by Xavier Neal
To our unusual new relationship.
To me.
It isn’t until we arrive at the silent auction tables that I get my first glance of Barrett in person. It’s not a shocker that he looks exactly like the headshots I’ve seen. In fact, he actually possesses more of a dickhead arrogance up close. The way he carries his slender, fit frame doesn’t show signs of an actual sports-related past, and I have to refrain from expressing my displeasure.
Parents who were never athletes are so much fucking harder to deal with. They typically come in two categories. One who wants their child to be everything they weren’t so they push too hard, too fast, and wreck what could be a valuable player, or they brush it all off, blinded to the skill and dedication required to be a true athlete.
“Uh…creep alert,” Lenny mumbles near my ear. “Gallagher has his hand on his wife’s hip but attention on that waitress’s ass.”
My eyes follow his line of vision.
“I know I shouldn’t find that shit shocking, particularly ‘cause she does have a nice culo but have a little fucking class,” she gripes. “At least don’t let your dick get hard next to your wife while staring at someone else.”
I shoot her a disapproving glare. “How the fuck do you know his dick is hard?”
“The dropped hand technique.”
Unable to resist investigating the claim, I cut him another quick glance only to discover the hand not holding his wife is blocking his crotch.
“It’s not the subtlest method for blocking wood.”
“But effective.”
“But is it really if the woman knows why you’re doing it?”
Her point bobs my head side to side. Suddenly, intrigue hits me, and I question, “Why do you know that move?”
“Oh, you and Mick have pulled that shit since we basically first met. I think the first time I caught on was when some dance chicks decided to host an impromptu yoga session in the middle of the courtyard. You could practically hear every dude in a fifty-foot radius get hard before dropping his hands down.”
I’m unsure whether to cringe or chuckle.
“There you are,” Mick’s voice shifts the gears of the conversation. “Surprised I’m just now running into you.” He gives Lenny a puzzled look. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your date?”
“You know if She’s All That was written in this day and age, she probably would’ve punched Dean in the face for being a dick about seeing her in a swimsuit or at the very least kneed him in the balls.”
“Lennox?” His forehead wrinkles at the same time he leans closer to inspect. “Seriously?”
“The one and only.”
“Which is probably what’s best for the world. Pretty sure it would implode if there were two of you,” Mick teases. He snatches a champagne glass from a passing server and tilts it toward her. “You look…amazing.”
Despite the compliment intending to only offer her kindness, jealousy latches onto the nape of my neck forcing me to lower my grip to her hip. “She does.”
Mick cockily smirks at the action. “Sure you’ve told her that already, right?” His glass starts to inch towards his lips. “After all you tell her everything…”
“Always has,” Lenny proudly states. “Always will.”
Almost everything.
The whole been in love with you basically half my life thing is the only exception.
I redirect the conversation to safer ground. “Where’s Minnie?”
“Mingling with the other Mrs. Talking about…shoes or nails or hair or something chicky.”
“That’s incredibly insulting,” my date gripes.
“It’s incredibly true,” Mick retorts. “Once they realized who my wife was, it was the only thing they cared to discuss.” He has a small sip of his drink. “It’s like being married to a Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader in the ‘90s.”
“Man, those bitches were the shit,” Lenny crassly adds.
“That’s what I’m sayin’,” Mick promptly agrees. “It’s like as soon as the world knows who you are, that’s the only shit they wanna hear about.”
We nod our understanding.
“Have you spoken to Gallagher yet?”
I shake my head, stealing another glimpse. “Soon.”
“Damn right soon. We’re sharing a table with him.”
“Of course we are…”
Mick’s arrogant grin returns. “Don’t worry. You’ll have plenty of time during dinner to charm him into signing a contract. We should probably start to head that direction.”
“What is for dinner?” Lenny curiously interjects.
“Think they’re doing sushi.”
Her scowl sends shutters through us both.
“You handle that,” Mick points to our unhappy friend, “and I’m gonna wander over to our table.”
I toss him a glare before she slips out of my grasp to block my vision.
“Let me get this straight. I’ve had to smile in condescending asshole’s faces, pretend I give a fuck about vacations in the Hamptons, and endure incredulous looks as they try to figure out what race I am, only hanging onto the hope of an incredible three course meal only to be given fish?! El pescado?!” Her mixing of language causes my hand to cascade down to mask my stirring cock that is incapable of resisting the way the words roll off her tongue. She shoots the action a wicked smirk. “Really? In the middle of an ass-chewing, cabrón?”
