The Rainbow Clause

by Beth Bolden

  Maybe he’d flirted with Nick in the interview. If Nick looked even remotely as good then as he did now, he’d have noticed. Maybe he’d even been torn up enough to try to make himself feel better with a few flirty comments.

  But he’d buried all the pain so deep that he wasn’t even sure Jemma had noticed. Which had been the point.

  “So you got Jemma and Gabe into ultimate dodgeball.” Colin steered the conversation back to safer ground. He didn’t want to revisit those horrible weeks, and he had a feeling, from the pained shadow in Nick’s eyes, he didn’t, either. “I’m surprised she agreed to play.”

  Nick shot him a long, pointed look. “When she doesn’t worry about winning, she’s got some great natural instincts.”

  Colin didn’t need an explanation to know what Nick was really saying. Yes, he could be a competitive asshole. Get him on a field and he’d absolutely become a jerk about winning. That much was true. That was also why he had a Heisman trophy and a National Championship and a NFL Rookie of the Year award.

  “Jemma did warn you,” Colin said, “I can’t turn it off.”

  “Football or the need to win?”

  “Your mistake is thinking they aren’t the same.”

  Nick looked pensive as he took a long sip of his drink. “An entire life dedicated to succeeding at a single sport…I can see how the two might become intertwined.”

  “When you grow up with nothing, it’s so easy for something to become everything.”

  “Can I quote you on that?” Nick’s eyes gleamed.

  Colin shrugged. He was trying to be more transparent. It wasn’t easy, but he had made the decision to make an attempt every time they talked.

  “Sure. You said you wanted to know about me.”

  “I did. I do.” It was so hard to remember in that moment that Nick meant for the article and not because he just wanted to know Colin.

  They’d swayed half a foot closer, which Colin kept telling himself was because of the noise in the bar, but he had a feeling it had nothing to do with that and everything to do with the flare of attraction between them.

  “You asked me to trust you,” Colin said softly.

  Nick nodded.

  “Was it easy for you?” he asked.

  Nick’s gaze sharpened. “Coming out? No, it was hard as hell and continues to be difficult at times, even today. But it does get easier. That much isn’t a lie.”

  Colin let out his breath.. “I misjudged you, I’m sorry.”

  “I wish…I wish I could make this easier on you, I do. But it’s going to be fucking hard.” Nick’s voice grew rougher at the end, and for a split second, Colin thought he saw all the emotion he strived to bury, shining through in his eyes.

  “I’m tough.”

  Nick shook his head. “Nobody is ever tough enough.”

  Colin wondered if Nick was trying to scare him. But that didn’t make any sense. He was supposed to be preparing him and positioning him so it wasn’t tough. So that he came out under the best possible circumstances. Colin pushed down the tendril of fear, and laughed.

  “I’m the most stubborn person you’ll probably ever meet. I can handle this.”

  The only thing Colin didn’t feel certain about handling was Nick. How were they going to work so closely together and live together and not act on any of the tension that crackled between them? And if they did, what would that even mean? Colin’s fingers tightened around the neck of his beer bottle.

  “If only the legions of Colin O’Connor lovers knew how obnoxiously cocky you are, it might dull your Disney Prince shine a bit.”

  “I think there might have been a compliment in there,” Colin teased back.

  Nick’s responding grin was bright and real. “Only the best, from me to you.”

  Even for a lifetime Californian, Miami was hot.

  It was still only March, but Nick felt the skin under his collar grow damp with sweat as he waited under a miserly patch of shade for his pickup.

  He’d emailed Colin last week with his flight info, and unsurprisingly, Colin had been stingy with his response. “Will pick you up,” was all he’d said.

  Nick wasn’t stupid enough to expect heart-to-hearts or even an acknowledgement that the ice between them had begun to thaw in LA. He’d told himself not to expect it, even as he annoyingly couldn’t stop thinking about the possibility of becoming friendly with Colin O’Connor.

