Down by Contact

by Santino Hassell

  Yeah, because his dad was queer as fuck and could probably sense there was something not-strictly-broish about me and Adrián. Nothing about our challenge to make each other uncomfortable was straight, and the flirtatious teasing between us wasn’t either. But Adrián was convinced that having only enjoyed sex with women so far meant he was hetero. I’d been with guys who’d screwed me six ways to church and still proclaimed their straightness, but having Bravo be this far in denial was grating.

  “Well, your dad is right,” I said. “Adrián and me had a disagreement about something else, and it spilled over into the game. It shouldn’t have and it was a mistake, so we’re trying to teach y’all better. And this whole winning thing? He’s right. It doesn’t always happen. When I was first drafted by the Predators—”

  “You played for the Predators?” Delilah demanded. “I didn’t know that!”

  “Well, that’s the thing.” I squatted down so I wasn’t towering over our little crew. “They drafted me, but they thought I wasn’t a good QB after seeing me go through training camp.”

  “How could they think that?” she crowed. “You’re the best!”

  “Haha, thanks. But they were right. I was so nervous about being cut that I let it get to my head and lost the confidence I had when I was playing for LSU. I’d hesitate before releasing the ball.” I grabbed their ball and demonstrated. “So they cut me and put me on their practice squad, and I got the chance to keep working on my skills while practicing with their players. And trust—I was ashamed that I didn’t make the cut. I felt like a failure to my family and to my hometown. I was supposed to be a star and all that.”

  Adrián had crossed his arms over his chest as I spoke, but his dark eyes were trained on me. I wondered what he was thinking about the short time I’d spent on his team. We’d bonded back then, before he’d moved past third string and while I was desperate to even get that far, but then it had all changed. Our developing bromance had taken a nosedive into the gutter and had been replaced by open hostility.

  “When the Barons saw something in me, I thought it was my chance to prove I was more than a meat puppet for the real football players to practice on. And it was. Finally, I could prove to my mother that there had been a reason for all of the crap I’d put her through on my journey to the League. I got my shot and then I had my chance, and before I knew it I was starting for one of the most respected teams in the NFL. But you know what?” I grinned broadly. “The fact that I didn’t make it that first time around just made me push through harder. Without being with the Predators for all those months, maybe I wouldn’t have ever lost my fear and hesitation.”

  Drop by drop, the dejection and anger drained from the kids, and they bombarded me with questions about how I’d “gotten my chance” to start. Unfortunately, it had come at the expense of other players. The original starting QB had suffered a back injury, then his backup had suffered a broken collarbone, and the kid from LSU who’d just whiled away half the season on another team’s practice squad got thrown onto the field. And they’d never let me go back to the bench.

  My mother had said God had blessed me, but it hadn’t felt like a blessing at the time. I’d suffered a lot of guilt for riding my way to the top on the backs of two other men who’d just been injured, but that was the way the League worked. It sucked, and there had been a lot of resentment until Marcus and Gavin had adopted me as their bud. Well, Marcus had adopted me. Gavin had just growled at the other guys who’d questioned my skills.

  With the game officially over, the parents and surrounding fans converged on us for autograph signing. While we signed, journalists yelled out questions that we mostly ignored. Not because I hated reporters the way Gavin had in the past, but because both Mel and Casey had advised us to speak of nothing but the camp.

  Once the crowd was cleared, Casey spirited Adrián away in his car. Mel did the same with me, but I asked to be let out a few blocks away by the pizzeria. I wasn’t totally shocked to see that Adrián had requested Casey do the same for him. Pacini’s had become our spot in the past two weeks.

  “That was the first time I ever heard you talk positively about your half a minute with the Predators,” Adrián noted as I approached. He stood with his hands shoved in the pockets of his sweatpants and his baseball cap pulled down low over his eyes. He wasn’t exactly disguised, and I suspected there were still one or two paps loitering nearby. “Was that all bullshit to make the kiddies feel better?”

