“He is.”
“‘Kay. Glad we can agree. Now number two—I expect a full Snapchat story of your adventures as Gavin Brawley’s assistant.”
“No can do, girl. I signed an agreement that I wouldn’t take pictures of anything or discuss it on social media. Sorry.”
“Ugh. Fine. Give me constant text updates then. Those are safe, right?”
I smiled. “Right. Now tell me about that date you had last night.”
Jasmine rolled her eyes and went off about the dud she’d picked up on OkCupid. Despite it being her third bad date in as many weeks, the way she told the story had me laughing to the point of tears by the end of the call. I hung up with a smile on my face, checked the burgers again, and paced away from the grill.
I’d started cooking outside because the weather was beautiful and it gave me an excuse to walk the side of his property with the private beach. Jasmine was right when it came to the fact that this was a beautiful setting for an annoying job. I’d never seen sand so clean in my life, and the water was clearer than I’d ever seen on Rockaway Beach.
Shoving my hands in my pockets, I counted my steps and used them to gauge how long I could walk before needing to return to the grill. I’d barely made it to sixty before something moved in my peripheral vision.
“What the fuck!”
Coming over a dune on the supposedly private beach was a guy in cargo shorts and a bright polo shirt. At first I thought he was a preppy d-bag from another mansion, but then I saw the serious looking camera in his hand.
“Wow, you’re seriously trespassing to cop a fucking picture?” I demanded.
The photog froze in his tracks. “Who says I’m here for Gavin? Maybe I’m taking a picture of the beach.”
“You said it, wise guy,” I snapped. “All I asked was why the fuck you’re on private property with your camera. But now I know.”
“What do you know?”
“I know you’re invading someone’s fucking privacy!” My voice rose loud enough to carry over the waves, but I didn’t care. I could not believe the audacity of these assholes. And how he had the nerve to get sassy with me as if I wasn’t right. “You better get your ass out of here before—”
The photog raised the camera and took a picture of my outraged face. In one second, my jaw dropped. In the other, my anger exploded and turned me into a rage monster.
“You son-of-a—”
“Are you Gavin Brawley’s assistant? I heard he has one.”
“It’s none of your—”
Flash.
I blinked several times and stormed towards him.
“Friend? Lover?”
The douche asked the last question with a laugh in his voice, and it set me off like a rocket. I crossed the distance between us in two strides, grabbed his camera before he could react, and threw the damn thing towards the water. It didn’t make it all the way, but it was definitely damp after a hard landing.
“Hey!” the guy shouted. “Do you have any idea how much that cost?”
“Do you have any idea how little I fuckin’ care?” I shoved his shoulder. “You’re on private property. Technically, I could beat the shit out of you and drown your ass, then say I felt threatened. Try me.”
“Jesus Christ . . .” The photog scrambled for his camera. “You’re a real asshole.”
“No, you people are the assholes. He’s not a fucking animal at the zoo. You don’t get to gawk just because he’s locked in here.”
“He’s famous. Everyone gets to gawk.”
It was so enraging that I strode towards him again, but a hand dropped on my shoulder. I glanced over my shoulder to see Gavin looming over me with a seriously amused expression on his face. Christ, he was cute when he did that stupid little half-smile of his. Not that I saw it much. I mostly saw everything but his smile since he walked around exactly as he was right now—shirtless, shoeless, and wearing basketball shorts that barely hit his thick, muscular thighs.
“Your assistant is an asshole,” the photog squawked.
“That’s why I hired him.” Gavin didn’t move his big hand from my shoulder or take his eyes off me even as he jerked his head. “Beat it, Vito. If I catch your ass around here again, I’ll let him smack you around.”
Vito flipped us off and hurried away.
“That was some language for a buttoned-up yuppie with a master’s in social work.”
“He pissed me off,” I said, turning to face him. “People act like you’re not a real person. Like they can just do whatever the hell they want.”
“Most people think they can.” Gavin squeezed my shoulder and let his hand drop away, the fingers skimming down my arm. “Why’s it bother you so much?”
“Because it’s bullshit! For all we know, he was going to lurk around and take pictures through your windows.”
“Probably,” Gavin said, nodding. “What’re you gonna do if he does?”
“Punch him in the face.”
Gavin burst out laughing. It was such a foreign sound that it startled me, as did the way his golden eyes crinkled at the sides. The sound was so oddly pleasant that my irritation crumbled. I grinned.
“Look, I get a little riled up when it comes to people invading privacy and dehumanizing. I went through it a lot in school when people found out I’m gay. They thought it automatically meant I had some kinky sex life, and they were entitled to the details. Or to watch.” I glanced in the direction the photog had gone. “I know it’s totally different, but it drives me insane. You may be a rich asshole, but you’re still a person.”
“You really are a righteous little hero, aren’t you?”
“If that’s how you want to put it.” I stalked around him and headed back to the patio. “I’m not trying to humble brag. I just like helping people. And defending people who can’t defend themselves.”
“You think I can’t defend myself?” Gavin asked incredulously. “Wow. This is a conversation I never thought I’d have.”
