Blindsided (Fake Boyfriend Book 4)

by Eden Finley

  We talk about my future some more, and as easy as that, Talon and I walk away from dinner a couple of hours later, me with a possible new agent and Talon with the knowledge that he can go a few hours without touching me.

  When we get into the car, Talon hesitates with the key in the ignition. “Are you mad at me?”

  “No, why would I be mad?”

  “Because I said you might not be ready for the season. It’s not that I think you can’t do it. I just—”

  I reach for his arm. “I’m not completely naïve or in denial. There’s still a lot of work to go. I’ll never be mad at you for telling me the truth.”

  “Damon really does seem like a great fit for you. Actually, he seems like a one-of-kind-type agent. He’s gonna do some great things for queer athletes.”

  “He already has.”

  “Okay. Now home to hit the treadmill for an hour.”

  I groan even though I knew it was coming.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  TALON

  I have this thing. While watching movies, during an action sequence or something exciting, I don’t watch the screen. I watch the face of whoever I’m watching it with.

  Normally, that’s more entertaining, but not tonight. Miller keeps staring at his phone as if he can will it to start ringing.

  He’s been trying to get a hold of his agent to no avail, and it’s driving him crazy.

  Right then.

  I reach over and confiscate it.

  Miller’s quick to try to get it back, but I stretch out and lift it above my head.

  He pins me to the couch and tries to climb me, but I press my forearm across his chest.

  “Don’t,” I warn.

  He reaches for it again.

  “It’s going off for the rest of the night.”

  “But—”

  “Your agent hasn’t called you back for days. They’re not going to do it at”—I hold the phone up and press the button for the home screen to pop up—“six forty-nine at night.”

  I feel the fight in him leave as his weight leans heavier on top of me.

  “I’m sorry, baby.”

  Miller lowers himself onto me fully and buries his head in my neck.

  My hand trails down his back. “Even if they’re trying to drop you, Damon’s expressed interest. You’ll get another agent.”

  “Yeah, yeah. New agent, fixed leg … it’ll all happen.”

  And his words are so believable too. You know, if he wasn’t so sullen as they come out.

  I wish there was something I could do for him to make him believe everything will work out, but he knows, and I know, that’s not how the industry works. Just wanting it isn’t enough.

  Miller’s finally pushing himself again, and I don’t want this crap with his agent to set him back.

  If he can’t believe it, I can at least make him forget about it for a while.

  I push him off me and stand. “I’m gonna go run you a bath. It’ll be good for your leg after training today.”

  “It’s cute you think I could fit in that bucket you call a tub.”

  “It’s a regular-sized tub, you big giant,” I mumble.

  Miller laughs.

  “I’m running it for you anyway.” I need him busy while I set up more distraction for him, seeing as movies aren’t working.

  While the bath fills, I get my phone out and put in an order on the same app where I get the groceries delivered from and check the box for the extra fee to get it within a forty-five-minute window.

  I call Miller in when the bath is ready, and those warm dark eyes still hold skepticism as he undresses and eases himself into the tub that, okay, is a little small for him.

  “I’ll leave you to it,” I say even though there’s something oddly comforting and sexy about Miller having a bubble bath. I totally added the bubbles to mock him, but it’s backfiring because it’s filling some sort of soapy fantasy I didn’t realize I had.

  I force myself to leave the room, and despite Miller’s complaints about not fitting in the tub, he’s still not out of it by the time my supplies arrive.

  “Just taking the trash out,” I yell and greet the delivery guy at the door so I can take the stuff right up to the rooftop.

  The delivery guy helps for an extra big tip, and when he says something about the girl I’m trying to impress, I grunt a non-answer.

  I rush through setting everything up, but even so, Miller’s waiting for me when the delivery guy leaves and I get back to the apartment. I’m flushed from rushing around and breathing hard. Miller’s already dressed and cocks one dark eyebrow at me.

