“What’d they say?”
“My mom threatened to fly up from Florida and smack the fuck out of me. Basically acted like I was some out-of-control child and whatnot, and she never should have let me out of her sight.”
I continued to examine my fraying sweatpants. I had a thirty-million-dollar contract, but I couldn’t let my old faithful sweats go. They were the ones I’d been wearing the day I’d committed to going to the University of Miami after my mother had steered me away from becoming a Sooner at the University of Oklahoma. Her argument had been that Miami players had a higher rate of feeding into the NFL, and she’d cited the lack of Boricuas up in Oklahoma.
I was halfway positive she’d also wanted me home so she could keep me in check, but who the hell was I to argue with her reasoning? She was my mother, and I listened to my mother. She knew way more about football than my dad, who’d recently retired from his position as a MLB bench coach. All he knew about was being toxic as hell and screaming at me to “be a man.”
“Then,” I drawled. “I tried to talk to my dad, but he refused to even spare me a sentence to call me an asshole.”
“Do you think you’re an asshole?”
I replayed my immature-ass stunt, the way I’d lost my shit at Simeon’s antics, and then his pained cry when my entire team had jumped him.
“Nah. I’m a prince.”
Casey crossed his arms over his chest and sat on the edge of his desk. “What happened, Adrián?”
“You saw what happened. Everyone in the country saw what happened. That shit has made the rounds way more than Simeon’s little sex tape.”
Casey stared at me, chewing on the inside of his cheek, and I cursed myself. Why had I brought that up? I didn’t even like to admit that I knew shit about the man’s sexuality, let alone the sleazy video some d-bag at a club had sold to a tabloid as soon as Simeon had come out of the closet. I didn’t like Simeon worth a damn, but even I’d thought he didn’t deserve to be exposed that way. It was damn lucky he hadn’t lost his endorsements despite the outcry from corny white folks who didn’t want their kids eating Wheaties when the dude on the box had had an oral gang bang in a club bathroom. Allegedly. I wasn’t about to watch the damn thing and confirm it.
Clearing my throat, I glanced up at Casey again. “Why you looking at me like that?”
“Because you seem very preoccupied with Simeon’s sexuality.”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh my fucking God. I’m really not. I just can’t stand him.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s a bitch-ass motherfucker.”
“How?”
Gritting my teeth, I said, “He told our entire playbook to the Barons when they signed him off our practice team. They trounced us that season.”
“That was four years ago. Why are you still so emotional about it?”
“Who’s emotional, though?” Casey crossed his arms over his chest. I glared hard and then sucked my teeth. “Man, whose side are you on, anyway?”
“It’s hard to be on the side of someone who wants to sabotage himself over a make-believe grudge. You think Simeon gave away all your plays a few years back? Tough shit, Bravo. That happens to every team when they stick a solid player on their practice squad and cut ’em loose. If they’re not utilizing them, someone else will. And you also don’t know if that’s what happened.”
Wow, this dude was really not sounding like he was on my side.
“And I’ve frankly had it with your antics when it comes to Simeon and the Barons in general. The crap in Ibiza, the digs at press conferences that turn into media circuses, all the social media trash talk like teenage boys, and your comments to Fox? I saw through them even before he tweeted.” Casey hunched forward and gave me a glare my mother must have taught him before she and my dad gave him the Bravo stamp of approval. “You’re an amazing linebacker, you have great endorsements, fans love you, women throw their underwear at you wherever you go, your coaches adore you, but you’re too easily riled up by other people on your team.”
“What people?” I asked pointlessly, since I knew who he meant.
“You know who.”
Sighing, I leaned back and looked at the ceiling. Rocky Swoops, a Predators safety, had a major hard-on for our rivals. He hated that they were so much better regarded than us, but he made everything worse by going at them every chance he got. I knew he was a big dumbass, and my mother called him a devil on a regular basis, but it was hard to deny that his animosity was catching sometimes. The whole Ibiza thing had been his fault. He’d thrown a glass at Simeon at a club, and Gavin had just about taken his head off.
