“About what?”
“Him keeping his greedy hands off your boy.” Marcus winked. “But if you’re keeping on with this whole I’m-trying-to-hold-on-to-my-employee bullshit, I’d recommend getting laid. From where I’m sitting, you just look like a jealous, horny bastard.”
“Done.”
Marcus rolled off the sofa and sprang to his feet. He arched his back with a jaw-cracking yawn. “You mind if I catch some sleep, dude? I’ve been having nightmares every night for the past few days.”
“What kind of nightmares?”
“Eh. Stress shit. Getting injured before the season even starts. Moe getting hurt messed me up, man.”
“You spoke to him?”
“Yeah.” Marcus sobered. “His agent isn’t feeling too good about his contract since this is his last year, and he’s had four fucking surgeries during the life of it. Remember what I said earlier? About them saying he was injury-prone? I wasn’t making it up. His career may be over, man. Or maybe they’ll trade him to some douchebag team like the Predators.”
The Predators were infamous dickholes. It seemed to be a requirement for signing with them. Even their cheerleaders were mean as fuck. The Slytherin of the NFL. The only time I could play a game without everyone mentioning my shitty reputation was if we were playing the Predators. They, as a whole, had a shittier reputation than me.
“You won’t get hurt.”
Marcus arched a brow. “You a prophet now?”
“Yeah. And I prophesize your ass winning the Super Bowl this year.”
“Without you and Moe? Nope.”
I scoffed. “Yeah, right.”
“For real, man. I love Phil, but he’s no Brawley. He’s small and lean enough to run circles around D-men after a reception, but he has none of your force or bulk. They’re changing everything to account for you and Moe not being there. Fucking sucks.”
It did suck. Even more so because I was now facing the reality that my team was short not one but two starters. If I’d controlled myself better, I’d be there to support them. All of this stress and anxiety about how the season would roll out wouldn’t be on their shoulders, although in my opinion Moe was more of an asset to the team. He was one of the best wide receivers in the league. Even so, I wanted to be there to step up. But I was stuck. Because of my need to escalate shit five times past where it could have ended.
“All right, bud. I’m gonna go talk to Simeon, and you figure out how to get laid.”
I nodded, watching him go, and actually listened to the tip. Between Simeon and Noah, the shit about Moe, and now the news that my replacement wasn’t rising to the occasion of starting for the Barons? I needed an outlet. It was either time to get in a monstrous fistfight or take out the brimming frustration on someone’s ass.
I went for the latter.
As a matter of luck, I’d gotten the number of the cute little fitness model who’d sucked my dick at my “house arrest party.” Max with the pretty smile and talented mouth. I was willing to bet he was also a talented bottom.
My text message consisted of a single question: Busy this weekend?
His reply was nearly instant.
Max: Sorta. How are you?
Gavin: Horny. wanna come thru on Sat or Sunday? I got your cab.
Max: I’m free Sunday night. But I thought you didn’t do two-night stands?
It was tempting to tell him to forget it. I did not fuck with leading questions or implications that someone was more special to me than I’d ever stated just because they were trying to read into my actions. That was how drama happened. And having a GPS around my ankle for six months was as much drama as I needed.
Hesitating on a response, I left the game room to go back downstairs. Simeon had settled in the living room and was watching the first Predators pre-season game on the big screen. Noah was nowhere in sight.
“Did he leave? It’s only four.”
“Nah,” Simeon said, scowling at the screen when the Predators scored a touchdown. “He went to refill your prescription before going back to Queens. You’re like an elderly person, and he’s your sexy home health aide.”
“Shut up. It’s shit my therapist is trying to make me take.”
Simeon looked at me sideways. “Is it to calm your ragey-when-anxious ass down?”
“Yes.”
“Then you better take it.”
“And you better stop trying to hump my assistant,” I said.
“Marcus already read me,” Simeon said, rolling his eyes. “All I have to say about that is if you don’t bang the kid by the time you finish your house arrest, I’m gonna do it. He’s fine and smart, and probably a slut in bed.”
