by Dark Angel
"The hell you are! You’re Ethan fucking Blake!"
"So I've heard," I say, leading him into my apartment. "Why does everyone keep saying that today?"
Dave ignores my question because Larry turns to both of us.
“Dave is an excellent strategic negotiations counsel that I’ve bring on challenging cases,” Larry says walking back to the table. “Dave, tell Ethan your take on the situation, and try not to bore us with technical lawyer bullshit.”
"You're funny,” Dave says with sarcasm. Then he turns to me. “Listen, I'm concerned about negotiating a new deal with the New York Nailers. There's no doubt in my mind that you deserve a spot on this team, but with all of this scandal, if you don't make it, it may be difficult to find you a spot on any NFL team. No one wants to touch a 'head case' as they say."
"A head case? Is that what you think of me?" I ask - a bit surprised.
"Not me man—them! The media and other franchise owners. You might be a tough sell."
I can feel the rhythm of my pulse increase, and I feel a hot wave of anger rise in my chest. I clench a fist. This is all feeling like too much to handle.
"Remember what I said about non-verbal cues," Larry says, noticing my fist and lowered eyebrows. He is right. I need to make a more conscious effort to remain calm.
Larry opens a notebook and jots down some points. "Any other thoughts, Dave?“ he asks, and then Dave gives a giant sigh.
"Yeah, I gotta say, you've been getting a bit too much action off the field," Dave says, laughing and jabbing me in my side with his elbow. He is trying to be funny, but I really am not in the mood for jokes.
"I actually have a plan," Larry says, continuing his train of thought, and that really grabs our attention. “I’ve been talking with AJ Ledoux over at the Times.”
"What's that?" I ask. "I'm open to any ideas you have, but why are you talking to that man?"
"There's one way that we can wash you of these scandals," Larry says. "While the SportsNation highlights are damning, we can flip the story. It's like that old saying, 'if you don't like what people are saying, change the story,' and in this case, I think it would work brilliantly."
"How can we change the story when the evidence is captured on video? I just don't understand," I say, furrowing my eyebrows. “And why have you been talking to AJ? You didn’t answer my question.”
"Right now, the media – basically spurred on by AJ - is painting you as a willing participant in these actions," Larry says. I can hear Dave giggle at the word 'action' and I wonder if he is secretly 12 years old. “Ninety-nine percent of the anger is because of his daily column where he takes you and runs you over the coals. But I know he’s open to a deal.”
Larry continues, "What if you weren't a willing participant after all? What if you were seduced and strong-armed?"
"That's not what—" I begin to say, but Larry cuts me off. I know I just said that I was open to any ideas, but now I really am not so sure that is true.
"You know what the new script should be? Well, I'll tell you even if you don't want to hear it. The new story should tell the world that Julianna deceived and seduced you, and Colt accosted you in that locker room."
“But that’s not true,” I say, standing up. “She didn’t do anything like that. In fact…”
But Larry doesn’t let me finish. “I know that, but who cares?” he asks me. When I don’t answer, he looks at me. “Listen to me, Ethan, AJ Ledoux has his sights set on only one person – Julianna Heaton. None of this shit would have blown up if he hadn’t been stoking the fires this entire time. Now you can stay on the burning bus that he’s pushing into a ditch, or you can get out. But if you get out, you gotta help him push. Now what’s it gonna be – your career, or your cock?”
* * *
That night, I can't sleep. It doesn't feel right. How can I throw Julianna and Colt under the bus? The media would have a field day with that kind of story. I am pacing from one room to another. The entire place makes me feel claustrophobic, like a caged animal. I have to get out of my apartment. It is 9 pm and I know my favorite pub, Black and Bull, down the street is still serving food. I grab my jacket, keys, and wallet and head out the door.
