In reality, what I should have said was, Because the idea of him touching you makes me want to crack his skull open, but that sounded legit psychotic. And jealous.
Christ.
“Just tell me, Simeon.”
“Fine.” He lifted his chin. “I didn’t fuck him. But we did kiss.”
The half second of relief that had filled me drained away in the gutters that we were all hoping would keep the Center from flooding. They hadn’t had sex, but somehow this pinged me harder. It was worse.
I looked away, jaw clenching.
Simeon touched my chin, trying to make me face him, but I jerked out of his grip.
“Adrián,” he said softly. “All that shit that happened the other day . . . you know that was just fucking around, right?”
Wow. He was really going for it.
“You get that, right?” Simeon touched my face again, forcing me to look at him. His eyes narrowed. “It was just a game.”
My own words thrown back at me lodged in my chest and scraped at my typically impenetrable heart.
It made no sense.
I was the one who’d shoved him away first. The one who’d bounced after I’d had an orgasm so powerful I’d felt it in my balls for the entire drive home. He’d looked both decadent and completely wrecked, stretched out in front of me like an offering, and I’d turned away.
But him saying it to me sucked the air out of my lungs and the warmth from the rest of my body. It felt like a punishment. I couldn’t stop wondering if it’d hit him the same way, or if he hadn’t felt this chest-clenching sense of rejection at all.
“Yeah,” I said roughly. “I know.”
“Good.” Simeon clapped me on the shoulder. “Now fix your face so we can go talk to those reporters.”
Simeon
There were enough cameras outside of Grand Street Center for it to look like a movie set.
They weren’t anything new to me, nor were the reporters and hopeful autograph seekers lingering nearby, but them being set up outside the Center rubbed me the wrong way. It really did make this all look like a photo op when, in reality, I just cared about helping the staff. It hadn’t taken much to realize the place was understaffed and underfunded. The gratitude in Yaritza’s face had been enough of a reason for me to offer we help them prepare for the coming storm. But Mel, and then Casey, had jumped on the chance to add this narrative to the story of Bradreaux—our hybrid name assigned by the media—giving back.
“You’ve been here for four weeks now,” Stacey Conroe, my favorite MSNBC anchor, said while beaming up at us. “Are you starting to feel like part of the community?”
“It’d be hard not to,” I said with a smile. “The staff here are some of the most dedicated and hardworking people I’ve met since moving to New York. They took us in as if we were two of their own, gave us a quick rundown of what we could do, and expected a hundred and twenty percent just like they give every day. It’s been a real ride.”
“Ahh.” She turned to Adrián. “So no special treatment?”
There was an awkward pause as lights flashed blindingly around us. Adrián had his attitude tattooed on his face, and it showed no sign of being temporary. His lips were pursed and pushed out, big dark eyes focused on some distant point beyond the mess of people around us, and his hands were shoved in the pockets of his Predators hoodie.
Only when one of the paps called out to heckle him did Adrián’s gaze snap back to us. I had trouble controlling my body’s reactions to his anger, and I would never be sure what it meant about me that his fire-and-brimstone stare turned me on so much.
“No,” he said flatly. “They didn’t show us special treatment.”
Stacey smiled, undeterred, but she cocked her head in confusion. Usually he was entertaining in an interview, even if he was trash-talking. This new thing was reminiscent of Gavin Brawley.
“What made you decide to go above and beyond your coaching duties here?”
Adrián was already staring off into the distance again, so I picked up the slack.
“Unfortunately, Grand Street Center had their funding cut this year and they’re understaffed. With so much else to do, it was taking a long time to prepare and board up.. It was actually Bravo who started helping out first,” I said. “Just on his own, without asking, he stuck around last night to store the equipment. I jumped in, and despite the staff telling us they had it under control, it was the least we could do. After all, they took us in.” I couldn’t help a wry smile as I waved at the cameras. “Took all of this in.”
Stacey laughed. “Too right. But I’m sure they appreciate the efforts, especially given you both have experience preparing for a hurricane.”
I tensed. Beside me, Adrián snapped to awareness with a sharp cut of his gaze in her direction.
“Simeon, I know you in particular experienced a lot of turmoil during Hurricane Katri—”
“Can you not?”
Stacey’s mouth snapped shut.
Adrián crossed his arms over his chest and glared down at her.
“Let’s stick to the Center and not do the tragedy voyeurism thing, all right?” He rolled his eyes and turned to the camera. “Look, we’re here because we want to do right by Grand Street Center. If you want to help pick up the slack due to their recent loss of funding, you can go to their website and donate. I’ll match dollar for dollar until they get back everything they lost.”
“Wow,” Stacey said. “That’s amazing of you! It really shows that this has gone beyond a mandated assignment by the NFL.”
“Yep.” Adrián looked from her to the cameraman to the rest of the reporters. “We got everything?”
They didn’t, but things moved on a lot faster with him ice grilling everyone in the vicinity. Stacey was stalwart, though. She was going to do her damn job whether some beautiful linebacker had an attitude problem or not. And she never once rerouted to the Katrina questions.