  For a long time, he’d waited inside near the baggage claim, expecting one of those blank-faced drivers to eventually hold up a sign with his name on it. But nobody had, and he’d finally texted the number he had for Colin in exasperation.

  The text back had read: “Running late. Meet you outside in Arrivals.”

  It sounded like Colin had retreated back to the east coast, spent the last two weeks overthinking those few electrical moments that had passed between them, and had retrenched even further back. Nick gritted his teeth and tried not to imagine the worst.

  He didn’t even know what the worst was, but it probably entailed starting over from square one. The worst probably also meant that even the good word he’d begged for from Jemma would ultimately be meaningless.

  Nick had just about given up and was about to track down an Uber, like he’d initially intended, when a sleek, black Audi R8 pulled up smoothly to the curb.

  Even for a Californian used to excess, it was a fucking ridiculous car.

  The driver’s window rolled down, and Nick, caught gaping, was faced with Colin, that asshole.

  “What are you doing?” Nick nearly yelled. “Don’t you have people you can send? You’re a millionaire!”

  Colin just shrugged. “I like driving,” he said unapologetically. “I’ll pop the trunk. It’s sort of small, though.”

  Nick stared as he rolled the window back up. He wasn’t sure if he should be flattered or if this was the evidence he needed to confirm Colin was the most eccentric player in the National Football League.

  He’d heard some weird shit about some of the linemen for Minnesota. But even those guys would have sent someone to the airport to pick up a reporter.

  Nick rolled his suitcase around towards the back of the car and peered in the trunk. It was going to be a tight fit. Luckily, his laptop bag was small and he could carry that on his lap.

  He shut the trunk lid a fraction harder than entirely necessary, and even though he lectured himself to stay calm as he approached the passenger side door, it didn’t work very well.

  He opened the door. The faint smell of expensive cologne and even more expensive leather floated out in a gust of cool air. Nick couldn’t contain his glare as he slid into the seat.

  “You’re late, asshole,” he grumbled.

  “I told you, there was traffic,” Colin said.

  Nick knew he was in a bad place when the idea that Colin O’Connor was late and therefore human and not a robot made him gleeful.

  “You,” he finally ground out as Colin smoothly pulled out onto the freeway, “really are an asshole.”

  “You’ve called me that twice now,” Colin said. He didn’t sound particularly perturbed. In fact, he sounded rather gleeful himself. Nick’s mood darkened. “I thought you’d be happier to see me.” The smile Colin shot his way was just flirtatious enough to baffle Nick.

  “It’s official. You are definitely the most eccentric player in the NFL.”

  Colin’s expression reflected zero surprise. “I think I’m supposed to be. I’m practically from another country, after all.”

  He drove well – fast but capably, shifting between lanes smoothly without the sort of aggressive braggadocio that Nick hated. He relaxed into the seat and the banter that came way too easily.

  “You’re from Alaska. It’s not exactly another planet.”

  “Clearly, you’ve never been to Alaska,” Colin retorted.

  “Guilty as charged.”

  They drove in silence for a minute, and then another, Miami flashing by the tinted windows. “I live on an island
on the edge of South Beach,” Colin said. “Really private.”

  None of this was surprising; it had been an easy conclusion to come to that while most celebrities appreciated privacy and were willing to spend a lot of their money to obtain it, for Colin it was an obsession.

  “Did you really not expect me to pick you up?” Colin asked.

  Nick made a disbelieving noise. “Do you not have a PA? A hired car service?”

  “Both.” Colin had the nerve to blush under his tan. “But it always seemed so rude to me. You’re not baggage to be collected. You’re here to see me. You’re going to stay with me. The least I can do is to pick you up from the airport.”

  “You hate reporters,” Nick said slowly.

  “And yet…you’re still not baggage,” Colin said. He paused. “And I don’t hate them. I…their methods bother me sometimes. I don’t usually trust them. But I don’t hate them.” Colin shot him a quick, pleading look, and Nick would have to be a hell of a lot dumber to not know what that look meant.