The place seems a little more crowded than usual for a weeknight, and just as I am about to turn around and head back home, thinking it may have been a bad idea to come, I find an open booth in a far back corner of the room. This place is great for a number of reasons, but my favorites are that the seating offers a lot of privacy, the number of different beers on tap are staggering, and the burger, well—you might as well ask for a bib with that burger. Take one bite and melted bleu cheese gushes out and offsets the crunchy slabs of bacon placed on top of the patty. If I was to have sex with a burger, and I realize that's a strange thought—this burger would be it.
I settle into the dark wood and red vinyl booth and the waitress hands me a menu. I immediately look at the beer listing. I need something to mellow me out. There are ales, wheat beers, lagers, IPAs—why are IPAs so popular these days? I can't understand it. And then I see the darker beers—stouts and porters. Yes, that is what I am in the mood for, something substantial, like a meal in a pint. I am buried in the beer menu when someone approaches my table. I think it is the waitress, so I begin to order. "I think I'll have the dark—"
"Do I look like one of the servers to you, asshole?" The question comes from a familiar voice. I look up and see him. He seems taller and stronger than usual, if that is even possible. His brown eyes hang warmly above me and he is smiling. It is like staring up at a strong oak tree.
"Wh-wh-what are you doing here?"
"I've been looking all over for you. You haven't been answering my recent calls or texts. Hell, you even dodge me on the field. I knew I'd have to find you."
I watch as Colt approaches the table. I feel almost embarrassed being caught off guard like this. What's the point of him meeting me here like this?
"Have a seat." I find myself inviting him into my booth even though I feel like being as far away as possible from him right now. I still need time to gather my thoughts. He thanks me and eagerly scoots in.
"So you came all the way to Black and Bull to find me? How did you know I was here?"
"Just a hunch," Colt says. Damn it. Colt has known me longer than most people. His ability to read my mind is uncanny. If anyone can find me in this city, it is definitely him. I notice that he seems more subdued. Not the gregarious loud mouth I had grown accustomed to. The way he silently looks into my eyes is making me uncomfortable, and I don't know what to say. Since it is a small booth, we are sitting in close proximity to each other. I can feel his broad, muscular shoulder brushing up against mine, and my cock twitches.
Great, not now, I think to myself. I hear the deep, harsh words of my father repeat themselves in my mind, What are you, a faggot? I feel so confused. There is no doubt that I am attracted to Colt. All these years of intense rivalry and hatred are starting to make sense to me. The opposite of love is not hate; it's indifference. I never hated Colt. I can see now that the identity I am so scared to embrace is true. I have desired him all along. I've been attracted to him all these years and was too afraid to admit it, and he must have felt the same thing. But that's not the whole picture. The other side of this perfect equation is Julianna. I love her, but now I know that I love them both.
"Let me guess, you were going to order the Bleu Cheese Burger," he chides.
"Fuck off, you always think you have me pegged," I say jokingly.
He gives me a playful punch on my arm and I laugh, brushing the hair back from my forehead. Now this is the Colt I know, which is a comforting feeling. I feel like I am treading back on familiar territory.
"It's because I do. Just admit it. When have I ever been wrong?" He laughs, and opens the menu from the table.
"Plenty of times! In fact, remember when you—"
"Now fucking stop right there. I'm going to have to tell you to go fuck yourself," Colt laughs.
>
Despite everything, I laugh back.
For a moment, I forget everything and look at Colt. I’m supposed to hate this man. But that hatred seems to be a mask - hiding something greater.
He reaches over and I take his hand. I lean over the table in the booth before I realize what I’m doing. Is his face coming closer?
Our faces are inches apart.
I could kiss him right now.
I can feel his breath. I’ve wanted this for a long time. I squeeze his hand and my eyes droop, preparing to kiss him.
Just then, the figure of a blonde woman walking across the pub catches both our attention, and our easy banter fades. We do not have to say anything because I know we are both thinking about the same woman: Julianna. The woman at the bar isn’t her, but I realize that she is the force we need in our universe. The person who creates balance to all of the opposing forces in our lives. I wonder if she feels the same way. I have to speak to her.
But I can’t. I shouldn’t even be talking to Colt.
