by Eden Finley
“I’m not an analyst. I’m a data manager for a start-up.”
Damon shrugs. “Same thing. And then we have Noah. Noah is, uh …”
“Go on, Damon, you can say it. I’m a trust-fund baby and haven’t worked a day in my life.” Noah turns to me. “But if I hadn’t been so terrified about my team beating me shitless, I would’ve played basketball. So you were close.”
“You’re forgetting you lack a thing called ball skills,” Damon says.
Noah flips him off.
“That was a fun lesson to not judge those by how they look,” I say.
“We all found each other in college,” Damon says.
“And now that you’ve had your fun,” Noah says, “we get to have ours and guess who you are.”
“Frat boy,” Rebecca says.
“Marketing major,” Wyatt says next.
“Total manwhore when it comes to the opposite sex,” Skylar adds.
“He may be a manwhore when it comes to women, but we know he’s only recently realized he’s into guys,” Noah says.
Meanwhile, I sit here with my mouth hanging open. “How did you—”
Damon nudges me. “They’re not psychic, just assholes. I already told them about you. I also told them to be nice, but they’re ignoring me.”
“Nothing wrong with a little hazing,” Noah says.
“I made it through Alpha Phi rush week, so hazing doesn’t scare me,” I say.
Noah grins. “Want a drink, newbie?”
“Yeah, I’ll take a cocktail. Because, you know, I have to order those now.”
Four pairs of eyes blink at me.
Damon laughs at me and mutters, “Now you’re the asshole.” He turns to his friends. “He’s fucking with you. He’s best friends with my sister, so do you expect any less?”
“Ooh, we love Stacy,” Rebecca says.
Damon gestures to me. “Meet male Stacy.”
Eww. Damon sees me as the male version of his sister? No wonder he doesn’t want to hook up.
“So, that drink?” Noah asks.
My phone dings in my pocket. “Sorry, I thought it was off—” I go to turn it to silent but see it’s a text from Stacy.
Stacy:
It was Matt Jackson you hooked up with, wasn’t it!?!?
Panic has my fingers flying across my screen.
Maddox:
How did you find that out?
I glare at Damon, but it’s premature.
Stacy:
Check the news.
“What is it?” Damon asks at my furrowed brow.
“Nothing good,” I murmur.
Stacy attached a link, and when I click on it, photos of Matt in a compromising position with another guy pop up on screen. From what I can tell of the dark images, he’s in a club.
The headline reads NFL Star Matt Jackson Spotted at Gay Nightclub.
“Ah, shit,” I mumble.
“What?” Damon asks.
I shove my phone at him. “Guess you were right.”
“Matt Jackson is your ex-hookup?” Damon asks incredulously.
“The Matt Jackson?” Noah asks.
“Who?” Wyatt asks.
“Geez, Wyatt,” Skylar says. “Even I know he’s a tight end for the Pennsylvania Bulldogs.”
Damon scrolls through the article. “This is bad.”
“What is?” Noah asks.
“This article outed him,” Damon says. “There’s definitely no denying it’s him in the photos.”
Noah holds his hand out for the phone. “Damn.” He pinches the screen and zooms in. Matt’s holding up his shirt, showing off the lower part of his abs, while a guy’s on his knees in front of him. “Can’t see any of the good stuff.” Noah gives me my phone back. “Although, you’d think they’d come up with a better headline. How did they miss a pun about being a gay tight end?”
“At least he isn’t a wide receiver,” Skylar jokes.
Normally, I’d laugh with them, but I can’t help wondering how Matt’s dealing with this.
“This isn’t a professional press release or tasteful at all,” Damon says. “His contract is up, there’s been no public announcement of renewal yet, and the season’s over. I hope he has good representation.”
Maybe I should call him. Or Facebook him. Although, what would I say? Hey, we haven’t spoken since the last time you blew me, but sorry someone outed you? Yeah, maybe I won’t contact him.
“I could go for that drink now,” I say.
Noah buys me a beer and moves to the stool next to mine. I’m aware of Damon’s scowl, but I tell myself not to read into it. Maybe Noah’s a dick, and Damon’s looking out for me. Then again, he said he’d introduce me to his friends who’d want to hook up with me, and between Noah and Wyatt, Noah is closer to my type. At least, I think he is. Considering the two guys I’ve been attracted to are athletic guys, I guess I have a type.
Damon’s friends are great, and minus the initial screwing with me, they accept me. I understand what Damon means now about being around people who have gone through the same thing. Just knowing they get it without having to talk about it makes me comfortable around them.
That is, until I go to leave and Noah says he’ll walk me out.
My eyes find Damon, and he frowns, but then he mouths “Go for it.”
Right. Guess I know where I still stand. Guess I also know I should stop trying to change it.
Noah follows me out, and as the cold, frigid air hits me, I try to come up with an excuse to leave Noah on the curbside.
“Where you headed?” he asks.
“Subway.”
“Want a ride? I have my car.” The lights on a Beemer nearby flash. Of course, he drives a BMW. A luxury one by the look of it.