  “Nope. I was grateful for my time on your team.”

  “Then why did you start talking shit the moment you bounced?”

  I laughed incredulously. “Because the moment I left, you and your boys started throwing subs about me selling out your playbook. It caught me off guard. Especially when you went along with the nonsense.”

  “Why me?” Adrián demanded. “I wasn’t the only one.”

  “You weren’t, but you were the only one’s opinion that mattered to me. Most of the others already treated me like shit, but not you. I thought we were friends.”

  “We-we—” Adrián broke off with a sharp inhale. He lifted his cap just enough to wipe sweat from his brow. “We were.”

  “Then why’d you jump on the bandwagon? You’ve been riding it for years, man. Didn’t get off until a week ago.”

  “I know.” Adrián gnawed on his lower lip. “Shit, Simeon. I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry? I’m an asshole? I’m a sorry asshole? I don’t even know why I acted that way, or why I was so mad. I just was. Felt all betrayed and bitter, like . . .”

  “Like what?”

  “Like you’d walked out on me without even giving me a heads-up. It stung, man. I was pissed. So when the other guys started popping shit, yeah, I went along with it. Because it was something I could actually say out loud.”

  I glanced around again and wondered who else was hiding and witnessing Adrián treating the front of the pizzeria like his own personal confession box.

  “Why couldn’t you just say the real reason? What’s there to hide?”

  “I don’t know,” he said again. “I just felt weird talking about it.”

  I knew why. I could see the reason in his frustrated brown eyes and lip-biting nervousness. The way he fidgeted and shifted from foot to foot, and the way he kept lifting his hands before dropping them again. As though something in him had been urging him to touch me.

  All signs pointed to Adrián Bravo being into me, and he was so caught up in a sexuality that had been predesignated for him at birth that he didn’t understand, or notice, his own damn feelings. All he knew was that he wanted me around. And that he wanted to play an immature game that would guarantee he got to say filthy things to me and vice versa.

  “I’m sorry about Twitter,” he said in another urgent rush. “I’m stupid, okay? I always say the wrong things when I’m trying to be funny. I’ll delete them if you want me to. Or I’ll tweet an apology or some shit. Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it. Just don’t ice me out.”

  “Fine.”

  “You accept my apology?”

  “Yes,” I said, fighting a smile. “I accept your apology. But if you do it again, it’s a wrap.”

  “I won’t. I swear.” Relief brightened his face and his dimples made their first appearance all day. The man was far too adorable for his own good. “Lemme make it up to you, man. Dinner at my place. Screw pizza. I’ll cook and everything.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “Fuck yeah, I’m sure. People are gonna say shit anyway.” Adrián twisted his hat around so the bill was backwards. “Might as well give them something to talk about.”

  Chapter Eight

  Adrián

  There was no food in my house.

  I remembered after we stepped through the door. I’d deliberately scrubbed the place down and cleared out my fridge before training camp, and had failed to restock even though I’
d been back a few weeks. Food shopping was awful in general, but doing it in NYC was even worse. I had a car here, but driving to the grocery store was stupid, and pushing one of those grandma shopping carts down the street was out of the question.

  “This is a great place,” Simeon said, looking around. “I didn’t even know they could tuck a penthouse this big into these cramped blocks.”

  “I know, right? New York real estate is incredible.” I kicked off my sneakers and socks, sighing at the cool tiles on my bare feet. “The complex used to be a warehouse, but now it’s this luxury monster built like a giant rectangle with a huge courtyard in the middle. I bought this penthouse before the building was finished because I didn’t want to live in some snotty-ass town in Jersey or Long Island.”

  “I feel you on that. I share a place with Hendricks on the Island, and we’re surrounded by stuck-up rich people with old money.”

  I gave a thumbs-down. “Want a tour?”

  “Yeah. Can I use your bathroom first? I’ve had to piss for two hours. Signing autographs was a nightmare.”