  Or what it could mean, if Nick decided to forget all the rules he’d set for himself when he’d first started his career.

  Don’t sleep with the athletes. Don’t like the athletes. Don’t fall for the athletes.

  It had never been particularly hard to keep them, but Nick had a feeling he was about to be tested.

  Nick had known he was in trouble since Colin had first stepped off that elevator into the Five Points office looking even hotter than his Sports Illustrated cover. Since LA, Nick had been walking a very fine line between winning Colin’s trust and giving his own away.

  With a lot of sports stars he’d interviewed, Nick had been perfectly able to maintain a very professional distance, even while digging up all the dirt he could.

  It was something he’d gotten very, very good at.

  The problem was that Colin was smarter than that, and had assumed a position of pay to play. Colin wasn’t going to give without something in return. The invaluable barrier he’d been hiding behind, constructed with all those sarcastic quips he loved, was never going to work with Colin. He knew this was personal for Nick, and he wanted a front row seat to all the bruises.

  Nick wanted to tell Colin, I hope you more than don’t hate me. But even if what crackled between them eventually flared into more, he needed to postpone the inevitable. Instead he said, “Hate the game, not the player.”

  Colin shook his head, a chagrined but hopelessly amused smile blooming on his face. “And people say I’m a dork.”

  “You are a dork,” Nick said. He couldn’t tell Colin that he had more integrity in his pinkie finger than most big shot NFL players had in their whole bodies.

  Shaking everybody’s hand as soon as he entered a room. Holding doors open for women. Once leaving a sideline interview to find an umbrella for Erin Andrews. Speaking about everyone with respect, and expecting respect in return or he would immediately cut the interview off. Insisting on picking up a reporter from the airport himself. All of this combined to make Colin O’Connor who he was in the public eye, and while many might claim he wasn’t genuine, Nick thought they couldn’t have actually met Colin and believed that. While closed off and intensely private, he still radiated sincerity.

  He didn’t want a rap career. He didn’t want his own clothing line. He didn’t want to get paid for attending any number of club openings. He didn’t want a chain of groupies. He wanted to play football and go home to a simple life. And to so many who didn’t understand, it looked old fashioned or dorky, but Nick had long believed it made him unique and authentic.

  And that was the side of Colin O’Connor Nick was so desperate to show people.

  “I wish more people were dorks,” Nick added, and Colin laughed.

  “If everyone was boring like me, you wouldn’t have anything to write about.”

  Colin was wrong; if everyone was boring like him, Nick would have more opportunities to write about the things that actually mattered.

  “You might not hate the media, but you don’t like us, either,” Nick pointed out. He was afraid if he started being honest, he wouldn’t know where to draw the line. Everything out of his mouth felt dangerous, like he was creating that distant inevitability one word at a time.

  Colin pulled off the freeway, and turned down a narrow street that ended in an even narrower bridge. At the entrance to the bridge, there was a gate, and a security kiosk. A guard stood in it, stoic and unsurprised at seeing the Audi pull up. But Colin still reached into the center console and pulled out a key card. He slid it into the slot and the gate began to raise.

  “A guard and a security system?” Nick asked with a raised eyebrow as they began to cross the bridge. “I have to tell you, there aren’t that many people in the world who look like you.”

  Colin shrugged. “I like my privacy.” He paused. “Also, this is my island. I don’t want anyone on it who doesn’t belong.”

  Oh, god. They were going to be all alone on a whole tropical island and Nick was a few more soulful, heated looks from ripping Colin’s shirt off. This wouldn’t end badly at all.

  Despite the excellent air conditioning, Nick felt himself begin to sweat again. “Are you saying I belong?”

  It slipped out before Nick could stop it, a single question undoing everything he hadn’t said up until this moment. Colin pulled around a long, circular driveway, and came to a stop in front of a small modern house tucked into the tropical foliage.

  Key word: small. Nick was basically fucked.