My shoulder shrug gets a chortle from us both.
Can’t help it.
Her fiery nature blended with her Spanish spewing never fails to get my dick’s attention.
“Sweeten the pot, OG,” she swiftly demands. “Give me something to make all this a little more worth it.”
“What do you want?”
“Complete access to the room service menu.”
“Done.”
“One premium channel movie.”
“Nothing in the romance genre.”
“And for you to treat me like you would any other date at the end of the night.”
The last request furrows my brow. “Meaning?”
“Putting my heels in the air and giving me a reason to call you papi.”
My jaw fumbles to the ground in pure disbelief.
Did she…
Did she…
Am I fucking dreaming again?
Is this another stress dream where the first part is all fantasy then morphs into something so horrific only a PB&J can calm my nerves?
Lenny steps forward and drags her finger down the front of my chest. “Deal o no trato?
Ill-prepared to provide any counter offer, not that I want to, I press my lips near her ear and state, “You’ll be screaming papi until your throat is raw.” The sound of her breath suddenly becoming unsteady slides a smug smirk onto my face as I slip back into her direct view and offer my palm. “Shall we?”
Her hand drops into mine, eyes still wide in anticipation.
Even if this agent deal falls through, this will still be the most magnificent night of my life.
At our table, Mick takes it upon himself to begin the introductions. Barrett isn’t bothered by his forwardness nor does he seem impressed. Waiters promptly deliver lettuce wedges along with champagne refills while my business partner drones on about saving the bees, which is apparently what the event is supporting. It’s clear Barret is uninterested in the cause, yet his wife hangs onto every word out of Mick’s mouth like it’s gospel. Minnie’s thankfully more preoccupied with my date’s vegetable poking than she is with being jealous that another woman is fawning over her husband.
“Something wrong?” Minnie questions Lenny from across the round table.
Lenny sends her stare to Mick’s wife. “Just waiting.”
“For?” She swiftly inquires.
“The waiter to bring out the tortillas and meat to go with these toppings he’s placed in front of me.”
Minnie hides her snicker behind her hand.
I toss Lenny a chastising gl
are. “You know they’re not serving tacos.”
“Then why else would they put this shit in front of me?”
“It’s a salad.”
“This is what my taco meat eats.”
“Well, at least you know tacos don’t grow on trees.”
Barret unexpectedly laughs at the exchange. “You two…” He wags his finger in our direction. “You two, I like.”
Mick does his best to hide his disappointment.
“You remind me of the men I like to golf with.”
“Fifty bucks says I can swing better than they can,” Lenny playfully retorts.
I place down my fork at the same time I join the teasing, “He’s probably talking PGA not put-put.”
“Screw you. My put-put score is always better than yours!”
“You cheat.”
Her jaw hits the table, yet Barret chuckles even louder at our antics. “How long have you two been together?”
“So long they’re practically married,” Mick unnecessarily points out.
Lenny doesn’t let him get away with the snide comment. “Except he’s already married to you.”
“Well then this is awkward,” Minnie joins in on the joke.
Although Mick chortles, he still shoots Lenny a glare.
“Years of friendship aside, that’s basically what it is when you run a business together,” Lenny begins a segue I wasn’t expecting. “That’s what marriage essentially is. A contract between two people, agreeing to love and honor and value one another for however long you can uphold the agreement. Business…a strong business that’s co-owned often must operate the same way, which they do. At A+ Athletes, Mick’s role is definitely wining and dining and making sure the bills are paid on time-”
“Did you just make me a housewife in this analogy?!?”
The table chortles, and Lenny continues, “And Gideon, is hands on. He does more than negotiate amazing deals. He provides guidance to the players as well as all other agents he encounters. He’s like a father in the sense he’s concerned with more than just the zeroes you’re adding or stopping him from having on his paycheck. He wants to see you grow. He wants to see you push yourself. He wants you to surpass his high expectations. He’s not only passionate about what he does but endlessly dedicated to making sure each person he encounters gets a win…whatever a win means to them.”
My best friend’s speech stuns the table silent.
That’s not at all what I was predicting she’d say.
A good word here. An ego stroke there. But that…That was heartfelt. Almost eye-opening to see how she sees me. I know she hates being pushed, which led me to assuming part of her loathes me for doing it, but after hearing the last line, I get the feeling it’s quite the opposite.