We ended the interview with another plea for people to donate to the Center, and then everyone started wrapping up. There were some gossip reporters practically oozing with the desire to ask inappropriate questions, but we hauled ass back into the safety of the Center while the NYPD cleared everyone out.
Inside, the Center was darker now that the sun had started to go down. Sheila and Yaritza had slipped out the back, trusting us to finish boxing up and putting away the athletic equipment as promised and shut down for the night. That kind of faith was humbling in a way I hadn’t felt in a while.
“You can take off if you want,” Adrián said. “Go out the back and head home. I’m just down the block.”
“I know, but I’m staying.”
“Your choice.”
There was a lot I wanted to say to him. About him interrupting the questions, about him pimping the Center unprompted and matching donations. And about him mean mugging the world as a direct result of our conversation about Judd. Judd who’d tried to kiss me and had smiled and apologized after I’d politely asked him to back off. In another life, I’d probably get a kick out of dating him and hanging with his son, but this life guaranteed I couldn’t bring myself to trust another fan.
We worked in silence, and after a while, the noise from the camera crews lessened. I glanced out the window just in time to spot the news vans driving off. A couple of determined paps were still lingering across the street with cups of coffee and heavy cameras around their necks.
“Everything’s off the floor,” Adrián said, dusting off his hands. “And they finished the windows while we were outside doing that bullshit.”
“Come on, Adrián,” I chided. “It’s part of the job.”
“Heh. Whatever.” Adrián grabbed his fitted Marlins cap and put it on backwards. “I hope everything at your house is good. I know you live by the water.”
“Up on a hill, though. Should be okay.”
/>
We stared at each other, him still tense and guarded and me indecisive about where to take this. Whether I should take it anywhere. I had a very specific plan in mind for this boy, and none of it had to do with the confusing mix of desire and fondness that had welled up in the couple of minutes spent watching him get no-nonsense on a reporter.
“Thank you,” I said finally. “I don’t like talking about Katrina.”
“I figured. It can’t be easy. Definitely not worth going into for some bullshit interview.”
“It’s not. I lost several people. Extended family, friends . . . And the ones who survived lost everything. My mama had just bought our first house, then it was gone.” I ran a hand over my hair. “Not something I want to think about if I don’t have to. So I appreciate you cutting in. I never would have.”
“Because you’re too nice.” Adrián laughed dryly. “To people who don’t even deserve it.”
I wonder if he knew he was one of them, or if he thought him cleaning up his act now erased everything that had happened before. Starting with the Fox News bit and ending with his willingness to fuck me while refusing to treat me with any kind of . . . affection or respect. It was that that hardened my insides.
“I’ll see you after the storm, Bravo.”
I went for my backpack. After a moment, he followed.
“Simeon.”
“What?”
Adrián came up behind me, well within my personal space, and turned me to face him. With a large hand curling around the back of my neck, he pulled me in so fast that I only caught a glimpse of inky eyelashes and the tip of his nose before his mouth slanted in a kiss.
My hands rose, clutching the front of his hoodie. Everything else in my head crashed to a screeching halt. There was nothing but the drumming of my heart in my ears, the rustling of clothing as he yanked me tighter against him, and the faint way I sighed once our lips parted.
He tasted so good. His mouth was so warm. And his tongue was so talented, slicking against mine in a slow caress. Those long fingers slid up to cradle my face while he drank from my mouth like a man seeking youth from a fountain, at first questing and tentative and then hungry and demanding.
And I could do nothing but dig my fingers into his hoodie and try to keep up. I’d wanted to kiss him for a couple of weeks now, because it was part of the deal for me. If I had sex with someone, I wanted to feel their lips on mine. To be two humans sharing a moment in time and not just two people rutting together to get off. And I’d wanted it more because he’d denied it.
But this feeling building inside me? The trembling hands and satisfied moans while frantically returning his kiss? It had nothing to do with triumph and everything to do with the warmness I’d felt as I’d watched him shut the interview down.
We pulled away, but we continued to grip each other close. My eyes flicked open just enough to see him looking at me the same way—dreamy, flushed, and full of lust.
“I don’t need to go by my house.”
Adrián dragged his gaze from my mouth. “What?”
I licked my lips, taking a deep breath. “I don’t really need to go home.”
The fog cleared and a boyish smile crept up. “Wanna come by my way?”
“Yeah.” I dragged the pad of my thumb along his full bottom lip. “I do.”
Chapter Eleven
Simeon
The walk to his building was silent, and no one noticed us, as we were both hunched over and hiding beneath our hoods. The days of going unnoticed in the neighborhood were gone since the media had started coming out full force. I mostly didn’t mind, but Adrián didn’t want everyone and their mother knowing where he lived.
The silence made sense as we approached his place, but it neared awkward territory once we were still on mute in his apartment. He glanced at me and quickly looked away before muttering something about checking the Weather Channel.
I hesitated by the front door. How had we gone from kissing and whispered invitations to this bullshit in the span of twenty minutes? The knot of ever-expanding lust for him kept trying to force me in his direction, to drag him into a kiss and fuck him into speaking, but I didn’t. There was no way I was going to throw myself at this damn boy yet again. He’d brought me here. He could figure out his life and what he wanted from me.