Come to think of it, Gavin was consistently protective of ole Sims. Maybe they were sleeping together. Huh. I wondered who would be fucking who in that scenario. I was gonna put my bets on Simeon getting railed by Gavin. Judging from what I’d heard about the video, he liked being used.
“Adrián.”
Clearing my throat, I shifted in my seat and ran a hand through my hair. “What?”
“You know this won’t end well for you, right?”
I looked at him sideways. “What’s that mean?”
“It means the League is tired of all of this bullshit. Both your coaches are tired of this nonsense. And the fallout was more than you two looking like giant toddlers rolling around on the field. Simeon, their starting quarterback, hurt his throwing arm.”
Guilt swamped me so abruptly that I sat up straight. “Are you fucking serious?”
“Yeah. I am.”
“Shit. Man, I didn’t mean to actually hurt the guy.” I looked down at my sneakers and scuffed the carpet. “Do you think I should make a statement? Or . . . I dunno. Call him?”
“Call Simeon and apologize. That’s your plan?”
“Well, what the hell else should I do?”
“I think you should make a statement, Adrián. Saying you understand why you’re being suspended starting now, and for six games from the season—”
“What?”
“And understand why me and Simeon’s agent, since he’s also suspended for six games, are asking you to do a two-month joint stint at a Brooklyn community center working with their new youth football league. While you’re suspended, you won’t be allowed to train with us or come to any games, so you’ll have plenty of time to get good photo ops with Simeon and adorable children. It will improve your reputation.”
He was messing with me. There was no other option.
“Casey, this isn’t funny.”
“I know. Do I look amused?”
He looked like the same humorless bastard as usual. My heart sank, and for the first time in a long time I completely regretted my actions. There were times when I’d made mistakes in my life, but I’d always found a way to explain away why I’d done something. The fight in Ibiza had happened because I was trying to have my boy’s back. I snarked on social media because my fans loved my sense of humor and asshole qualities. I had a bad habit of breaking hearts because there was no way I could have a real relationship right now and trust that whoever I got with wasn’t just after my cash.
But this? I couldn’t think of a way to explain this shit away.
Why had I gone straight for the veiled gay jokes with that dumbass reporter? Why had I kept watching Simeon on the field and trying to figure out a way to get a shot at him, instead of paying attention to the damn game? And why the hell had I actually done it and then stayed parked on top of him until he’d reacted?
He’s an asshole was starting to hold little weight when that line of reasoning was getting me suspended.
With a long-suffering sigh, I met Casey’s eyes again. “Was this community-service shit your idea?”
“Shockingly, no. It was Mel Hawkins’s. Simeon’s agent. She’s also sick of the drama, and since you’re both out of commission and a waste to your teams, she
wanted a solution that would improve both your reputations. Show some unity, downplay the homophobic rumors flying around, and make you both look a little more like grown-ups.”
“Uh-huh. And if some magical community service stint can’t make us get along?”
“Then you’re doing yourself a huge disservice.” Casey walked behind his desk. “You’ll be working with a small community center in Williamsburg, and if you think you won’t have a ton of eyes on you the entire time, you are mistaken.”
* * *
The worst, or most interesting, part of the Predators and the Barons both having practice facilities and stadiums in New Jersey was that it was easy for us to run into each other. Players on both teams tended to gravitate to the same hot spots, restaurants, and neighborhoods. I’d opted for a condo in Brooklyn rather than spend my cash on some big-ass mansion in the Hamptons or Short Hills like a lot of the other guys (although the prices were probably on par), so I was closer to Mel Hawkins’s office and got there first.
I’d offered to meet on Simeon’s turf instead of my own to hammer out the details of our bullshit punishment. A decision I now regretted since Mel Hawkins was giving me that empty smile she was known for. Polite on the outside, but I could feel all the rays of her judgment. She was fun to look at, though. A gorgeous woman with dark brown skin, short hair, and big eyes that were skewering me to the uncomfortable leather chair. She probably hated my ass. Hard to blame her when I’d started shit with one of her stars. Also injured, but apparently it’d just been a sprain.