She needs me to push her.
She relies on it.
The same way I need her to loosen the death grip I have on the steering wheel of life.
We are a dream team, even when we’re not thinking about it.
Barret’s wife, Melinda, is first to speak, “I love that…I love that tremendously.”
Her husband promptly agrees. “I think guidance is excruciatingly important with younger, impressionable players, especially the underaged ones like my son.”
“You have a son?” Lenny fakes her surprise perfectly. “How old?”
Barret ignores the round of waiters who are swapping finished salads for individual plates of sushi rolls and answers warmly, “He’s sixteen. Plays varsity hockey at St. Virgil.”
“Hockey, huh?” My date continues to prod, exciting Mick by the growing gleam in his eye. “Any good?”
“He knows his way around the ice,” Barrett cockily announces.
“Well enough to go pro?” I ask making sure to keep my tone even rather than eager.
He slightly shrugs. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?!” His wife shrieks. “He was the only freshman on the varsity team last year. He’s broken I don’t know how many records in his high school’s division and club hockey, which he plays year ‘round to stay sharp!”
She begins listing more of her son’s achievements to which I deliver the majority of my attention. Out of the corner of my eye, I take notice of Lenny stabbing the rolls with her chopstick, to which I respond by nudging my foot against hers under the table in a silent demand for her to stop. She does; however, the ceasing of one childlike action leads to another. Lenny clumsily fiddles with her utensils turning them into drumsticks at one point, and I assist her in properly repositioning them, all the while addressing the piqued interest in an agent Barrett has begun to show. Once Lenny seems set, the conversation dives deeper. Mick takes out his phone and prepares to put an appointment for a visit with his son on the calendar. I do everything possible to keep my focus on the conversation, but Minnie’s giggling goads me into investigating what has her in stitches.
The moment my eyes land on the sight I can’t stop myself from joining her.
“Welcome to the party, pal,” Lenny states to the sushi tower she’s created on her plate.
“God, I forgot how awful your Bruce Willis impression is,” I lightly laugh.
“That was golden!” She points a stick at me. “Beats the shit out of yours.”
Accepting the challenge immediately, I quote the same line, although it’s Barret who laughs at me first.
“That was horrible, too,” he joins in. “You gotta have more of an edge to it.”
Barret gives it his best shot, and his wife swiftly shakes her head. “Awful.”
“Super awful,” Lenny backs.
Mick rolls his eyes in annoyance, yet sits back to let us be entertained by the change of topic.
On one hand, I can understand his frustration. He wants to talk shop. Lenny wants to play. He wants to seal the deal, and she appears to be hindering the process. But that’s the thing about Lenny. She knows people. Reads situations. Truthfully, she’s helping in ways that my partner is too blinded to see. Her gaiety relaxes the room. Makes the conversations feel less tense and stale. Each time she intervenes with a humorous distraction, Barrett warms up and welcomes the progression of the alternate subject. She’s providing a good balance to the business-only nature Mick is displaying.
She’s gonna help get us the win.
And tonight, as soon as we get back to our room, I’m gonna give her everything I promised.
Dinner proceeds with more plates of sushi, more glasses of champagne, and enough laughter to make the surrounding tables jealous. By the end of the meal, Melinda is sloppy drunk, and Barrett is ready to take full advantage. We wait until they’ve dismissed themselves before the four of us exit the event to head up to our rooms.
In the elevator, Mick loops his arm around his wife’s waist and compliments, “You ladies did remarkable tonight. Minnie, you had Melinda practically begging you to join her for a ski weekend and Lennox, you somehow managed to bro your way into Barrett’s good graces.”
My eyes narrow in his direction, but I don’t bother putting him in his place since it’s obvious I’m more offended by the backhanded remark than she is. However, if she shows any sign of outrage, I will quickly remind him to watch his mouth.
“Wasn’t the ideal approach,” Mick continues, “but it worked.”
“It was the ideal approach,” Lenny snips. “You seem to be the only one at the table not picking up on the no shop-talk policy he was throwing out there.”
He tilts his head in question.
“Mick, Barrett is a business man. He’s pitched business shit all day, every day, meaning if you actually want to get his attention about it outside a boardroom, you’re gonna have to come in under the radar.”
All attention diverts to her.
“I wasn’t joking around because I’m incapable of being a professional snob-”
“You kinda are,” I interject.
“Incapable of being a snob? Aw, thank you very much, OG.”