I threw him a dry look. “I’m not talking about physically, you big damn jock. But if you think about it, you have zero control over what they say about you and what they make people believe about you, and there’s nothing you can do about it. I think it sucks.”
Gavin’s brows rose. I expected him to say something disparaging or sarcastic, but he just looked down at me with his arms hanging at his sides. He seemed . . . confused. Maybe surprised.
“You’re a person,” I said again. “And they should treat you like one.”
When the silence continued to stretch, I turned away to hurry to the patio again. I expected his damn turkey burgers to be dry, but I’d just saved them from destruction. I placed them on the platter while Gavin quietly trailed behind me, and returned to the massive kitchen. He sat on one of the stools and watched as I arranged his food on a plate with seafood salad I’d picked up from the market that morning.
“Who were you talking to on the phone?” he asked, changing the subject likely because I’d made him uncomfortable.
I shoved the plate and giant tub of salad at him. “Someone.”
“Who?”
I sighed. “A person. Eat your food.”
Gavin glanced down at his plate then at the empty space in front of me. He scowled. “Which person? Loverboy from Friday night?”
“Why is this important to you, Gavin?”
“Because I wanna know who you’re discussing me with, Noah.”
“Oh, please. Like my every conversation revolves around you.”
Gavin stared at me like he knew I was completely full of shit. Then looked at his food again. “Where’s your overpriced Subway sandwich?”
My jaw dropped. “You’re calling my food overpriced?”
“Yes. Eight bucks for chemical-infused bread and a little bit of meat. Sounds like a bunch of bullshit to me.”
“Wow. Good thing I didn’t ask for your scintillating review of what I eat.”
Gavin dropped his elbows on the table. It was unfair
how his biceps stood out like carved boulders just by him moving his upper body around. It was also sickening how soft and shiny his hair was in the streaming sunlight. He savagely bit into one of the burgers, killing a half pound of turkey in four bites.
“So, where’s your lunch?”
“Why are you so hung up on this?”
“Because I’m sitting here stuffing my face while your skinny ass sits there with nothing.”
“Did anyone ever tell you that your people skills are severely lacking?”
“You just talked about how much the media hates me. People read me about my faults all the damn time.”
He had a point.
“I didn’t have time to pick up something of my own, and I’m too exhausted at night and in the morning to pack something.”
“Make time.”
“I crash as soon as I get home,” I said. “But thanks for your concern about my well-being.”
“I’m concerned about how half-assed you perform every task because you have no energy,” he retorted. “Why didn’t you get something from the grocery store?”
“Because the gourmet-piece-of-shit store you sent me to is more overpriced than my overpriced sandwich! Not everyone can afford to shell out twenty bucks for a premade sandwich filled with eight tons of kale, you know. But I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”
“And why’s that?”
I snorted out a laugh. “Seriously? You told me you make insane amounts of money. I live in a two-bedroom apartment—or two-closet apartment—with my father, while drowning in enough student debt to ensure I will never pay it off until I’m in my fifties. And I grew up just as poor as I am now, with my mom making miracles out of canned beef stew, herbs, and rice. I’ve always been poor, and it will just follow me into adulthood because I didn’t have the luxury of some sports scholarship and a ride into the NFL—”
“I’m gonna stop you right there, baby.” Gavin hunched forward and stared me down, his golden eyes blazing like twin suns. “You think going to school on a sports scholarship was fun?”
“Yes,” I said. “I think you got a free ride while being treated like a god, probably having tons of academic assistance, and a ton of vagina thrown at you from so many angles you were ducking and weaving your way through parties.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. And I bet you had teams and agents throwing money at you the entire time, too.”
Gavin jutted a finger in my direction, his favorite move. “For such a smart guy, it sounds like you watched too much TV as a kid. You’ve only got about thirty percent of the story.”
“Oh yeah?” I asked, mimicking him. “So enlighten me. Tell me of your football-hero struggle.”
He licked grease off his fingertips. “That whole easy-living, sports-scholarship fairy tale you’re thinking about only pans out for chumps who grew up privileged enough to have their scholarship supplemented with money from their folks. My scholarship paid for room, board, and cafeteria meals. That’s it. And as you can see, I need more than cafeteria meals to survive. I also needed money for laundry, school supplies, transportation, clothes, and daily living in general.” Gavin took another giant bite of his burger. “So, until I started being courted by agents with money and gifts I couldn’t legally accept, I was a slave to this sport and my coaches.”
Now I felt stupid.
“Okay, that sounds exactly like my life in college minus the brutal physical training and stuff. I guess I thought you got extra money because of the sports stuff.”
“College football players didn’t start getting stipends until recently.”
“That’s nuts.”
Gavin shrugged and finished off his second burger.
“Well, I still bet girls threw their vaginas at you.”
He snorted out a laugh, caught himself, and stabbed the pile of seafood salad. “And I bet a few closeted professors went to town on your ass.”
“Who says I’m a bottom?”
“Are you saying you aren’t?”
Why had I started this?
“No comment. Why do you think I’d sleep with a professor?”
“You saying you never did?”
