Illegal Contact (The Barons)

by Santino Hassell

  “Oh Lord,” Marcus groaned. “You got him started. Here we go.”

  “Er, I know you’re a quarterback. There was a cute Buzzfeed article about you and your dog. And your name tends to come up when me and my friend are watching TMZ.” I tried to think of one of the more embarrassing stories I’d heard. “You get linked to models and actresses a lot.”

  “All lies,” he said airily. “Even the dog thing. That dog belongs to Marcus, and he stays eating my shit.”

  I couldn’t help a laugh. How was he so normal and easy to talk to? “Really? I heard you had an affair with Leonardo DiCaprio’s girlfriend.”

  Simeon’s smile got bigger and more sharklike. “Nope. I’m more likely to have fucked Leo. Or been fucked by Leo, ya heard?”

  This time, my mouth fell open.

  Marcus dropped his spoon, and Gavin sat up straight.

  “Simeon, you are such an idiot,” he snapped at the same time as Marcus said, “Seriously, Simeon? After all this shit?”

  I looked between them, blinking.

  “What? Y’all done told me he signed a confidentiality agreement!” Simeon huffed out a big sigh. “Besides, he’s a gay social-justice warrior. Safer than a titanium condom.”

  “Uh . . . I wouldn’t—” I started to say.

  “I know he’s safe, but you don’t. You didn’t even hesitate.” Gavin got to his feet, cutting me off. “I can’t believe you.”

  What even was happening?

  “It’s my business,” Simeon said, a defensive edge creeping into his tone. “And my life. Just because of one bad incident, you won’t see me going around hiding and ducking and never talking to another guy. What if I wanted to ask Noah out on a date? Can’t do that without letting the gay cat out of the rainbow bag.”

  “You’re not asking Noah out on a date,” Gavin growled.

  “Why not?” Simeon glanced at me again, batting his long lashes. “Don’t you think I’m pretty?”

  “Very pretty. But—” I looked between them again. “I would never out anyone. Believe me. And I don’t know how this works, but I’ll sign anything you want stating you can sue me, or whatever, if I let the . . . gay cat out of the rainbow bag.”

  Simeon hopped off the bar stool and came around to my side of the bar. He threw a powerful arm around my shoulders and jerked me against him. “See? Perfectly trustworthy. You should have more faith in your staff, Gavin.”

  “It’s not about Noah. I know I can trust him.” Even as Gavin said it, his gaze dropped to Simeon’s arm around me. His frown deepened. “It’s about how careless you are, and how you don’t give a second thought to any of the dumbass shit you do.”

  “I gotta back Gavin up on this one, man.” Marcus had washed his spoon and was tucking into his ice cream again. He plopped down at the table next to Gavin. “And you can’t act like Gav doesn’t have a vested interest after what happened.”

  I desperately wanted to ask what had happened. Why were they acting like Simeon had to explain his choices to either of them? My first response was to think they should mind their own damn business. If the hot quarterback wanted to flirt with me, he could and should. And if he didn’t want to live in the closet when in privacy, he shouldn’t have to.

  But there was clearly more to the story. And it was none of my business. I was just “staff.” This conversation was out of my lane, and I wasn’t about to demand details about the closeted life of one of the nation’s most famous football players. I’d never even heard an indication that Simeon Boudreaux may be gay, so the secret was airtight.

  “Okay, fine,” Simeon said, squeezing me tighter to his side. “I get it. But you assholes are acting like I be willy-nilly outing myself.”

  “Only when you wanna fuck someone,” Marcus said.

  “Yeah!”

  “And you wanna fuck Noah,” Marcus added.

  “Who wouldn’t?” Simeon was wiggling his eyebrows at Gavin. When he got a total stoneface in response, he drooped. “All right, all right. Fuck, you got zero sense of humor sometimes, Brawley.” He looked at me again. “How do you stand it?”

  “Uh, most of the time we aren’t in the same room.” I tried to squirm out of Simeon’s iron grip and failed. “And he usually only speaks to me to tell me to do something before returning to the gym.”

  “Damn. That’s out cold.”

  Gavin sat up straighter, his scowl fierce. “That’s not true.”

