by Jay Hogan
He blanched, and his gaze slid away. “He’s not… I mean, I wasn’t….”
“Hey, I’m not accusing you of anything. It’s hard keeping your eyes on them at this age.”
His gaze lifted with gratitude, then hardened as it caught sight of something behind me. He called across the forecourt, “Craig, get over here.”
The boy shifted in his arms, but Reuben stroked his hair till he settled again with Reuben’s shirt wadded in his fist. Fucking adorable. Turning to see who Reuben had called, I was surprised to see the mechanic eyeballing us.
The guy’s cheeks pinked a bit. “Hang on, we’re nearly done.”
Reuben bristled. “Now.”
Huh. “Friend of yours?” I asked.
“Brother,” he corrected.
Ah.
“Reuben?” Mathew’s smile widened as he recognised his teammate and the two men finally walked across. “Hey, man. Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I live here,” Reuben answered. “Got an apartment over the shop. Craig’s my brother.”
Mathew nodded. “Cool.”
“Craig.” There was no denying the change in tone. Reuben was fair pissed off about something, and considering I’d never seen the guy anything other than turned on, embarrassed, or apologetic, an angry Reuben Taylor was an entirely different animal to behold. To say I was fascinated was an understatement… and also possibly a little turned on. Yeah, I know.
“A word.” He grabbed his brother’s arm and hauled him off some distance.
Mathew sauntered over, an amused glint in his eye. “What’s up with those two?”
I shrugged. “Brother shit, I guess.”
“Right.” He grinned as if that explained everything, which I guess it did.
I watched as Reuben handed the young child to Craig with what seemed a few choice words but not loud enough for us to hear. And although it appeared he was making an effort not to upset the kid, the bunched muscles in his back, fisted hands, and corded neck told a different story about what was going on inside. The man was furious and wild horses couldn’t have dragged me away.
“See something you like?” Mathew nudged me with a mischievous smile then jangled his set of keys in my face. “Let’s leave them to it.”
I stared at him. Leave? Was he crazy? His widening smile left no doubt he knew exactly where my mind had gone.
I gave him the evil eye. “He asked me to wait.” As if that offered any explanation.
He nodded. “Riiiight. Well, don’t scare the poor straight boy. He’s a nice guy.”
I sent him a glare. “I am not interested in him.”
“Just saying.”
I felt my cheeks heat. Christ. If only he knew how wrong he was. My attention drifted back to the garage and the discussion that appeared nearing its end. “He’s just nice to look at.”
Mathew studied the man. “I’ll have to take your word for that.”
An older man joined Reuben and his brother to put his two cents in, and I recognised him immediately as Reuben’s dad. Whatever he said wasn’t in Reuben’s favour judging by the look on the fullback’s face. Frustrated didn’t even begin to cover it.
Mathew jammed his helmet on. “I’ll go say my goodbyes. That should break them up. Then we can head off, yeah?”
I nodded. “Sounds good.”
He made his way to the three men, and as expected the discussion broke apart. Reuben headed my way, all those glorious tight muscles fully intent on me. He stopped barely a metre away, and I resisted the urge to hook my fingers in his belt loops and haul him closer. Yeah, I was doing really well in the not-interested department.
“Sorry about that.” He appeared awkward and unsure.
“No problem. Must have given you a fright, the kid running off like that. Enough to rattle anyone.”
His eyes sprang wide. “Fuck. I haven’t even said thank you. Jesus, I’m an idiot.”
“It’s fine. I understand. Besides, what else was I gonna do? Stand by and watch him run onto the road?”
His gaze narrowed. “No, it’s not fine. If you hadn’t been here…? I can’t tell you how much I… we appreciate what you did. Cory’s a great kid, but he’s only four, you know. Sometimes he just… well… look, he wasn’t supposed to be outside on his own. I should’ve checked, and I didn’t. That’s on me.” He glanced back at his brother and frowned. “Craig tries, you know, but….”
“He’s not yours, then?”
He turned back with a surprised look on his face. “What? No. He’s Craig’s.”
I watched the mechanic as he supervised Mathew starting up the bike. Beside them stood Reuben’s dad, whose attention was now firmly fixed on the two of us. Shit. The rich, throaty roar of the Harley filled the forecourt, reverberating off the steel sidings, and my brother’s grin nearly fell off the side of his face.
“That’s my cue,” I said. “Nice to see you, Reuben.” I turned to head back to my car, but he grabbed my arm. I looked down pointedly, but unlike at the wedding, he didn’t let go.
“Thanks again, Cam. I owe you.”
I lifted my eyes and his heated gaze bored into mine. Butterflies took flight in my stomach and I failed dismally to stop the shiver that ran through me. He smirked. Yeah, fucking chemistry was no man’s slave, and I’d just gone and shown my cards. Son of a bitch.
“Wipe that hopeful look off your face, kid,” I cautioned. “Lust means nothing. See you around, Reuben.”
“Not a kid, Cam,” he said quietly.
I held his gaze for a second before heading for my car. Nope, definitely not a kid.
My brother’s bike, with him atop, idled alongside my driver’s door. He scowled meaningfully, his gaze shifting between Reuben and myself.
I leaned alongside his open visor. “Don’t get your panties in a twist, bro. I kept it clean and friendly. His straight card is still all nice and shiny.”
Mathew snorted. “Yeah, well, make sure you keep it that way. Bad enough I have half the team telling me you’re cute.”
