Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Epilogue
Cocky
Sean Ashcroft
Copyright © 2017 by Sean Ashcroft
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Chapter One
“How come I’m suddenly the sports reporter?” Eliot asked the moment he walked into his editor’s office, not even pausing to say hello. He’d been emailed through an interview assignment—a first at this magazine—without even being asked if he wanted it, and it didn’t make any sense at all.
As much as Eliot wished people would take him seriously, he’d gotten very used to being a grooming and fashion columnist at Cocky. He’d built a following, even.
A small following, but a following nonetheless.
Well. A few hundred Instagram followers. It was a start.
If this was him being shoved into a different department where he had no experience—and really, no interest—then he’d have to start looking for another job.
Which made the thousand-dollar repair he’d been told his car needed ten minutes ago seem even worse.
So far, Eliot’s morning wasn’t going well, and he wasn’t in the mood to put up with any other crap.
“Nice to see you, too,” Ben said wryly, sitting forward and leaning his elbows on the desk. “It’s not a sports story. It’s an interview with a guy who happens to play sport for a living. You don’t have to know anything about hockey to do it.”
“But why me?” Eliot asked. There were plenty of people better suited to the job, and he had his own work. He sincerely doubted that was going to be put on hold while he did this. It was on top of what he already had to do.
That would mean more money, which would have been nice, but Eliot wasn’t sure there were enough hours in the day.
Ben raised an eyebrow. “You know the guy just came out, right?”
Eliot blinked at him. “I’ve literally never heard his name before, so no. We’re not… all gay people don’t just magically know each other, you know.”
“How have you not heard of Danny Harper? The guy’s a hockey legend around here.” Ben gestured toward the window, out to the city beyond.
“I’m not from here,” Eliot said, knowing that Ben knew that. He’d only been in LA for a year, and he’d spent most of that chained to a desk in the Cocky offices.
It had seemed like a dream job at the time. Most of the time, Eliot still told himself that it was. He was getting paid to do what he wanted to do, after all. So what if it wasn’t serious journalism?
Sport wasn’t serious journalism either, although it was probably a step up from shaving tips and Ten Trendy Ways to Tie a Scarf in the eyes of most people.
“Right, yeah.” Ben waved away Eliot’s objection. “Anyway, it’s your assignment. He’ll be more comfortable opening up to you.”
“Because I’m gay,” Eliot said. He didn’t need to ask. He understood now why he was in here.
He wanted to be insulted, though he wasn’t sure exactly how it was insulting. The idea that they’d automatically get along better because they were both gay didn’t really hold up to any kind of logic, but Eliot could see how Ben had arrived at it.
“Yes,” Ben responded, without a hint of shame.
Eliot wasn’t really sure what to say to that.
“I don’t have time to write this and my last online column for this week.”
Ben raised an eyebrow. “Between you and me, no one’s gonna notice if you dial it in for your column.”
That was definitely insulting, but also, unfortunately, true. Eliot could tell himself that he wrote the best damned grooming and fashion tips on the planet—and maybe he did—but no one actually cared.
As much as he hated to admit it, this was his chance to write something that would at least seem like real journalism.
Even if it was an interview he was only being sent to do because he was gay.
“Hey, listen.” Ben leaned closer, lowering his voice. “This is your chance, okay? You’re good at this job, and you could do so much more than fill a gap in the publishing schedule. I wanna see that. Take the assignment.”
Eliot considered.
On the one hand, he didn’t know the first thing about hockey, and he also didn’t actually care. This was in no way his dream assignment, and he was sure he wasn’t the best man for the job.
On the other hand, if he did this well, it could mean the chance to do other things. If he could prove he was versatile, they might move him to the technology department or something.
If he really showed them what he could do, they might even let him do some actual reporting.
Cocky had been a dream job for him specifically because they were one of few men’s lifestyle magazines that actually bothered to report on important issues in-depth, without glossing over them.
The fact that he’d gotten stuck reviewing teeth whitening products always felt like his own fault. He’d known his way around a makeup brush when he applied, making him unique on the team. There were a few other guys on staff who weren’t straight, but they all had other areas of expertise, and a lot more experience than Eliot did. Eliot was still the new guy, still unproven.
Ben was giving him a chance to change all that.
He’d have to be an idiot not to take it.
“Okay,” Eliot said. “But I want it on record that I warned you I know nothing about sport.”
“Duly noted.” Ben sat back. “Go contact his manager to set up an appointment. This one’s going in the print edition as well, so I need you not to screw it up.”
Eliot snorted. “But no pressure, right?”
“No pressure. Just get it right.”