  “Yes, it is. The only time you talk to me beyond giving me an instruction is to heckle me or tease me. We’re both pretty bad at saying things without it leading to sarcasm.”

  “You’re a douchebag, Brawley,” Marcus said around a mouthful of ice cream. “Way to Meryl Streep it up.”

  I couldn’t help it. I laughed. A record-breaking NFL superstar referencing The Devil Wears Prada was too much for me. Simeon joined in, and Gavin looked ready to throw us all out of his house.

  It was funny mostly because I expected him to come back at us with some fire sarcasm that would set my hair ablaze and me running out of the room to start the task of creating his social media accounts, but he just stared at me. Hard. And then sat down without another word.

  Marcus and Simeon went on without giving him a second glance. Maybe they were used to his moodiness, but I wasn’t. Now I was rethinking my words and my attempts to be witty in front of Marcus and Simeon. Had I just embarrassed him?

  “So,” Marcus said. “We heard you hate football.”

  “Hate is a strong word. More like . . . I’m ambivalent about football.”

  “What’s ambivalent?” Simeon winked at me, making it clear he was goofing. “When you can write with both hands? I could use that skill for something more interesting.”

  “No, dumbass,” Marcus said, snickering. “That’s ambidextrous.”

  “Ahhhh. So, what’s ambivalent?”

  “It means he doesn’t give a flying fuck about football,” Gavin said. “And is trying to act like he hasn’t made up his mind yet.”

  “He probably just doesn’t understand it. And if he didn’t watch it, he had no investment.” Marcus pointed his spoon at me. “And now that you’ve got us to take care of, you have a team to root for.” Marcus scooped up more ice cream. He’d been eating nonstop since walking in the door, and had commented that he’d lost too much weight during the off-season. Again, I did not understand the lives of athletes. “Trust me. Watching sports makes a world of difference if you know who the players are. There ain’t no way you’re going to be able to bypass numbers 13 and 22 for the rest of the season without rooting for me and this clown,” he said, nodding at Simeon. “It’s gonna get in your blood.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Simeon grabbed me again, dropping both palms on my shoulders and squeezing. He was the handsiest person I’d ever met, and it made me antsy. I didn’t know him. He may be queer, but he was still a big, arrogant superstar. I shifted away, shooting a glance at Gavin, who’d resumed his cold observation.

  “So, next week we have this big signing event before our first game of the season. You should come.” Simeon gave me that shit-eating grin again. “You’ll have fun. Fan day is a real good time.”

  “What’s fan day?”

  “Like it sounds,” Marcus said with a snort. “Fans come to training camp and watch. We sign autographs. Et cetera. I gotta be honest, I fucking hate it. And I hate that the Barons have it more than once during preseason. I’m not there to dog-and-pony for screaming fans when I’m trying to make weight and keep rookies from trying to steal my spot.”

  Gavin became more alert. “Any competition?”

  “There’s a new kid out of UT—Shane. Since Moe got injured and is also out for the fucking season doing groin surgery, Shane is out of third string and cooling his heels as my backup. Showing off like a peacock in every play.”

  Gavin’s brow furrowed. “Well, don’t get yourself injured like Moe, and you’ll be straight.”

  “Man, don’t say that,” Marcus pro
tested. “Moe ain’t injury-prone.”

  “I know, but you know they’re starting to say it.”

  Simeon rolled his eyes at me. “All these clowns talk about is ball. Fuck that for now. Come to fan day. You can meet the rest of Gavin’s brothers. I’ll give you the VIP treatment.”

  An automatic no was just waiting to pop out of my mouth, but I thought of my father and Jasmine. They’d love to come to fan day. Jasmine would probably pass out if she got to meet Marcus.

  “When is it?” I asked reluctantly.

  “Next Tuesday. Trust me. It will be a good time. We practice at the stadium, the cheerleaders come, there’s music and shit—it’s a whole party.”

  “It’s a waste of time,” Gavin said. “And I’ve hated it since I got drafted.”

  “Because you hate the media,” Marcus said. “And don’t have patience for fans.”