  “Yes,” Colin said softly and with a ringing sincerity that made Nick want to jump out of the car and run back to the mainland.

  It was the only way he’d be safe.

  Colin got out of the car and Nick hesitated, slowly gathering up his laptop bag. He heard the trunk open and knew he had to get out of the car.

  He’d made his career by not playing things safe. He’d always taken the harder road, the road that needed a path hacked through it with a machete and a shirtless Indiana Jones. But after Rio, he’d gotten scared and pulled his reckless tendencies in tight. It was a normal reaction, the therapist they’d made him see for PTSD had insisted, reminding him that he’d almost died.

  Nick wasn’t going to die here. But somehow, Colin O’Connor felt even more dangerous than that knife sticking out of his gut in that Rio favela.

  “Get it together,” Nick told himself quietly and firmly. He was being an overdramatic asshole.

  He opened the door and plastered on a smirk.

  “Your own island, O’Connor?”

  Colin blushed. “I like the privacy.”

  “So you’ve said,” Nick said as they climbed the wide steps that led to the front door.

  Colin’s house might have been small, but even if it hadn’t been built on a private island, it still wouldn’t have been affordable. The floor plan was almost completely open, with movable glass partitions dividing the rooms, and the inside from the outside. Nick followed Colin from the entry into a huge great room with the kitchen to the right. A single leather couch broke the expanse of the wide plank flooring. Nick opened his mouth to comment on the lack of furniture, but the view out the entirely open back expanse of the house shut him up.

  Colin had managed to carve out a view of sky and sea. No people, no houses, not a single living being except for a seagull to break the impact.

  You looked out this view and forgot that Miami, home to half a million people in its city limits, was only a few miles away.

  Colin’s voice was soft behind him. “It’s something, isn’t it?”

  Nick had never questioned whether he’d been right to demand he stay at Colin’s house. He’d been driven by a need to get closer, to know him enough that the profile became the single defining moment in Colin O’Connor’s media history. But if he’d known this was how Colin wanted to live, he might have hesitated.

  “We’re not used to so many people in Alaska,” Colin continued quietly. “I’m not used to walking out in my backyard a
nd seeing three other houses. I…...I didn’t like it. It felt like everyone was always staring.”

  It was like he had no clue how he drew people’s attention. How singularly attractive he was. “They probably were.” Nick had a strong will, and he still had to fight the compulsion to look and keep looking.

  “I’ll show you the rest of the house,” Colin said and Nick followed wordlessly.

  The kitchen was ultra-simplistic, a single wall of cupboards, everything including the fridge hidden by a richly grained wood that Nick wanted to reach out and touch. A glass-fronted wine storage unit was the only punctuation, and it glowed softly.

  Colin showed him a den, a single large desk with laptop computer on it. It also looked out onto the ocean, a single, glass sliding door opening it to the outside. “This is so cool,” Colin said. “The door actually slides into the house.” He demonstrated how the glass disappeared into wall, like the world’s fanciest pocket door.

  “You must have driven your contractor mad,” Nick said as they walked up the stairs. “I bet you wanted him to add every fancy gadget you could get your hands on.”

  Colin paused and Nick had a draw up to avoid running right into him. Under different circumstances, he wouldn’t have minded being plastered to Colin’s back, but with every moment a growing temptation, he needed to keep his distance. “How did you know I built this house?” Colin asked, brows drawing together. Probably because this was supposed to be some sort of super-secret thing.

  Nick shrugged. “It’s obvious. It belongs to you.”

  The shadowed corner brought out the darkness in Colin’s blue eyes. “You don’t know me that well.”

  Nick considered lying for a split second. It wouldn’t be hard; he was a good liar and he didn’t think Colin was particularly adept at picking out truth from fiction. But something, maybe the loneliness and the distrust still lingering in his expression, kept Nick honest.

  “I’m growing to. This house…it’s like finally getting into the game after a long time on the sidelines.”