“Thanks, boss,” Eliot said as he turned to walk away. Ben didn’t try to stop him, so he accepted that the conversation was over.
It wasn’t that he didn’t think he could do it. It was just that it wouldn’t have been his first choice of semi-serious assignment, if he’d been given one.
Beggars couldn’t be choosers, though. And Ben was right—his current position was fairly safe, but he wasn’t going anywhere while he was stuck in it.
There had to be more to life than trying to convince adult men that it was okay to pluck their eyebrows if they wanted.
Eliot sat down at his desk and wrote down the number the assignment brief had given for Harper’s manager. If interviewing a hockey player was his ticket to something bigger, then this was going to be the best damn interview ever published.
Chapter Two
The uncomfortable, sick feeling that had been lingering in Danny’s stomach all morning spiked when he heard the doorbell ring. It was exactly the same as the way he felt before every big game, and he’d never gotten used
to it.
This time, it was about something even bigger and scarier. He’d come out on Twitter last week, and then promptly deleted the app from his phone, never looking back.
Hiding who he was had been a part of his life for as long as he could remember. Suddenly being out in the open was terrifying.
He knew he had to do it, but that didn’t make it any easier.
Taking a deep breath, he headed to the door to answer it.
When he opened it, the man on the other side was…
Not at all what he’d been expecting.
From his thick-framed glasses to his artfully scuffed brown wing-tips, this guy did not look like a sports reporter. Danny had met maybe a hundred over the course of his career, and none of them were this pretty.
Behind his glasses, he had the most piercing, clear blue eyes Danny had ever seen. A few strands of dark hair flopped over onto his forehead, the rest of it effortlessly slicked back.
Normally, he was a little surprised if a sports reporter had an even shave. This guy was… different.
“Danny Harper?” the guy asked after Danny was silent for too long.
Great. Now his first impression would be that Danny was an idiot.
He should have asked his manager what this guy’s name was. That suddenly seemed like an important detail.
“Uh, yeah, that’s me. You’re the reporter?”
“Obviously,” the guy said, his voice so dry Danny could almost feel it sucking the moisture out of the air.
Yeah. He’d clearly made an excellent first impression.
“Of course. Uh, come in.” He stepped back from the door. “I’m sorry, I totally forgot to ask for your name.”
“Eliot O’Connor,” he said as he slipped inside, since Danny hadn’t opened the door nearly wide enough.
He could blame this all on nerves, and it was true—but whether or not Eliot would see that and forgive him was another question entirely.
“As in T. S.?” Danny asked.
“Exactly as in. One ‘L’. My mom’s an English teacher.”
Eliot looked surprised that Danny knew who T. S. Eliot was, and he honestly wasn’t sure whether or not to take that as an insult. He did seem pleased.
“Guess that’s why you’re a journalist, huh?” Danny said. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
Eliot smiled wryly. “Still that obvious, huh?”
Danny shrugged. “Just noticed your accent.”
“Good ear,” Eliot said, sounding impressed. Maybe Danny could still turn this around, make up for his initial lapse of concentration. “I’m originally from Maine. I say originally, but I’m a very recent transplant.”
“Oh, uh, I’m actually from Michigan. Which I know isn’t exactly next door, but…”
“It’s closer than California.” Eliot nodded. “I would have thought there’d be more hockey-related opportunities up there.”
A lot of people got the wrong impression about how playing for sports teams worked, so he wasn’t going to hold that against Eliot. Obviously, he wasn’t a sports reporter.
That did raise the question of why he was here, though.
“I went with the team that offered to pay me to play games for a living.” Danny shrugged. “You’re not a sports reporter, are you?”
To his surprise, Eliot blushed.
Now that the veneer of put-together aloofness had all but fallen away, he was really cute. Not Danny’s usual type, but there was definitely something about him.
“I’ve said something stupid already, huh?” He looked up again.
“Not exactly,” Danny said. “More a kind of general impression I’m getting. You’re very… not sports reporter-like. So, I mean, no offence, but why you?”
“I’m gay,” Eliot said. “My editor thought it’d be more comfortable for you that way.”
“I… oh.” Danny blinked.
Eliot’s editor had been right. That was way more comfortable for him.
He’d been dreading trying to explain himself to someone who had no idea what it was like, and now he wouldn’t have to.
“If that’s not okay, we can find someone else,” Eliot said, suddenly looking unsure. “I don’t know the first thing about hockey.”
Danny shook his head. “No, that’s, uh. That’s perfect, actually. I’d rather talk to you than some straight guy who didn’t get it. Can I get you a drink, or something?”
“Is there coffee?” Eliot asked, his eyes pleading. He looked like he could use a cup, now that Danny was over his own nervousness and actually paying attention.
