clearly can’t handle me.
And okay, now I’m goading him, and maybe I should feel bad, but he started flirting first. I’m only too happy to leverage what I can from the conversation.
A Friend: You know why.
Me: Kinda. Still seems like my career is my choice, though. And after thinking it over, I don’t think I’m ready to give you up yet.
A Friend: What am I, a pet?
Me: Now you’re just giving me ideas.
A Friend: Mr. Vanilla has suddenly decided he’s kinky, has he?
Me: Sex with me is good enough that you don’t need extra flavor.
A Friend: Now there’s a pick up line. All you have to ask now is, “want a taste?”
Me: Want a taste?
I feel dumb as soon as I send it, having no idea what the hell he’s going to write back. Things feel like they’re going okay, so maybe I just need to be optimistic.
A Friend: I already got a sample. A real taste might make me addicted.
Oh, he got more than a sample, alright. I think back to how he swallowed my cum then licked every part of me clean. Enough screwing around.
Me: I want to see you again.
A Friend: You know that’s a stupid idea.
Me: Actually, I’m pretty sure we’re overthinking it. No one knows who you are, no one knows I like guys, and literally no one is interested in me catching up with a friend.
There’s a short pause.
A Friend: How long did it take you to come up with all that?
Me: Just this afternoon. So what do you think?
A Friend: I think I need to think about it.
Me: Well, that was a mouthful.
A Friend: So are you ;)
I crack up laughing. It’s weird, this flirting thing. Elliot’s a complete unknown. It’s exciting.
And until he thinks about whether we can see each other again, I’m going to make sure he doesn’t get a chance to forget me.
Chapter Ten
When the Sharks smash the Statesmen, I pick up my phone in a rush to text Taryn and congratulate him, but stop myself. He was amazing, every move flawless. I couldn’t take my eyes off him.
Though that could also be because I’ve seen him naked now.
As soon as his team ran out onto the field, I was drawn to his tight pants and shoulder pads, wondering whether he’d fuck me wearing them. If we were still hooking up, that is. Did Liam take advantage of having the world’s hottest football player at his fingertips? I want to say no. I want to say he didn’t deserve Taryn. I want to say Taryn’s completely over him, but honestly, that’s a lie.
It’s time to face the facts—I was a rebound, and we won’t be hooking up again.
Placing my phone facedown on the desk, I drag my mind back to work. The Sharks were favorites for the win, so the profit margins weren’t great. Most of my regular clients bet on them under my recommendation, and while Taryn might have been a slight factor in that decision, I’m careful not to let my night with him get in the way of business.
I go through my clients’ accounts, checking the bets they made against the odds to make sure no money has been missed. With an automated system, it’s all pretty standard and above board, but my boss doesn’t hold much faith in computers, especially when a lot of our systems are set up to run through Vegas holders.
The problem is, there are a lot of combinations people can bet on—first touchdown, yards run, number of tackles, etcetera, etcetera—that it becomes a huge time drain. So I’ve set up a spreadsheet that does the work for me, allowing me more time to review the other games, and put solid research into who will win. My boss wouldn’t be happy, but fuck it. There’s a reason I have so many clients, and there’s a reason my five-year plan is ahead of schedule.
I finish cross-checking my spreadsheet with the account info and then upload it to the work drive before trying to figure out some sure bets left over the weekend. I have a few idiots on my books who like to go for the higher margins, and I swear by Monday, we’re always trying to recoup their losses.
Must be nice to have money to burn.
There’s a knock at the door, and I look up, surprised to see my boss hovering outside my office.
“Hey, Gary. Need something?”
“Yes, actually.” Gary steps inside and takes the seat across from me. His large, bulky frame seems far too big for my small office. “How are things looking for the weekend?”
“Yeah, really good. We’re on track to be steady with last week.”
He claps his hands. “Good man. Where would I be without you?”
Oh, I don’t know. Spending the other tens of thousands that come in weekly. For someone so rich though, he certainly doesn’t act like it. He owns a lot of property from what I can gather, but always chooses to dress like his clothes are a size too big, and I don’t know the last time he updated his sneakers. That he wears. To the office.
He sighs. “You know how important it is that everything we do here is above board.”
“Of course.”
“Good. There have been rumors from other bookies I know about fixed games. All bullshit from what I can tell…” His normally relaxed face hardens, and I see the man people are warned never to cross. “Just keep your ear out.”
Gary’s always made it clear he expects for us to put ethics before money. Like he says, in a game like ours, you’ve got to set limits and stick to them.
“What do you recommend this week?” he asks, suddenly back to relaxed again.
I hum as I turn back to my spreadsheet. “Long or short odds?”
“Give m
e one of each.”
“The Hawks are a sure thing for the win, but if you want a long shot, probably Gremmins for first point scorer in tomorrow night’s game.”
Gary laughs. “Gremmins has never had a first touchdown.”
“Like I said, long shot.”
“Does anyone actually take your long shots?”
“Occasionally. I’ve had a handful of very happy punters.”
He nods. “Well, keep up the great work, son.” He stands to leave, and it’s not until he opens the door a crack that he hesitates. “Oh, and can you put a bet on for my wife?”
My eyebrows shoot up, but I quickly open her file. My computer tells me I haven’t accessed it in thirty-seven weeks. “Sure. What this time?”
“She’s got a feeling about Kirans in Sunday night’s Cobras game. What are the odds on him getting injured?”
I cringe inwardly at the request. Betting on players’ injuries is not something I like doing. I’m not superstitious, but it still feels like bad karma. I find the info I need and whistle. “Let’s say he’s in really good form.”
Gary nods. “Okay. Put her down for five thousand.”
My eyes almost bulge from my head. Imagine having that kind of money to throw away at a twenty to one odd. “That’s…” I shake my head. “Yeah, of course.” Whatever. Win or lose, I’ll still make my money.
Gary must notice something on my face because he chuckles darkly. “Take it from me, Elliot. When you get married, it’s easier to give them what they want.”
“Noted.”