  Laughing, I nodded in the direction of the hall bathroom, waited for him to go inside, and then hurried to the kitchen. A quick scan of my cabinets and fridge showed fruit, eggs, Italian bread, and two big plastic boxes of besitos de coco.

  Simeon entered the kitchen and found me scowling into my fridge. I slammed it shut with an irritated sigh.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t actually have anything to eat.”

  He snorted. “Tell the truth, Bravo. You were just trying to get me alone.”

  “You got me. I was dying to spend my Friday night with the NFL’s golden boy.”

  I did the pose Simeon had done on the Wheaties box—arm raised as if ready to launch a football across the field. Simeon just smirked. He had an I-know-something-you-don’t-know look on his face, and I didn’t even give a damn. I was just happy he was here, and that he wasn’t pissed at me. His little speech to the kids had bulldozed my last bits of resentment about him ghosting on me all those years ago. Our closeness hadn’t just been in my mind. It had mattered to him. I’d mattered to him. And I knew I should have been analyzing why the hell that was so important to me, but I’d never done well with rejection.

  “Why don’t you go out and party instead of wasting your time with me? It’s Friday night. I bet you can even catch some of your boys out and about in Jersey.”

  The idea had occurred to me more than once. Rocky had pressed the issue while teasing me about “switching teams.” My dumb ass hadn’t even caught on to the gay joke at first. I’d thought he’d been talking about leaving the Predators for the Barons. After a couple of weeks of hanging with Simeon, why were my teammates’ more obnoxious traits so much more obvious?

  “Probably. They jet as soon as practice ends on Fridays and sprint to the nearest club, but Casey told me to stay low-profile. Wants me to look all contrite and solemn, not shaking my ass at the club.”

  “You’d rather stay home and hang out with the homo people are already pairing you up with?”

  “Yup. Maybe I wanted to up the stakes on our competition.” I gave him a little wink-wink-nudge-nudge. “Get that adrenaline rush of crushing someone with a stunning victory.”

  “You could have gotten an adrenaline rush from going out partying and dodging cameras since you’re supposed to be keeping it low,” Simeon said. “That’s what always did it for me.”

  “That’s not as exciting.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because people expect that shit. They don’t expect me to be trying my best to make Simeon Boudreaux sweat.”

  “Then you must be partying wrong.” Simeon gave one of his famous grins and combed a hand through his hair, scratching the auburn curls. “Although I guess not everyone likes to fuck in the bathroom to get that rush.”

  “Ha. Is that why you’d do something so stupid?”

  “Kinda.” Simeon backed out of the kitchen and towards the living room, taking a tour of his own since I’d failed to make a move. “As much as it sucked, I can’t say I didn’t get a rush from playing the game, you know? Putting on one face in public—this nice boy from New Orleans who was living the dream on the cereal box and would someday be somebody’s straight-laced, Church-going husband, and then in private . . .” Simeon threw himself onto the couch, slumped down with his thighs spread. “I like to deepthroat random dudes with big dicks before getting dug out.”

  I tossed my hat on the coffee table and dropped onto the cushion beside him. He was going for maximum man spread, and our thighs brushed together.

  “You never worried about someone snitching to a tabloid before that night when Gavin wilded out?”

  “Nah, I did. But I always figured I could just deny it, and I didn’t care a lot about rumors people couldn’t prove. I was more worried about getting it in, know what I’m saying?”

  “Yeah, I do. But so then . . . how’d you not notice that some dude’s phone was out?”

  Simeon’s mouth twisted up into a filthy grin. “I was kinda busy at the time, boo.”

  Oh shit. Was this it? The moment when he tried to blitz me with the details? I’d been waiting for it ever since we’d started poking at each other, and had already come up with strategies on how to make jokes instead of getting flustered. He thought I’d cringe at an all-you-can-suck anecdote? Pssh. I’d trounce him with the tale of me, Rocky Swoops and the triplets in Ibiza. As homophobic as Rocky was, you’d think he would be a little shyer about fucking in front of other dudes, but that whole trip had been group sex and utter debauchery. Usually instigated by him.