“Nice office,” I said.
She inclined her head so slightly it was barely a nod.
My mouth twisted to the side and said, “Really like the black on white on gray. Gives good insight about the inner workings of your soul.”
Casey sighed. Mel’s lips twitched.
I grinned winningly. No one could resist the ole Bravo dimples. I was a big hulking motherfucker with a competitive streak the size of the tristate area, but my little-boy smile had power. Historically, I’d been able to win over people who wanted to hate me. I convinced myself this streak would continue until Simeon strode into the room and pinned me with a look that I felt like a shot in the gut combined with a chill down my spine. Good God. It was hard to believe Simeon Boudreaux, the hype man with the rapid-fire way of speaking, New Orleans accent, and cheerful personality, could look that hateful.
“Good morning, Mel,” Simeon said, flashing his agent a warm smile. It didn’t wilt at all when he turned those mega volts on Casey. “How you doing, Mr. Rose?”
“Good, Simeon. Thanks.”
Simeon plopped down in the chair next to me without again glancing in my direction. I tried not to pay attention to him but couldn’t help a quick look at his arm. It was in a brace, but apparently, he’d be fine in a week. Good thing. I wouldn’t wish medical leave on anyone. Somehow in all my years of playing, I’d avoided major injury. And now I had to knock on some wood before someone put the mal de ojo on me.
“This is pretty odd, right?” Simeon slumped down, thighs spread, and lean body fully sprawled in the chair. “Two agents and two players don’t usually meet like this.”
“You’re right, but we’re all adults here, and we don’t need a precedent for a meeting,” Mel said. “Just like the two of you didn’t need a precedent for getting in a fistfight in the middle of the most-viewed preseason game in recent years.”
I groaned. “You sound like my mother.”
“Do you always compare women to your mother, or do you save that for moments of discomfort?”
Raising my hands in surrender, I said, “My bad.”
Simeon bit back a smirk. Maybe she got on his case too. Somehow I doubted he ever did anything worthy of a stern talking-to. Besides sucking dick in public. My gaze dropped to the full swell of his mouth before swinging away.
Casey was staring at me with a raised eyebrow. Christ.
“So is this the part where me and homeboy—”
“You can call me by my name.”
Ohh, someone was testy.
“Where me and Booty—”
Simeon gave me an ill side eye. “What the fuck?”
“Oh,” I said, giving him the cutest smile I could muster. “That’s what me and my boys call you. Y’know. Boudreaux . . . Booty . . . Sounds the same, right?”
“Sounds like y’all be talking about my ass.”
The humor sucked out of me like he’d shoved a vacuum hose down my throat. “You can be easy with the gay shit.”
“You and your boys are the ones—”
Mel walked around the desk and clapped once, but loud enough to shut us both up. “This is exactly why we’re having this meeting. Neither of you is capable of being in the same room long enough to have a civil conversation.”
“Aw, we’re just playing,” I said. “Right, Booty?”
“If you call me that again I’m going to punch you in the face.”
With a long-suffering sigh, I turned to Casey with hands pressed together in supplication. “Just separate us, Casey. For real though. This dude has no kind of sense of humor, and I’m not trying to live out my suspension in misery.”
“And I’m not finna suffer through this suspension with a clown who doesn’t know when to zip it,” Simeon said.
“Ah ah ah,” I said. “You’re not the one who should be talking shit about zipping up, Mr. Public Displays of—”
“Enough,” Casey said, voice rising. “Adrián, please try to keep the jokes at a minimum.”
“I’d advise you to kill the jokes entirely,” Mel said dryly. “Especially if they relate to my client’s sexuality. I’m not sure if you understand, Adrián, but what you’re doing is both discrimination and sexual harassment.”