I had. Two, in fact. But the fact that he’d jumped to that correct conclusion so quickly irked me. Like I’d been walking around with an invisible acronym for Professor-Fucker branded on my forehead in bright red.
“I’m just curious why that was the first thing you assumed.”
“Because you’re a stuck-up little snob, and I bet even college-boy Noah wouldn’t bend over for anyone less than a professor with a tweed jacket and Chuck Taylors because he thought that made him look youthful.” Gavin arched an eyebrow and his mouth spread in a slow smirk. “I also bet you like older guys. Dudes who lounge around sipping espresso and smoking cigars while discussing the state of the world and the fucking literary canon.”
“As opposed to guys who sit around yelling at me about how many calories they need to eat?”
This time when Gavin grinned, it seemed genuine. “Any particular reason why you’re comparing them to me?”
“I figured that’s what you were doing since you seem so salty about my taste in men,” I countered. “Disliking jocks doesn’t mean I’m cruising the AARP crowd.”
“Didn’t say they had to be old. Just that you’re probably into older dudes too, since you probably go for powerful men. Maybe even men who have some kind of power over you. Like a professor. Or a boss.” That little smirk widened. “Maybe that means I have a shot at you after all.”
“You wish. Too bad you’re not my type.”
“Oh yeah? What’s your type?
“You can keep wondering about it.”
“I will,” he said, giving me a slow once over.
I knew he was going out of his way to mess with my head. There was absolutely no way Gavin Brawley was coming on to me. But I could still do nothing but watch in bewildered silence as he scraped up the last of his seafood salad and got to his feet. He glanced between me and the plate, before shoving the untouched and carefully-set-aside third burger across the table.
“Eat your fucking burger.”
“But—”
He walked away without another word, and I ate the fucking burger. I was two chews in before realizing I could have seasoned it better, and told myself to call my mother that evening to beg for some fast and easy, high-protein, low-carb recipes. She’d become a total health nut after moving to California, and she’d get a kick out of me wanting to use the hell out of this fancy kitchen to cook for someone I hated. Or was supposed to hate. I was still unsure of where I stood in that regard.
After practically licking the plate clean, I washed up and returned to the office. I’d expected to find it in the same mess I’d left it, but Gavin was sprawled in the middle of it all and once again doing his big blond cat rendition.
I stood awkwardly in the doorway, unsure of what to do. Normally he made tracks while I worked, but here he was . . . lounging sexily.
“Do you need something?”
“Yeah.” Gavin didn’t look up as he jerked his chin at the Rubbermaid container. He was rooting around for something. “Since you never got around to riding mechanic boy, did you look into those charities for me?”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Can I ask you a question?”
“I hate when people do this. Marcus does the same shit all the time. Asks if he can ask something he’ll end up asking anyway. What the fuck, are you trying to build suspense?”
I ignored his ranting. “You are aware that all of your talk about my personal life is still sexual harassment even though we’re both men. Right?”
Gavin’s mouth dropped open, but he closed it quickly with a click. “Am I making you that uncomfortable?”
“Yes. It makes me want to punch you in the face.”
“Like that’s different from other times?”
“Yeah, because it makes me think you’re also trying to drive me to quit. Are you
?” I spotted a slight upturn to the side of his mouth. “You are, aren’t you?”
“Nope.”
“You’re full of shit.”
Gavin pointed. “See? That attitude right there is why I talk so much shit to you. You dish it back with barely a hesitation, and sometimes you initiate it, so I figured you didn’t pay me any mind. If you’re gonna go cry about it, I’ll leave you alone. We can just never speak for all the fuck I care.”
“So not speaking, or you tormenting me about my sex life. Those are my options?”
“I’m gonna be me regardless, baby.”
“Fine. Then expect me to be me in return. No more filter.” I sat down on one of the oversized leather arm chairs. “Case had to reschedule our date, but it was fine because I wanted to focus on researching and getting here early. And yes, I know I still failed.”
“If you stayed your ass here overnight it wouldn’t be this much of a struggle.”
I couldn’t argue with that truth. “And maybe if you got laid yourself, you’d stop being so obsessed with what I’m doing in my spare time.”
“Probably not.” Gavin looked me up and down again, slow and deliberate, and absolutely filthy. “It amuses me to picture you getting fucked.”
For the umpteenth time in the past week, I was struck silent. Was he teasing me or hitting on me?
“You’re an uptight little bastard. I bet you spend the whole time trying to keep silent.”
He was definitely teasing me. That was easier to handle than the idea of him wanting to use me for easy-access brojobs. He wouldn’t be the first straight guy to assume the gays would flock to him the first time he offered to whip out his dick with the lights off. The “a mouth is a mouth, a hand is a hand” philosophy. If he was hard up enough, I wouldn’t be too shocked if he briefly entertained the idea.
I straightened my back and turned my attention to the overflow of envelopes.
“There’s your first mistake, Brawley. Don’t let the good-boy manners and button-down fool you. I’m an Irish kid from Queens. You’ve got no clue how loud I can be.”
Illegal Contact (The Barons) Page 8