  “What’s up?” My voice goes high-pitched while I still try to catch my breath.

  “Trash? Really? What are you up to?”

  “Why’s it so unbelievable that I took the trash out?”

  Miller’s arms cross his impressive chest while he eyes the pile of trash on the kitchen counter.

  “Okay, fine. I lied. Let’s go.” I take his hand and take the stairs to the rooftop. It’s only one floor, so he doesn’t have time to question it.

  “What are we—” He stops short at the sight of the picnic rug, pillows, and candles.

  It’s the best I could do on short notice. The area is barren apart from some old pieces of junk piled on the southern side of the concrete roofing.

  I close the door behind us and block it off with a rusty old chair so no one can interrupt us.

  The spring breeze still has a chilly bite, but the view of New York Harbor and the twinkling lights of Manhattan is amazing. I wonder if Miller takes the view for granted having grown up here.

  “What did you do?” Miller asks.

  “I know we can’t, like, go on a real date or anything, but this is the closest thing I could think of. I’m trying to get us out of our bubble and you out of your head.”

  Miller turns to me with a wide smile. “Who knew you were a lame-ass romantic.”

  “Ha-ha.” I shove him, but he’s quick and takes hold of my wrist, bringing me against him.

  “I love it.” He holds me tight, our breaths mixing as he inches closer.

  Before he can close the distance and kiss me, which would effectively throw us off course, I smile and grip his hips, spinning him in the direction of the picnic.

  “That’s not all.” My arms wrap around him from behind, and we waddle our way over to where a basket sits next to the blanket.

  “Ten bucks says you’re about to pull out kale chips and tell me they’re a treat.”

  My head drops onto his shoulder as I let out a little laugh. “You act as if I’m poisoning you.”

  “It tastes like you are.”

  I pull away from him. “All right. Sit down. You’re in for a real treat.”

  “Is it your cock? Because I’ve already had that treat today.”

  “Shane … I’m trying here.”

  He tilts his head and kinda looks like a bull mastiff pup when it’s confused. “Trying what?”

  “To make up for not being able to do this in public? I want you to relax and forget about us, about football, and your agent. Let’s let tonight be you and me. Miller and Talon—best friends hanging out and drowning out all the bullshit.”

  “Best friends but with orgasms?”

  “If you’re lucky.” That’s not my intention with this, but hey, I’m not gonna say no.

  Miller’s brown eyes fill with something that looks part lust and part gratitude, but as he looks out at the harbor, his lips curve upward. “You know, best friend Talon is the guy who used to sneak me two footlong subs with extra cheese whenever Coach told us to diet.”

  I grin and reach for the picnic basket. “Well, looky here.” Reaching in blindly, I pull out the exact sub he’s talking about. He takes it and immediately holds his hand out for a second one. After I give it to him, I reach in again and pull out a container of wings.

  His eyes widen. “Are you magic, or is that like a freak Mary Poppins bag? Best friend Talon woul
d also pack beer.”

  “I know my man.” I pull out a six pack of his favorite beer.

  Miller reaches for the wings too but pauses just before he can take them out of my grasp. “How much time in the gym am I going to have to do to make up for this?”

  “None,” I say.

  “None?”

  “I’m giving you a cheat day.”

  This time, when he leans in to kiss me, I don’t stop him. I do stop myself from taking it too far. He’s been complaining about being in our bubble, but when he kisses me like that, I never want to leave it.

  “Come on. Eat up before trainer Talon turns up and changes my mind.”

  Miller wastes no time taking a seat on the rug and scarfing down his food. The moans he makes while eating the saturated-fat-loaded food should be illegal. The way he licks his fingers after the wings? Kill me now. It’d be less torturous.

  After we eat unhealthy food, drink calorie-filled beer, and then stuff our faces with pie for dessert, we lie on our backs looking up at the city-polluted night sky.