“Sure, let me put a pot on.” Danny gestured vaguely in the direction of the kitchen. “We can start while I’m doing that, if you want? Not that I want to rush you, I just figure you’re busy…”
He had no idea what being a journalist was like, so they were even as far as not knowing anything about each other’s careers.
That was kind of nice. Eliot didn’t expect anything from him. He was just here to do his job.
“Yeah, uh, whenever you’re ready is fine by me.” Eliot reached into the shoulder bag he was carrying and extracted a notebook and pen, as well as his phone. “Feel free to say no, but is it okay if I record this? I won’t ever release the recording, but I’d like to have it to refer back to.”
“That’s fine,” Danny said. “I’ll try not to say anything too incriminating.”
He led the way into the kitchen, nervousness starting to grow in his stomach again. What if he did say something incriminating? Or just plain stupid?
He believed that Eliot wouldn’t release the recording. Something about him seemed honest, trustworthy. Not all journalists were assholes, even if some of them were. There had to be some good guys.
He’d reached out to Cocky because they were the good guys. On the surface, they were a glossy lifestyle magazine, but on the inside they had a lot of hidden depth, and had investigated some of the biggest stories of the last few years. Stuff other outlets hadn’t even bothered to touch.
They weren’t a gay magazine, but the people Danny wanted to come out to weren’t the kind of people who could be seen buying or reading one of those. He’d spent his whole life in the closet, and now, staring down the barrel of thirty and the end of his career, he wanted to give other people like him the courage to live as themselves. He’d missed out on so many things he wouldn’t have had to if he’d been able to be out.
No one on his team had been an asshole to his face yet, but it had been less than a week. There was still plenty of time.
Not that Danny thought any of them would be, but it was impossible to know how people would react to a situation before they were in it.
That was just another one of the things he’d had to give up. Other guys got to be close to their teammates, treat them like family. Danny had always felt like he was on the outside of that. He had no idea how his teammates would feel about him being gay, because he’d never been able to risk them finding out that he was.
“So I guess the first thing I should ask you is, why now?” Eliot settled on the bar stool tucked under the counter opposite where Danny was standing.
“I wanted to say something before I retired,” Danny said. He hadn’t announced his retirement just yet, but there were rumors that it was coming. He’d save it until the end of the season. “Most guys come out once they’re done with whatever sport they play, which I totally get. I just didn’t want to have to hide for my whole career.”
“Does that mean you’re retiring soon?” Eliot asked.
“Off the record?” Danny flicked on the coffee maker.
“I think you’re old enough to know that there’s no such thing as an off the record remark.”
“Then no comment,” Danny said. He appreciated Eliot giving him a heads up and a chance to save himself.
“So, is there anyone special in your life?”
“You asking for yourself, or the magazine?” Danny teased, grinning over at Eliot. He was a lot more comfo
rtable than he’d expected to be. He’d been dreading stupid questions like when did you know you were gay?
Or worse, how do you know you’re gay?
He’d been imagining responses to that second one. He wasn’t sure he would have had the balls to say it on the spot, but he’d told himself that he was going to say that all the sex with other men had been a clue.
The look on the hypothetical reporter’s face would have been worth the embarrassment of bringing up his sex life. Especially as there wasn’t a whole lot going on in that department right now.
“The magazine. You’re not my type,” Eliot said, though a smile flickered across his features.
He was probably just smiling at the joke.
Besides, it’d be a terrible idea to screw a journalist who was supposed to be telling your coming out story. Even if he did have the world’s most bitable lower lip.
So much for Eliot not being his type.
Danny really needed to get laid sometime soon. Once the season was over, he’d have plenty of time. And, hopefully, plenty of offers.
Which would mean no more uncomfortable, inexplicable lusting over cute journalists.
“No, no one special,” he said, reaching up into the cupboard above him to get two coffee cups. “Single and looking.”
“I’ll put that in the article.” Eliot smirked. “Might help you get a date.”
“Hey, I don’t have any trouble getting dates,” Danny defended. He could tell Eliot was teasing him, but that just made him all the more interesting.
Eliot wasn’t impressed by him. Not by his career, his accomplishments, his ridiculous house, his looks… not by anything. He was pleasant, and friendly enough, but disinterested.
That was kind of hot. Danny had always liked a challenge.
Of course, he was probably never going to see this guy again, and he got the feeling it’d take more than one afternoon to bring him around.
“Okay, Mr. Single-and-looking.” Eliot jotted down a note on his pad. “Whatever you say.”
“Are you this rude to all your interviewees?”
“Oh, you’re my first.” Eliot glanced up, looking at Danny from under his eyelashes.
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