I gritted my teeth. “I don’t care.”
Simeon winked and turned back to the game. My best friend, unable to keep his pants zipped long enough to stay out of trouble. This time, with me. But it wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t as observant as Marcus who had somehow cottoned on to my growing attraction.
I looked down at my phone again, and tapped out a message.
Gavin: Times are hard so I’m making an exception. Can you come?
Max: Yup. As long as you have the cab ;) You’re a long way from Williamsburg.
Gavin: On it. i hope you plan on getting fucked all night.
Max: Wouldn’t have it any other way.
Chapter Nine
Noah
“I’m not going.”
I rolled my eyes at my father. “You, the fanatical Barons fan, are refusing to go to fan day.”
“Do you know how expensive stadiums are?” he asked, trailing after me as I headed for the front door. It was the crack of dawn on a Monday morning, and he was far more bright-eyed than me. “And I’m not taking your money. I wish you’d stop with the handouts.”
“I’m your son. It’s not a handout.”
He shook his head. “When I get another job I’ll go to events. Right now I can’t afford to have fun. But you and Jasmine should have a good time.”
Frustration welled inside of me, but I swallowed it. For as long as I could remember, this stubborn pride had caused my father to reject help even when we needed it. It had always been my mother to compromise, or to sneak behind his back and accept help from family or a food pantry if we couldn’t make ends meet. I strongly believed it was part of the reason their relationship had deteriorated. It was hard to reconcile yourself with the fact that your husband, or father, was so ashamed of our lives that he’d refused help even when we’d really needed it.
“Fine. Be that way.” I paused at the door with my backpack slung over one shoulder. “Don’t forget, I’m staying in Long Island until Saturday night. I’m working Saturday instead of Wednesday so I can go to fan day.” I gave him another withering glare. “If you need anything—”
“Stop mothering me.” My dad leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his flannel shirt, and tattoos peeking out from the rolled-up sleeves. “Noah, are you sure you want to keep this job?”
The question caught me off guard. I’d been working for Gavin for over a month now, and this was the first time my father had shown outright skepticism about it. Although, maybe that wasn’t true. His unease had been palpable when he’d seen my first paycheck. After that, I’d asked for my pay to be—direct-deposited into my bank account. Other than my father’s disbelief and worry, it made me feel better than Gavin just . . . handing me a check. And I didn’t even want to analyze why that would bother me.
“I hated it at first, but I’m finally in a rhythm. I got to know Gavin a little better, and we get along now. We have things in common. Besides, it’s only for another few months.”
“A lot can happen in a few months,” he said. “You know I wouldn’t discourage you from doing something that’s going to earn you so much money, but this is Gavin Brawley. He’s violent.”
I sighed and let my backpack drop to the floor at my feet. “Dad—”
“Don’t you make that face at me, boy. Have you forgotten why he�
�s under house arrest?”
“No. He got in a fight with some guy at a club.”
“Have you seen the video?”
“Dad, please—”
He had his phone in my face before I could protest. A spike of irritation swelled inside of me, but I couldn’t bring myself to walk out when his brow was set in such a serious frown. Dad, the sports enthusiast, was genuinely concerned about me living with Gavin. It was only that thought that caused me to watch the video.
Someone who’d clearly been parked, or who’d been sitting in traffic, had captured the video from the point when Gavin’s Range Rover had nearly run the Nissan off the road. That alone made my stomach churn, but what happened next left me on edge. Gavin jumped out of the vehicle, and what I could see of his face was transformed by anger. Maybe it was because I’d never watched any of his games, but for all that I’d become accustomed to his intensity . . . what I saw daily had nothing on this. He looked like another person. Someone frightening.
In the tiny video, Gavin charged from his Rover to the Nissan. He proceeded to yank the driver’s door open and wrench the driver out. There was a brief exchange of snarled words, but the meaning was lost to the wind and the surrounding traffic. What was apparent was that the other guy was talking a lot of shit, if I judged by the speed of his lips and the scowl on his face.