“I’m fine with the subway. Thanks.” Shit, I’m usually not this rude. Or blunt. But dating a woman is easy. Flirting with a guy? Shit, pass me a manual. Plus, I don’t even know if I want to flirt with Noah. Since realizing I also like guys, I’m more confused than ever. Noah is hot, there’s no doubt about that, but do I think he’s hot because I’m attracted to him, or do I merely see that the guy looks like a model and could be an actor. He’s generically good-looking. That doesn’t mean I want to bone him. Or does it?
I have no idea anymore.
Noah leans against his car. “What’s the deal with you and Damon?”
“There is no deal.”
“Okay, I’ll rephrase. What’s Damon’s deal with you?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Noah rubs his chin in thought. “Well, let’s see. He didn’t tell me about tonight, and Aron isn’t here either. Not to mention, the ‘hands off’ warning Wyatt gave me when Damon came out to greet you. It’s … odd. I haven’t seen Damon interested in anyone for a long while, but he’s definitely showing possessive tendencies over you.”
“Nah, it’s not like that. I’m his sister’s best friend. He doesn’t want me to get screwed over because he’ll have to answer to Stacy.”
“Stacy is pretty scary,” Noah says with a small smile, “but I think it’s more than that. And I think you have a thing for him too. Otherwise, why else wouldn’t you get in my car? Free ride with a hot guy versus the subway when it’s still freezing. I’d think that’d be no contest.”
“Well, when you’re so modest and all …”
Noah chuckles. “I’m a realist. I’m hot and have money—I’m the perfect catch.”
“If I wanted a sugar daddy. Which I don’t.”
His smile doesn’t waver as he eyes me up and down. “I’m too young to be a sugar daddy. I promise not to hit on you if you let me drive you home. It’s obvious you’ve got something going with Damon, and while you’re definitely my type, I’m not into guys who are into other guys. Unless it’s a three-way type situation, and then—”
“Okay, okay. You can drive me home.”
He needs to stop talking about me and Damon and three-ways. It’s making my brain explode with images that could make a lon
g trip home uncomfortable.
Noah gestures to his car. Guess I’m doing this then.
CHAPTER TWELVE
DAMON
Damon:
Don’t hook up with Noah.
I stare at the text I sent an hour ago. Maddox doesn’t have that feature enabled that lets me know if it’s been read or not, and I resent him a little for being smart. Then I realize it’s my own fault, because I told him that’s how to trick Stacy into thinking you haven’t read her messages.
Let me stalk you, damn it.
And now I’m being neurotic. Fun.
A crappy shower later, I’m climbing into bed and telling myself not to check my phone like some desperate loser. And look at that, my hand reaches for it. I have no willpower when it comes to Maddox, and I’m sure my mixed signals are giving him whiplash.
Maddox:
Why not? Isn’t that what you wanted?
Shit. I get the feeling he’s pissed. Or fishing. I wish I could talk to him instead of having this conversation via text, because tone is impossible to read. No way in hell I’m calling him though.
Damon:
He’s not good enough.
Maddox:
He’s hot and rich and doesn’t want anything serious. Isn’t that what you wanted for me? To “experiment”??? Why isn’t that good enough?
Damon:
He’s an asshole. And a manwhore.
This is not exactly true. He can be an asshole, and he has acted like a manwhore in the past, but he’s actually a bit of a loner.
Maddox:
You and Stacy call me a manwhore.
Damon:
Maddy … Just please tell me you didn’t.
Maddox:
I dunno. I’m liking this. Although, it’d be better if I could see you squirm in person instead.
Damon:
Asshole.
Maddox:
: ) I didn’t hook up with him.
Damon:
Not many people turn Noah down.
Maddox:
I got that. Thanks for introducing me to everyone. Skylar’s already Facebook friended me, so I guess I didn’t make too much of an ass out of myself.
Damon:
In front of them? It’s not possible.
I hesitate before sending another message through.
Damon:
What are the chances of you getting out of work on Tuesday afternoon? I have to go to OU to scout a baseball player. I figure you could show me around campus.
It’s a horrible excuse. I visited Stacy a few times when she went there, so I know my way around, but apparently, I can’t help myself anymore. Wonderful.
There’s too long a gap in between messages, and by the time my phone vibrates, I’ve chewed my thumbnail down as far as I physically can.
Maddox:
Sure.
***
A nervous ball sits in my stomach as I wait for Maddox at the east entrance to his alma mater.
“Hey,” Maddox says behind me.
I turn and try to smile, but by the concerned expression on his face, I’m clearly not pulling it off.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Yeah … fine. Uh, you?”
“I’m good.” His eyes travel over me. “Where’s your suit?”
I stare down at my jeans and T-shirt. “I didn’t want to stand out. If people find out you’re with an agency, they’ll pounce and start rambling about their son who’s the best at everything. I should know—my parents did it back when I was playing. They’d randomly go up to people wearing suits asking who they worked for.”
Maddox laughs. “Baseball field is through here.”
Numerous people stop and say hello to him, and he greets them all as if they’re long-lost friends. His easygoing nature is only one of the things I admire about Maddox, but it also means it takes twice as long to get to the field than it should.
“So, are we being spies right now?” he asks as we finally step through the stadium gates.