I waited for Simeon to speak up, tell her it wasn’t that serious, and then everyone would lighten up. It didn’t happen. Unease hardened into a rock that sank into my gut and sat there. They were right, and somehow I’d never thought of it that way before. Maybe because Simeon was another dude, another player, a guy who had a golden arm and could run like the wind. He’d always seemed oddly superhuman. Even back in the day when he’d busted his ass all the way through the Predators’ preseason, putting more work in than the two guys who were in line to start before he’d ever have a shot. And that was why I’d liked him.
Until he’d left for the Barons.
Running my tongue over my teeth, I mirrored Simeon’s slumped pose. “Got it.”
Mel and Casey glanced at each other before surveying the two of us again.
“Everyone is in agreement, from coaches to managers to owners, that the best way to resolve this and preserve the reputation of the Barons while keeping the reputation of the Predators from going further down the toilet is to show a united front,” Mel said.
I cringed but kept my mouth shut.
“Even if you two still can’t stand each other two months from now, fans of both teams will see you managing a respectful and sportsmanlike rivalry,” Casey said. “No homophobic innuendos—”
“I’m not homophobic,” I snapped at Casey. “And you know it. I was just joking. We all joke that way in the locker room, and it doesn’t mean shit.”
“—or taunting, targeted personal fouling, disrespect, or fistfights that result in brawls,” Casey continued. “You’ll be working together. With children. So before that point, when you’re in the presence of preteens, this is your last chance to clear the air so it doesn’t happen in front of an audience of young football fans who will then go tell their parents and social media.”
“And the media,” Mel added. “Because they’re foaming at the mouth waiting for one of you to do something foolish. There was already a BuzzFeed article predicting twelve ways this publicity stunt will turn into a disaster.”
“Don’t call it that,” Simeon said. “I like kids. This i
sn’t just about making our noses look clean.”
Oh damn. He was an actual sweetheart. There was no way we would ever get along.
“Yeah. What he said.”
Nobody even looked at me. I was starting to think these people didn’t take me seriously. There was something disquieting about being reduced from a tiny god on the field to an overgrown child in the face of two power agents and a guy who wanted to punch me in the throat.
“You start next week. Take this time to say what you have to say.”
Before I was ready for it, Mel and Casey were excusing themselves from the room. They left me and Simeon awkwardly sitting side by side, two giants in a room better suited for normal-sized humans, and our knees so close they were almost touching.
I jumped up, grinning, and turned so I was leaning against Mel’s desk. It was the first time we’d been in such close proximity with no one else around. It wasn’t like I didn’t know how Simeon looked. Everyone in the goddamn country would instantly recognize that deep golden brown skin, the hazel eyes, and dark russet-colored hair. But this was the first time he’d ever met my gaze head-on with only a few feet between us without being just about ready to cock his fist back for a right hook.
“So you’re really pissed at me, huh?”
He wordlessly raised his wrist brace.
“And you’re gonna blame me for that whole thing?”
“You started that shit for no reason,” he said flatly. “Because you’re a homophobe who doesn’t like it when fags talk back on Twitter.”
Jaw dropping, for a long moment I could do nothing but scoff. “Are you—what—” I gestured at him. “That is the most bald-faced bullshit accusation I’ve ever heard.”
Simeon rose from his chair in a movement so fluid I didn’t have time to prepare before he was in my face. He planted a hand on either side of me and leaned in so close I could smell the coffee on his breath. I flicked my stare between his narrowed eyes and those full soft lips and swallowed. When one of his eyebrows gave an infinitesimal twitch upward, I lifted my chin and glared.
“How would you feel,” he said coldly, “if everyone around you used part of who you are as the butt of a joke?” Simeon’s fingers rose and pressed into the center of my chest. “People you respected. Other football players. Coaches. Managers. Fans. All of them. What if they all talked about how something deep inside you, something you can’t change and don’t want to change, makes you less of a fucking man? Of a football player? Makes you shady in the locker room?”
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