I pull away from Colt’s face and lean back against the booth.
“I…I gotta go,” I say hastily, slapping down some money on the table in case I didn’t pay for anything.
I can see the hurt in Colt’s eyes. “You’re running away, man,” he yells at me as I keep walking. “You’re dad isn’t here anymore, Ethan. Hey, are you listening to me, fucker?”
But I’m gone. Into the crisp New York City night. I pull out my phone and call Larry.
“I’m in,” I say to him. “What do I need to do?”
“I’ll be right over,” he says, not caring about the time.
I hang up and decide to walk back to my condo.
By myself. In the loneliest big city in the world.
Julianna
What time is it? I grab my phone from the nightstand and swipe it on. Shit. It's already after 7 am, and I have more email and text message alerts than I dare to count right now. What's happening to me? I've always had a morning routine that kicked ass and took names later. Now my mornings are slipping through my fingers faster than water through a colander and I have a man tangled in the sheets next to me that make my heart leap. I've grown soft.
I try to sneak out of the bed, and just when I swing one leg off the mattress, I feel a strong hand wrap around my thigh.
"Where do you think you're going?"
I smile. Seeing Colt's bed hair makes me laugh and I try to smooth it down with my fingers. He runs his hands down the small of my back and grabs my ass—two firm squeezes. We do not bother wearing any clothes from the night before. I enjoy nuzzling my bare ass up next to his cock as much as possible. It is easy to make him hard. Even now, I feel his cock growing underneath me. I kiss his neck and run my tongue down his chest, and continue a path straight to his cock.
"Oh fuck, " he moans. He knows exactly what is coming. I grab his shaft and place his cock into my mouth. Just the tip at first, tapping my tongue delicately underneath his dick, and then I take him in deeply and his moaning intensifies. I'm already wet and all I can think about is shoving him inside me, so I straddle him as he lays there, still tangled in the soft white sheets of my King-sized bed. I have him under my spell, just the way I like it. I flash him a hungry grin.
"I want you so fucking bad," I purr.
He pulls me into him, and sucks on my breasts. The force of his mouth around my nipples sends shivers down my body from head to toe, and I buck my hips. My entire body is electrified as I grab his cock and shove it into my pussy, grinding my hips. I rake my nails across his chest, and with the motion of my relentless gyrations I know I'm going to cum. I don't hold back and let it overtake me, my pussy throbbing with each muscle spasm. Colt senses it is his turn and he thrusts his cock into me with greater speed. I urge him on, "Fuck, cum for me," I moan. And as if on command, he dig his strong hands into my hips and I feel his dick pulse, shooting waves of cum deep inside of me. I eagerly take him in. We rest together for a moment like that, inside of each other, until the current of desire subsides, and I unhook my legs from his body. Then my mind drifts back to Ethan. I enjoyed fucking Colt. It is great, but there is something missing. An unmistakable void.
I think back to my phone. There were a lot of missed messages, and I hadn't bothered to look to see whom they were from. I wonder if there are any from Ethan? I swipe it on again and scroll through my texts. I exhale sharply when I don't see anything from him. Why won't he answer me? What does it mean?
Colt stands up and walks toward the shower. "You can join me if you'd like."
"You go first. I'm going to see what SportsNation has to say this morning."
"You're more sadistic than I thought," Colt laughs. "If there's anything that can ruin a perfectly good day, it's that fucking trash TV. Good luck with that."
I shrug him off and press the power button on my 70-inch flat screen television. The screen glows to life, and I navigate to the station I am looking for. The show is already in full swing. A banner flashes across the screen that reads, "Elite football players rumored to be gay: hot athletes Ethan Blake and Colt Stackford exposed in secret same-sex love affair."
I hear the first analyst speak. "Ethan Blake and Colt Stackford shouldn't be allowed to play in the NFL. Not only are they the kind of role models that we don't want young men and boys to emulate, but you know, another issue is that I don't think it's safe for NFL players to have to share locker rooms with gays."