Shouted words flew back and forth, but all I could hear was the guy saying “—sell it to someone who wants to pay,” right before Gavin pushed him against the side of the car. The guy responded by punching Gavin with flailing fists multiple times. It was a mistake. Gavin, who was contorted by such anger that I couldn’t imagine what the guy had done to trigger it, drew blood with a single hit. If I judged by the end of the video, when Gavin pinned the guy with one hand and watched him fumble with his phone, I’d guess the guy had taken a picture of something damning.
“Jesus,” I said. “Does anyone have any idea what was on the phone?”
“No. They didn’t say.”
“Odd.” I frowned. “If he was trying to blackmail Gavin, you’d think he’d have brought it up.”
“Yeah, but either way, you can see he’s dangerous. Who knows how he could fly off the handle? Fucking bully.”
“Dad, the guy hit him first. Multiple times. The way everyone talks about it, it’s like he mauled the dude.”
“He’s a professional athlete!”
“And he was being attacked! I’m not saying he should have fought, or that he should have chased the guy down, but I’m also not gonna say he was fully in the wrong until I know the entire story.” I grabbed my backpack again. “I’m going to ask him about it.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Noah.”
“Well, I’m not going to just come up with theories on my own. I don’t know Gavin very well, but the idea of him randomly charging after some guy just for kicks literally makes zero sense. There was something more going on there. I’m not going to crucify him based on one side of a story devised by people who already hate him. There’s more to him than that.”
Dad’s face had gone from protective to dawning with horror. “Noah.”
“What, Dad? I have to go.”
I stepped out the door, but he grabbed my arm. “Don’t do this again.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
His face colored. “You damn well know exactly what I’m talking about. Don’t do this to yourself again. The same thing that happened with that scumbag you worked for last time—”
“Oh my God. Seriously?”
“Yes,” he said, voice rising. “Seriously. This is always what happens. You see something soft and admirable in the men you work for—”
“Dad, there is nothing soft about Gavin Brawley.”
“Oh, really? Then explain why you’ve been talking so much about the look on his face when he talked about that kid? Or his past in the foster system.” When I grew quiet and looked away, my father’s voice grew urgent. “I know you. You fall for two types—people who either have the same passion for change as you do, or people with hard stories and rough pasts. And I will tell you right now, young man—Gavin isn’t that person. His past shouldn’t make you forget what he is. You can’t change him or save him, and I hope you’re not going to fall into this same hole again!”
By the time he finished his rant, I wanted to fall into a pit and never come out. And not one with Gavin Brawley. One that would hide the humiliation of realizing all my past relationships, the ones I’d tried so hard to keep private because I’d never wanted my parents involved in my love life, had clearly been analyzed and discussed.
“Have you been talking to Mom about me?”
“Yes,” he said, unapologetic. “And we’re both concerned.”
“Nice. That’s really great, Dad.” I pulled away and stepped out the door. “Well, you can tell her not to worry. Gavin Brawley is a heterosexual football player with zero interest in a broke gay boy from Queens.”
“That doesn’t change you getting invested in—”
“I’m done. See you on the weekend, Dad. I’ll call you later.”
He didn’t call after me as I stormed down the hallway and towards the stairs, but I was sure I’d be receiving several text messages later. The worst part was that I didn’t know whether to feel humiliated or insulted. Like Gavin, my own parents believed I had a habit of falling for men I worked for or with. But unlike Gavin, they seemed to think I would be foolish enough to think I could have any influence on Gavin’s lifestyle or personality. The only thing I’d influence in the next few months were where he ordered food from online, his response time to fan mail, and an Instagram full of workout porn.
The cab was waiting when I went downstairs, and luckily the driver had no interest in chatting on our long drive to Westhampton. He played 1010 Wins the entire time, which also reminded me of my father, so it was impossible to get the words out of my mind. And that damn video.