  Miller relaxes for the first time since I got here—maybe even since the start of last season when I turned up in Chicago. It’s not sex relaxed, but relaxed, relaxed. He seems his normal, sarcastic but lovable self, and all his worries appear to be faded into the distance. At least for now. I’d do anything to make him hold onto this feeling going forward.

  “Oh my God, I ate too much,” he complains, but the smile on his face gives away the truth about how much he cares about that: not at all.

  “I told you to go easy on the dessert.”

  “You also bought said dessert. Should never waste food, Marc. There are starving kids all over the world.”

  “And here you are, eating their desserts. You’re a monster.”

  “Your sex monster,” Miller retorts.

  “That sounds highly unsexy.”

  “I’d show you how you’re wrong, but I think if we even tried to have sex right now I’d throw up all over you. My stomach doesn’t feel too good.”

  I roll onto my side and stare down at him while my fingers trace over Miller’s food baby. “Poor Miller.”

  “So worth it.”

  “Which is better? Food or sex.”

  “Food,” he says immediately without thought.

  My mouth drops open, and I reach for the cushion behind me to hit him with. He blocks it but can’t stop laughing as I try to hit him again and again.

  “Okay, okay, I change my answer. Sex with you is at the top. Then food. Then sex with everyone else.”

  “Well, you can’t possibly know that for sure unless you’ve had sex with everyone else.”

  “I had a busy senior year after you left me.”

  I hit him with the cushion again.

  “I’m kidding! Even when I was with other guys, none of them compared to the way you made me feel back then. Or the way you make me feel now.”

  “And how’s that?”

  Miller cups my cheek, his thumb tracing my unshaved jaw. “Happy.”

  I relax and lean into his touch. Miller deserves pure happiness, and I want to be the guy to give it to him.

  The call comes a few days later, and it turns out Damon was right. Miller’s agent was looking to drop him. It gets to Miller, and I can tell he’s trying to put on a confident front. Having Damon ready to sign him helps, but I notice the shift in training, and it’s obvious the reason he’s still a tiny bit slower than he should be, not lifting as heavy as he was before his injury, and his all-round sluggishness isn’t because he physically can’t do it, but because his head’s still not on right. It’s all mind over matter at this point, and he isn’t fully recovered from the hit his fighting instinct took when he tore his hamstring.

  So, I push him harder every day, and he pushes me even harder at night. We venture out of our bubble occasionally to hang out with Damon and Maddox, but mostly, we train, fuck, and hang out.

  It’s almost exactly like it was in college except for one glaringly obvious detail. We don’t need anyone between us now, because we know each other is enough. More than enough. The thought of sharing someone with him again actually makes my gut burn with possessiveness I never knew I had.

  “Holy shit!” Miller says from my living room.

  I’m fresh out of the shower with nothing but a towel around my waist. “What?” I call out.

  “Talon, get in here.”

  “What is it?” I scrounge for some clothes in my drawers.

  “Just …”

  “Just what?” Now I’m getting annoyed. How hard is it to tell me what he wants?

  “Get your ass out here now, Marcus.”

  Marcus. Not Talon, not Marc. Marcus. Well, shit. I abandon my plan to get dressed and join Miller on the couch.

  And there’s a sight I never thought I’d see anytime soon.

  Caleb Sorenson and Ollie Strömberg, two gay hockey players, coming out on national TV. Together.

  “Whoa” is all I can say.

  “Isn’t Ollie one of Damon’s clients?” Miller asks and takes out his phone.

  I don’t answer him, not only because I don’t know the answer, but because I can’t take my eyes off the press conference.

  A million things run through my head at once. My initial thought is the world is finally changing and people aren’t going to care about closeted athletes coming out, but if the NHL is anything like the NFL, this could be a one-off thing. These two guys might come out, and then nothing else happens. Everything will stay the same, and we’ll still have to watch our every move.

  I hate my brain goes there, because this should be an encouraging moment.