“Hey, I’m gonna step out and make a call real quick.”
Adrián frowned over at me. “Why you can’t make it in here?”
“Because it’s none of your business.”
“Damn. Sorry. Go ahead.”
I winked and backed out the door, hoping there was no automatic lock. Loitering outside on the sidewalk was a crap idea, so I climbed the staircase to the roof. I’d expected it to have a couple of benches and some greenery, but there was a drained pool up there as well as a wet bar. What an interesting development. Maybe there was something to apartment living after all, but I’d never get over the lack of privacy every time I wanted to go outside.
I walked to the edge of the roof and, with my arms braced on the railing, called Marcus. The wind was already picking up as the outer storm bands whipped in from the Atlantic, but for right now, it felt good. The sky was beautiful, too—gray and dark blue and daunting, but the swirling clouds with darker patches here and there were like artwork. The sky in NYC seemed much smaller than where I was from, and there were times when I missed being able to see this open stretch.
“Hey Bradreaux,” Marcus greeted me. “What it is?”
Scoffing, I looked down at the water. “Please do not come with that dumbass ship name. People have way too much time on their hands.”
“I dunno. I think it’s kinda cute. Gav does too.”
“Is Gavin there?”
“Yup. We’re resisting the lure of the club because Noah will wild out on his ass if any pictures turn up of him dancing with anyone else.”
His voice had changed in the middle of it, going more distant as he put himself on speaker phone. I laughed.
“Bro, you think Brawley would dance with anyone?”
“Exactly,” Gavin’s low, deep voice chimed in. “And he’s lying, anyway. He wanted to stay in and watch some HBO show about titties and dragons.”
“It’s about political intrigue and murder as well as titties and dragons,” Marcus griped. “It was this or Pride and Prejudice. Your choice.”
I could picture Gavin giving him the blank stare of death with his golden eyes and golden hair messy and sticking out everywhere. My friends were way too pretty for their own damn good. Thank god the idea of fucking either of them gave me hives. We were too much like brothers.
“Okay, princesses, quit your bitching over television programs. I need to talk to you about something serious.”
“The hurricane?” Gavin asked. “I thought it wasn’t going to be that bad.”
“You never know,” Marcus said. “That city is fragile as shit.”
“It’s not about that. I had the house taken care of already, and I’m st—I might be staying in the city tonight, so my ass isn’t in a desolate mansion away from civilization if things go bad.”
That hadn’t been part of my thought process at all, but they didn’t need to know that. My original plan had been to send out a thirsty message to a former booty call in the Hamptons and spend the weekend riding him into a mindless stupor.
“So, what’s it about?” Gavin asked slowly, his voice lowering with suspicion. “Is it about that dumb fuck Bravo?”
I winced. “Uh.”
“I knew it!” Marcus shouted so loudly and triumphantly that his voice could likely be heard down on the street. “You’re fucking him, aren’t you?”
“No, he’s not.” At my pause, Gavin sighed. “You’re not, are you?”
“Once. And a blowjob.”
Marcus broke into laughter that still wasn’t loud enough to dro
wn out Gavin’s irritated sigh.
“Man, what is with you? He treated you like shit, and you still let him hit it?”
The question wasn’t unexpected, but it still hit me like a kick in the stomach. I hunched forward to shield myself against the wind and to brace myself against their disapproval.
“It’s complicated, man.”
“Complicated,” Gavin spat. “A few weeks ago, you were ready to kill him because he was throwing all those gay subs, and now you’re sucking his dick. Goddamn it, Simeon. Why?”
“’Cause,” I said moodily. “I don’t know, okay? It started off as a joke. Us flirting and dissing each other and shit, but then I realized . . . he’s not straight. He’s into me.”
Marcus’s laughter broke off. “Oh shit, I was right. Man, I am the smartest person in this busted-ass group of friends.”
“What are you talking about?”
The wind whipped out particularly violently, gusting against the speaker and muffling my question. I turned again, trying to find a good angle so they could hear me.
“I was just telling Gavin a couple of weeks ago, when Adrián started trying to clapback at tabloids on Twitter, that the dude was always practically obsessed with you. When you first signed with the Barons, he subtweeted for weeks. Even after that, he stayed on you over every little thing. Dude was next level keeping tabs just so he could pop shit.”
“Okay, and?” I asked, confused. “What’s the point?”
“The point is,” Gavin boomed, aggressive and impatient. Noah had smoothed his edges a bit, but his prickliness was still present and accounted for. “That just because all of Bravo’s homophobe bullying shit was him trying to cover up the fact that he was sweet on you doesn’t mean you have to bless him with your mouth or ass.”
“All right, well, I wasn’t really trying to say it like that, but . . .”
I rolled my eyes. “You two won’t even let me talk. As usual, it’s like my two daddies bickering over what mistake I’m making now.”
“Sorry, man.” Of course Marcus was the one to check himself. “Go ahead.”
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