Just because I was unwilling to swallow a context-less video didn’t mean I was falling for Gavin. It just meant I wanted a full story. There had been times in the past few weeks when I’d wondered whether Gavin was under house arrest just to make an example of him during a period when NFL players were being exposed as total scumbags left and right, but now I knew that wasn’t the case. Regardless of the reason, he’d assaulted a man. But I knew something had incited the incident. Something serious. There was no way Gavin would jeopardize his career otherwise.
What had been in that phone?
I resolved to ask Gavin about it, or maybe Simeon on fan day, and closed my eyes for the rest of the ride. Sleep didn’t come with my brain so full of turmoil, so I was cranky and restless by the time we rolled up to the mansion. I tipped the driver and dragged myself up the staircase.
It became immediately obvious that something was off.
There was no loud music coming through the surround-sound speakers in the gym. No sign of Gavin having set foot in the kitchen to make his protein shake. And when I went up to my guest room to drop off my backpack, there were undeniable sounds coming from Gavin’s cavernous room.
Rhythmic thumping, something banging the wall, and Gavin’s voice uttering, “Fuck, yeah. Bounce on that dick, bitch.”
My mouth went dry, and my heart stopped.
I should move. I knew I should move, but my feet were anchored to the spot. Even through the thick wooden door, I could hear the bed springs. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh. A series of moans leading to increasing slapping and panting, and Gavin’s growled oaths and encouraging, filthy suggestions.
“Faster. Ride it. Take my fucking dick.”
My own breathing was coming fast enough to release in gusts. And when Gavin’s voice cried out sharp and loud, in a way that could only mean he’d just come, I dropped my backpack. It landed with a loud clatter in the now-quiet hallway. My horror was only matched by my arousal, and I sprinted the rest of the way down the hallway.
The doo
r shut too loudly, and I was convinced Gavin and whatever woman he’d been ravishing knew I was here. Maybe they knew I’d been standing there. Maybe Gavin would use this knowledge to later torment me for being an eavesdropping perv.
Or maybe he’d been too lost in the body of some beautiful model or actress or cheerleader to care about what his uptight PA was doing.
The sound of that deep moan, and the way it’d tapered off into a hoarse sigh, ricocheted in my brain. I was so hard that it was uncomfortable in my jeans.
Maybe other people could get off and continue functioning normally right after, but I needed at least ten minutes of down time followed by a few more moments of lethargy before I was fully operational again.
I abandoned my suitcase and went to the bathroom attached to the guest room—or my room. Even after a month, I had a hard time thinking of it that way. It looked like a hotel bathroom even though Gavin had declared it too small. I didn’t care.
After taking off my glasses, I splashed water on my face and glared at my reflection in the mirror. This was unprofessional. This needed to stop. He’d never let me live it down if he knew.
I repeated those words in my head over and over, but I kept hearing his voice going high and weak. He’d sounded agonized. Vulnerable. And maybe he had been—it’d been at least a couple of months since he’d last had sex, unless he had trysts I didn’t know about on the weekend. Who knew how much that release had wrecked him?
It was easy to fantasize how his face would have looked. Brows knotted, eyes shut or rolled back, full lips hanging open, and cheeks flushed with color. I wonder if he’d worn a condom or if he’d shot all over whoever had been riding him. I liked to picture him doing it messy. His jizz everywhere. God, he was probably so fucking dirty in bed.
My hand slipped down to grab the hardness straining against my jeans, and the thrill that shot through my body at the contact sent me over the edge. Within seconds, I was breathing hard and sprawled on the floor with my pants shoved off. I swung one knee over the side of the bathtub and spread the other wide so I could jerk my dick and clumsily finger my ass at the same time. It’d been a while since I went to town without a dildo, but Gavin growling for someone to bounce on his dick spawned a fantasy where that someone was me.
Illegal Contact (The Barons) Page 12