  Miller’s phone beeps. “Okay, so the deal is they aren’t together together according to Maddox. They’re just coming out together.”

  As Miller says that, Ollie admits on camera he didn’t even know Caleb until tonight. He’s coming out because of Caleb—because he doesn’t want him to have to do it alone.

  Have we been going about this the wrong way? Should we come out in support of Jackson instead of thinking we’re protecting him?

  Miller’s hand lands on my knee. “What are you thinking about?”

  “I’m thinking when does Jackson get back from Fiji?”

  “He got back a few days ago.”

  “We need to talk to him.”

  A few days later, we arrange a meeting at Damon’s offices with Miller, Jackson, and me.

  Jackson enters the reception area with a confusion line across his forehead, which soars into his hair when he sees Miller and me.

  “Is this an intervention?” Jackson jokes. “Or are we meeting about Talon’s ego being nowhere near big enough. I agree, we should come up with ways on how we could stroke it more.”

  “Who invited him?” I grumble. Oh wait, I did.

  “What’s this really about?” Jackson asks.

  Miller and I glance at each other.

  “Ah. You two finally pull your heads out of your asses?”

  “You said to tell you when I’m ready to talk about it,” I say.

  “I did. I’m wondering why my agent needs to be involved …” Jackson trails off as the reason becomes clear. “Y’all comin’ out publicly?”

  Miller looks around the empty reception area. “Wanna keep your voice down a bit?” The only person here is a girl behind the desk, but she’s on the phone and doesn’t pay attention.

  “We’re here to talk to you about that,” I say.

  “What have I got to do with it?” Jackson asks.

  Before we can answer, Damon appears. “You boys ready?” He tips his head in the direction of the hallway for us to follow him.

  When the door’s shut, Damon takes a seat in his big boss chair. Jackson and I sit opposite him, but Miller wanders around the room, staring at Damon’s sports memorabilia on his shelves.

  “So, why are we here, how dead is dead, and where do we need to hide the body?” Damon asks.

  “One day that joke’s go
nna backfire on you,” Jackson says. “Your client may actually reply ‘In the alley, super dead, and New Jersey. Because that’s the only appropriate place to dispose of bodies.’”

  Damon huffs. “Jersey’s not that bad! Your and Maddox’s aversion to it, I swear to God.”

  I take a deep breath, because the longer we sit here, the more antsy I’m getting, like that night at the bar with Maddox. “Miller and I are fucking,” I blurt.

  Miller laughs. “And you make fun of the way I told my mom.”

  I sigh. “Well, I don’t see you speaking up.”

  Miller sits in the chair next to me, reaches over, and takes hold of my hand. “Talon and I are in a committed and serious relationship, but we have no idea how to come out or how it impacts Jackson’s career.”

  Jackson leans forward to stare at me. “That’s why I’m here? Think about your own careers. I’ve already been through so much that I can handle anything.”

  “No, they’re doing the right thing,” Damon says. “This will have repercussions on you and the Warriors.”

  I don’t want to bring this up, because I didn’t want Jackson knowing about it, but it’s something we’re all gonna have to face. “Henderson warned me during the season that my bromance with Miller makes us look like the fag team and that I need to be careful of hanging out with Jackson too much.”

  Jackson scowls. “You didn’t say anything. Who else on the team has been saying shit behind my back? I thought …” Hurt clouds his eyes. “I thought we were past all that—that we’d gotten past it during training camp. We won the fucking Super Bowl, and that’s still not good enough for these assholes?”

  “To be fair, this was before the Super Bowl, but yeah … they’ve been good at hiding their disapproval. They caught on quick about keeping it from me too after I told a few of them to shut the fuck up. But this …” I squeeze Miller’s hand. “This could cause problems.”

  “Henderson’s not the only one who’s going to say it either,” Damon says. “But I don’t see it as a reason to live in the closet. We just need to devise a coming-out strategy.”