  Wetting my lips, I shifted on the couch and tried to stop thinking about the funny feeling in my stomach. He was making me nervous already, and he hadn’t even tried. Or had he? Simeon grinned and flirted and teased so much I couldn’t tell how much came naturally and how much was on purpose.

  “You can’t scare me, bro. You won’t win this round by describing the girth of some frat boy’s wood.”

  “You sure about that?” Simeon’s gaze slid over me before centering on my face. “Because it was three frat boys and they took turns. Probably passed around the phone once one of them was balls deep. There’s details you’ve never dreamed of.”

  “I dunno, man. I’ve dreamed of some pretty sick shit. Watched some pretty sick shit too.”

  Simeon’s gaze lit up. “Is that a hint that you wanna watch the vid?”

  “What? Fuck no.” I scoffed, shaking my head, but couldn’t break his stare. “You have it on your phone?”

  “Nah. But it’s uploaded on a bunch of sites. Can find it in about ten seconds.”

  My heart catapulted towards my chest and settled into a steady hammer. “That’s weird, man.”

  “Yeah, it is, but it’s not like I can make it disappear forever. I did it and it’s out there.” Simeon knocked his knee against mine. “Upside is I know you’re pissing your pants right now at the idea of me whipping it out.”

  “I’m really not.”

  “Yeah, you are.”

  Simeon dropped a hand on my shoulder and squeezed, digging his fingers into the tense muscle. My dick twitched. I was seriously bugging.

  “Look how stiff you are. All from the mention of a video.”

  “I’m not scared of your little sex tape, Boudreaux.” The semi I had from him touching me while talking about it proved otherwise. It also proved something I was too out of breath and riled up to deal with right now. “Fuck it. Pull it up. Let’s see you in action. I’ll give you a critique on your dick-sucking skills.”

  Simeon’s laugh, loud and deep and rolling, filled the room in a way that once again made my stomach clench. He smiled slow, dragging his teeth over his lower lip, and that clench escalated into an explosion of tingles that went straight to the stiffening heat between my thighs. What was he doing to me?


  “Let’s get one thing straight. When it comes to sucking dick, I’m the professional here. The only time you’ll be in a position to give me a pointer is when your pants are around your ankles and you’re telling me whether you like it fast or slow.”

  My lips parted, but no sound came out. I wet them and swallowed, and the clicking of my throat was deafening in the room.

  “Stop talking shit and bring up the video,” I croaked.

  He winked and whipped out his phone. While he tapped out a Google search, or whatever the hell one did to locate their own vid, I stared at his profile and tried to figure out what sorcery he was using on me. Yeah, okay, so this game had been my idea. I’d started it. But I’d never pushed boundaries and limits with any other guy. Just him. From the start, even back in the Predators when we’d spent some Friday nights together kicking it in my apartment instead of partying with the others, I’d only ever considered doing that with him.

  Simeon glanced at me and that devilish smile played around the corners of his mouth again. “You’re supposed to be looking at the video.”

  Fuck. I was tripping.

  He’d not only found the video, he’d projected it onto the wall. My curiosity about the technological capabilities of his phone went out the window as the projected image came into sharper focus. He hadn’t hit play yet, but the picture displayed Simeon crushed against the wall by a man about my size. I couldn’t see Simeon’s face yet, but I’d know those reddish-brown curls anywhere.

  “You ready?”

  I licked my lips again, shifting on the couch. “You sure you want me to see this shit, man? It doesn’t piss you off?”

  “Heh. No. What’s done is done. I can’t take it off the Internet. Might as well own it.” Simeon shifted closer in a movement so slight I shouldn’t have noticed it, but I did. I noticed everything he did. Every time he glanced in my direction or chewed on his lower lip or adjusted his balls. “But it’s cute that you asked.”