“Spies?”
“Yeah. Does your subject know you’re scouting him, or are we supposed to be stealthy?”
“Is it possible for you to be stealthy? Everyone seems to know you.”
“I was loved at this school. No, I was a god.”
I snort. “Okay then.”
“Fine. Most of the people who stopped us were in my class when I was a TA last year. They only love me because I graded their papers generously.”
“You were a TA?”
“You say that as if you’re surprised I was smart enough.”
“Not at all. I just figured you were like Stacy—skating by on average grades because you were too hungover to put in the effort.”
“I was here on a partial academic scholarship. I needed to keep a three-point-five GPA to qualify for it. I partied hard while I was here, but I was better at studying and working hungover than Stacy was. Poor city girl couldn’t keep up with me. I’d been drinking moonshine out the back of Will’s family’s farm since I was fourteen.”
“You really are a country boy, aren’t you?”
Maddox shrugs and looks away. “Not really. I just grew up there. So, who are we scouting?” He leads us to a set of bleachers to the right of home plate. “And is here okay?”
The stands aren’t overflowing with people, but there’s a decent crowd.
I nod toward two free seats farther along. I should be able to check out this guy’s talent from there.
“It’s the pitcher,” I say to Maddox. “Some kid named Logan.”
Maddox leans back in his seat. “So, this is your homeland, huh? Your mothership.”
“Yup.”
“Are you sure you’re okay? You’re being all … first-day Damon-like.”
“First-day Damon-like?” I ask.
“Standoffish and grunty. Makes me think I’ve done something wrong or you’re in a shitty mood, like the first day I met you. Do you need to get drunk? Because that worked last time. They might sell beer at the concession stand.”
I rub the back of my neck. “I’m fine.”
“Why …” he starts.
“Why what?”
“Why did you ask me here?”
Fuck, why did I ask him here? Showing me around campus was just an excuse. I made him take time off work to be here, and all I’m doing is giving him one-word answers.
I shrug. “To hang out.”
“Okay.” Maddox gives up and turns his attention to the game.
It’s already the third inning, but I made sure to come late. I want to see what this guy can do when he’s tired.
So far, OU is up by one, but that doesn’t mean shit this early in the game.
Logan’s form, from the windup to follow through, is anything but textbook, but he’s got a powerful arm. Too bad he doesn’t know how to use it.
“That was a strike, right?” Maddox asks.
I shake my head. “It was a ball. Missed the strike zone, and the batter didn’t try to hit it.”
“Wait, baseball has rules? Isn’t it all, hit the ball and run?”
I’d cry if Maddox wasn’t so damn cute. “Uh, no. There’s a lot more to it than that.”
“Okay, then teach me, Coach.”
I’m not sure if he’s doing it to try to break my weird mood, but it works. I go into the specifics of the game and get lost in my old world. And fuck, I miss it. Each play, I explain to Maddox what’s happening—stealing bases, fake outs, and the different types of pitches Logan tries. The kid’s only successful in about half of what he delivers. He’s nowhere near ready for representation yet, and with every slow or misaimed pitch, the more irritated I become that I’ve been sent here to scout him. When I was playing, this guy wouldn’t even get a look in.
“Wait, so you can legally fake out someone by pretending to throw the ball but still have it in your hand?” Maddox asks. “Isn’t that cheating?”
“It’s misdirection. Trickery. Kinda like the beginning of our relation—
uh, friendship.” Not relationship. There is no relationship. I wish I had the ability to put words back in my mouth.
“True, I guess.”
We only get two innings before Logan is taken off and replaced with a reliever. It’s too early in the game to be pulling the starting pitcher, so he must be having an off day. Knowing he’s not on top of his game makes me feel a little better about coming out here to watch him.
“What do you think?” Maddox asks.
“Honestly? He’s got talent, but he’s too green right now. He needs more control and stamina. He looked wrecked when we showed up. I have to go talk to him, but we can head out afterwards. Go grab coffee, maybe?”
Did I just ask him out on a date? Shit.
“Sure.”
“Meet you out front? I have to deliver the news that OTS isn’t interested.”
Maddox pales as if he’s the one about to endure a confrontation. “Good luck with that one. I might stay here and finish watching this period.”
I cringe. “Inning.”
The fucker smirks. “I know. I really like seeing you squirm.”
With a shake of my head, I make my way to the back of the dugout and mentally prepare to give the rehearsed speech I heard myself a few times. You show potential, but we’re not ready to represent you at this time. Keep at it, and we can reevaluate. Good job out there today. When I knock on the door, one of the other guys answers. “I’m Damon King from OTS. I’m looking for Logan.”
Logan comes to the door wearing his jacket only on his pitching arm to keep it warm. His blond hair is a sweaty mess now his cap’s off.
“I’m—”
“Damon King. Holy shit,” he exclaims.
Ooh, boy. “Can we talk?” I tip my head behind me.
“You know who I am?”
“I work for OTS. I’m here to—”
His face falls. “Oh, damn. If I’d known that, I wouldn’t have signed with Hewitt and Locke last night.”
“I’m sorry, you what now?” I ask. He got a fucking contract already? What am I even doing here?