  “That’s not true.” Everyone’s eyes cut to me and my sharp defense of Gavin. I shrugged, refusing to back down from the statement. “I’ve been going through his fan mail with him, and he responds to people who seem to have a personal connection to the game. Or to him. But I would say ninety percent of those letters are just people thinking he’s their modern-day Spartacus. They don’t see him as a real person. Some see him as some subhuman Neanderthal they would like to fuck them in various violent ways, and others spend their time sending hate mail. It’s disturbing.”

  “It comes with the job,” Simeon said. “Just wait until you get him set up on social media, boo. It will get so much worse.”

  “Well, I’m dreading it, then. No one should have to deal with that,” I said. “He’s never done anything for people to be so hateful.”

  “That’s the biz. That’s what comes with all this money.”

  Simeon didn’t seem to be taking it seriously. And I wondered if that was because he was generally well-loved, while fans seemed to view Gavin as either some kind of masculine sex beast or a lowlife. It was strange how people thought they knew him, based on the little bit he showed the camera during conferences, a few sound bites, and his aggressive playing style.

  I wanted to keep arguing the point, but a glance at Gavin told me he was watching me again. That scrutinizing golden stare. I held it long enough for Marcus to smirk. Simeon was oblivious.

  “So, fan day?”

  “Can I bring a friend? And my dad?”

  “Of course. Bring the whole squad!” Simeon winked. “As long as you let me buy you dinner afterwards. The stadium is out in Jersey, but if it gets too late, I have no problem giving you a ride.”

  He was hitting on me. Blatantly. And I had no interest in taking him up on it, but I did have interest in making sure Simeon Boudreaux wound up having dinner with my father, a lifelong Barons fan.

  I nodded in agreement, grinning at the thought. Which is when Gavin got up and walked out of the room.

  ***

  Gavin

  Somewhere in the past couple of weeks, right around the time I’d watched Noah’s face light up as he threw himself into philanthropic planning schemes and he’d warned me about Joe being a nosy scumbag, I’d lost my mind. Evidence? Me wanting to smack my closest friend for putting the moves on him.

  At first I’d thought I was being overprotective. Not even a week ago, I’d had this whole talk with Noah about him feeling safe, and I’d taken it seriously. As a foster kid, I’d never felt safe. Especially in the homes of people who’d temporarily taken me in. I’d been constantly reminded of my precarious position in their houses, and how they could put in a thirty-day notice with my social worker at any point. And they’d used that leverage against me.

  I wasn’t about to step into the shoes of bastards who’d worked hard to ensure I would end up distrusting and despising people for the rest of my life.

  He was my employee. I was his boss. He obviously didn’t trust me but had agreed to shack up in my house for two reasons only—money to help his father and to catch up on his debt. He didn’t really want to be here, but he had to be. The least I could do was respect his wishes. The same for my friends, but Simeon was laying it on thick.

  As he’d run his hands all over Noah, I’d justified each jolt of discomfort by saying Simeon was shitting all over my promise. But Noah agreeing to fan day and whatever else? That had turned discomfort into outright jealousy. Especially since he hadn’t even known my damn name after meeting me at the interview, but he knew all sorts of random facts about Simeon. Simeon, who was in full-throttle, charming superstar QB mode. I was over it.

  Regardless, my jealousy was a complete anomaly. Had never happened before. But it was happening right the fuck now, and I was furious with myself. Who cared if Noah was cute and a smartass who wasn’t afraid to tell me to go fuck myself? And so what if that turned me on? Who cared if he was proving to be helpful and loyal enough to warn me about Joe? He was still my employee. I wasn’t supposed to care that he was more interested in my best friend.

  Fuck. Whose idea had it been for me to be someone’s boss? I had zero clue what I was doing. Why had I ever listened to Joe?

  I returned to the game room and paced the mostly empty space. I’d just seen that anger-management person a few days ago, and every tip and suggestion had flown out of my mind. All I could think about was how pissed I was at myself, and how I needed to go down to the gym and beat the shit out of a punching bag to work it out of my system. The last time I’d been this mad at myself had been when I’d trusted a journalist who’d invented a fake backstory for himself to get me to respond to his prying questions. Then he’d blasted my childhood across the front page of the newspaper.