"You're absolutely right, Bob," agrees the second analyst.
"How do we know that they aren't coping secret feels on the field? During a tackle it would be easy for them to say, oops, didn't mean to grab you there. How can they stay focused with so many men around them during the game?"
The second analyst chimes in, "Instead of Man Crush Monday, Bob, I say we start a new trending search on social media called No Gay Thursday." Both men laugh as if it is the funniest jab they had ever heard.
How the fuck are these men getting time on National television to talk such hateful trash? It just seems unfathomable. I can feel my blood reach the point of boiling. I have to take a few deep breaths to quell the burning rage building within me. Keep it cool, Julianna, I remind myself. I can't let the media get away with this, especially not when they are trashing the two men I love most. It is now clear to me that everything I've been told is wrong—the lawyer, the consultants—everything. How can I throw Colt and Ethan under the bus, further empowering this idiotic media? That's what they want, isn't it? They love it if I can help them spill more blood. The answer is I can't. I won't. But what I can do is bring out the gloves. If the media wants to keep dragging them through the mud, they are fucking with the wrong people.
Julianna
“Ladies and gentlemen, if you’ll take your seats, the press conference will get started, J. Henry Edgar states into the microphone as I stand to the side. “Once started, Ms. Heaton will deliver a prepared statement and then take your questions.”
The press folks sit down. I’ve invited literally every major media outlet this afternoon for a major press conference to finally address these questions once and for all. By myself, I can take whatever slings and arrows that the media might throw at me. But when they go after Colt and Ethan, that’s when they cross the line and need to face my wrath. There’s no way this is just sports story anymore. I’ve invited The News of the Times, as well as all the major news sources in the country. Word got out that I was having a press conference and all of a sudden the Nailers Press Office started getting requests from even more. Now, I have journalists from at least 10 different countries sitting in the Press Room at Nailers Arena - what the media has started to call Julianna’s Sex Dungeon - looking at me as I take the mike.
“Thank you everyone,” I say and look out and then back at my notes. “I will have a prepared statement that I’d like to read before I take your questions.”
There’s a few flashes from cameras and it quiets down. I’ve never seen it so quiet. Everyone wants to hear what
I’m going to say.
I clear my throat and begin, “I want it to be clear, from the very beginning, that I’m not here to apologize. I don’t believe that I’ve done anything that merits me having to stand here and apologize, nor will I entertain a discussion on doing so.” There are a few uncomfortable shifts in the audience and the cameras start up again. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the Commissioner standing there. He’s come over also and he’s watching me - getting a pulse on the situation.
There’s nowhere to go but forward, and I plunge ahead. “However, I believe that it is possible that I have not been as completely forthright with the public as I should have.” Good. That gets everyone’s attention. “And that is the following. I intend, going forward to aggressively litigate against any future breaches of my privacy or the privacy of anyone within the Nailers franchise.”
There are camera flashes now as I continue. “And I will personally respond to any maligning of character that occurs based on these invasions of privacy as I view them as a direct assault on the New York Nailers. If you choose to ignore me, or if you choose to test me, then please be prepared for the full weight of the New York Nailers to come down upon you.”
Again, it’s quiet as I finish my last sentence. “Thank you,” I say and the entire floor erupts.
The reporter from the Chicago Sentinel has the loudest voice and I turn my head to his question, “Ms. Heaton, do you believe that you’re a role model for young girls across the country and that you should therefore temper your actions?”
I look the reporter straight in the face, “I never wanted to be a role model, but I’m flattered if someone thinks of me as one. And I try to live my life every day the way my father wanted me to. And that’s to be true to what I believe in,” I say. “And I believe in myself. I’d want young women to follow those words the same way I have.” The reporter seems mollified by this answer but I know there’s more coming.
It starts getting harder with the next question.
“Ms. Heaton, how do you respond to claims from some people that you lack the moral fiber to be an owner in the league?” Chris Grimsby from the New Orleans Herald asks me.