  Gavin Brawley Blames His Out of Control Temper on Hardscrabble Past.

  Every word out of context. Bits and pieces of my identity twisted to fit the story he’d wanted. After that, I’d vowed to never talk to a reporter again. I hadn’t expected my emotional thermometer to blast through to enraged over Simeon coming on to Noah. And now I had nothing to use as an outlet. I could work out from morning to night, but after a while it was monotonous. Energy being expended but not going anywhere, and I felt like it circled the air and absorbed right back into my shoulders every goddamn night.

  “You’re being real extra right now.”

  Marcus’ calm voice did nothing to settle me down. “Shut up.”

  “Nah.” Marcus yawned and plopped onto one of the sofas. “Fuck, dude, I’m ready for nap time. Your cagey, jealous shit is ruining the vibe.”

  “Who says I’m jealous?”

  “Your white ass gets so flushed when you’re mad that it would be impossible to miss. I thought you were going to jump Simeon when he made that comment about giving ole boy a ride.”

  “Yeah, well, what can I say?” I stopped pacing. “I didn’t invite you assholes over here to give my employee a hard time.”

  “Your employee.” Marcus threw his muscular legs up onto the couch and stretched out. “Don’t even front like you don’t want to smash him.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Bullshit. You were staring them down the whole time we were downstairs. I mean, hey, no judgment. He just looks like a typical white-boy hipster to me, but whatever floats your boat, man. You may want to lay it down for Simeon if you’re serious, though. He most definitely wants to tap that ass.”

  I ground my teeth together and tried to remember the last time I’d felt possessive over anyone, but I came up short. Then again, I didn’t normally hang out with the people I had sex with for more than ten minutes after we both came.

  “I don’t want Simeon fucking him, and it has nothing to do with me being jealous.”

  “Oh yeah? What’s it got to do with?”

  “Him not pissing off the only person I can stand to have in my house for six months,” I snarled. “Simeon can stick his dick in someone else until Noah is finished here.”

  “And then you’d be cool with it?”

  “Yeah, then I’d be cool with it.”

  Marcus snickered. He knew I
was full of shit.

  “Let me ask you a question, Gav.”

  “Is that a question or a warning about the fact that I can’t stop you from asking even if I wanted to?”

  “Probably the last one.” Marcus propped his feet up on the arm of the couch, making himself nice and comfy. “If you’re having jealous temper tantrums over this kid after a month, how the fuck are you gonna act in another two or three? He’s gonna be here all the time, dude. Showering in your bathroom, sleeping in your guest room, jacking it in bed a few thousand square feet away . . .”

  “For fuck’s sake, Marcus.”

  “Am I right or am I right, though?”

  He was right. But I refused to admit it.

  “I already told you I’m not jealous. Do we get along? Yeah. We do. And you know that’s a miracle when it comes to me. Half the Barons can’t stand my ass because I won’t laugh at their stupid jokes, but at least they respect me. Most people think I’m a piece of shit.”

  “And your boy?” Marcus pressed, looking truly intrigued. “What’s he like?”

  “He’s . . .” How was he? What was it about him that had even clicked with me enough to make me want to guarantee he not walk out of the oversized front door and not come back? To become desperate and throw in that huge bonus so he wouldn’t have to keep commuting? “He’s a smartass, but he’s a good person. And he gets me.”

  Marcus raised an eyebrow. “How’s he get you? He doesn’t even like football.”

  The disgusted tone drew a smile out of me. I plopped down in one of the armchairs and tilted my head back. “He didn’t grow up like me, but . . . he gets it. And he’s not phony. He’s straight up with his opinions and isn’t afraid to tell me them.”

  “So he’s not scared to say . . . ‘Gavin, you’re being a dickhead.’”

  “Basically. He talks almost as much trash as I do, which is probably why we managed to get along. Also, he keeps trying to make me look good to Mel. Gave me credit for all this shit that he came up with. I don’t get it, since I was a total douchebag to him, but I appreciate it. He’s a good dude.”

  “Huh.” Marcus slowly nodded, analyzing me with his big dark eyes. “Aiight, I’ll talk to Simeon.”