“Really?” Now that did shock me.
“Settle down. Cute only as in ‘Gee, he’s gay and my girlfriend likes him so maybe he’s not so bad’ kind of way. Not cute as in ‘Fuck, he’s hot and I want in his gay arse’ way.”
“Wow. Thanks for the shade, brother.” I avoided correcting him with regard to at least two of those teammates he was so sure about, opting for discretion and the higher moral ground.
“’S what I’m here for. Let’s rock and roll, man. Can’t wait to open this beauty up. See you on the other side.” He flicked his visor down and revved the engine.
“Be careful,” I called out as he roared off. I followed on his heels, ignoring the temptation to wave Reuben goodbye, but failing in the temptation to drool at him in my rearview mirror till he faded from sight. Never said I was perfect.
Chapter Four
Reuben
TRAINING FINISHED not a minute too soon and the rest of the team deserved medals for not throttling my not-so-scrawny neck at least a dozen times. I’d pretty much sucked from the get-go, and the coaches chewed my arse about it for most of the ninety-minute session. And yeah, I fucking deserved it.
My agility and speed to feed the ball, to read the game accurately, and to make sure the right plays happened was integral to my position. Instead I spent most of the first hour playing catch-up around the field, letting good balls slip through my hands like they were fully lubed, and tripping over my own bloody feet. Not to mention barely managing a 55 percent strike rate in my kicking. At least I couldn’t fuck up in the weight room, and the resistance training went fair to middling. Still, the coaches were sending me the stink eye, all of them.
If I didn’t lift my game in Thursday’s training, I’d be lucky to get a start on Saturday. I could already see the glint in the eye of our second-string fullback. I bet he wasn’t hoping I got my shit together. Malosi Lefao had been waiting for a chance to strut his stuff as a starter for a while now. He
was a cool guy and we got on okay, but we weren’t playing fucking tiddlywinks out there. Everyone wanted that starting position, and there was no way I intended to hand it to him if I could avoid it.
I needed a hot shower, and to get the hell out of there before someone decided to see what bug had crawled up my arse. Like it was ever gonna be that easy. Halfway to the change rooms, I caught sight of the mental skills coach making a beeline my direction, blowing steam out her ears. Dammit. That woman kicked butt like no one else, and nothing got past her woo-woo ability to read every thought in your brain like you were a 3D movie. I waited for her to catch up, preparing for the onslaught.
“Rebecca,” I greeted her blandly. At five foot nothing and fifty-five kilos soaking wet, the fortysomething red-haired spitfire could cower a 120-kilo prop with a twitch of her eye. To be fair, she was equally first in your corner against all comers, including management, coaches, players, and family, if she felt you needed support. For that reason all the guys loved her, including me, and most talked openly with her. Confidentiality actually meant something in her book, and we trusted she’d never expose anything to management unless the situation warranted it. But even Rebecca hadn’t pushed anywhere near enough buttons to spring my secret. Yet. Though by the look in her eye, I wasn’t sure how long that would last.
“Reuben.” Her gaze roamed my expression. “Walk with me a bit.”
“Maybe we can do this later?” I hedged. “Don’t wanna cool off too quick—bad for the muscles.” I smiled apologetically.
She narrowed her gaze, letting me know she wasn’t buying any of my bullshit. “Go grab a jacket. But we’re taking a walk, mister. Understand?”
I blew out a sigh. Of course we were. “Understood.”
In the end it took a couple of circuits of Eden Park, our home ground, for Rebecca to probe my thinking and determine my headspace to her satisfaction. No, I wasn’t sick. Yes, I was distracted. No, it wasn’t girlfriend worries. Yes, I had a lot of family commitments, and finally, no, I didn’t want a one-on-one session with her at the moment. (God, please no.) But, yes, I understood that I would have no choice if I didn’t pull my head out of my arse and bring my A game to the field at Thursday’s training. Did I have any questions? No. Did she? Yes, a million, and I only had till Thursday to head them off. Shit.
Not that I’d fooled her, but my performance for the team so far had been pretty stellar, so she didn’t have the leverage she needed to force anything—not yet.
Almost losing Cory into traffic on the weekend had shocked me into the unwelcome reality of just how fucking far removed my brother was from being anywhere close to a responsible parent. When Mathew had arrived to collect his bike, Craig had simply sent Cory to find me in my apartment. He was a four-year-old with behavioural issues, most likely somewhere on the spectrum—not that his father would get him assessed properly. A withdrawn little boy who struggled with following instructions at the best of times, and who displayed a bizarre range of anxieties, including stairs, like those up to my apartment.
To climb them unassisted, Cory needed an adult with him and an inordinate amount of encouragement, and he’d simply sat at the foot of the stairs and waited. The only reason I knew to look out my door was because I heard the toy truck he always carried in his pocket being drummed against the steel siding, but when I opened the door, he startled and ran, leaving the truck on the ground.
I could’ve throttled my brother. Not only did he apparently give no fucks whatsoever about his son’s safety, he didn’t even bother to check on him after the fact or appear in any way concerned other than to blame me for not looking after him. And Dad waded in to say I needed to step up when I was needed, and not loaf around upstairs. The fact I’d just come off a four-hour training session mattered little to either of them. Since I got the place at a low rent, Dad insisted it was my job to be available for Cory when Craig needed it. Well, fuck him.
I felt sorry for my older brother, I really did. He’d been dealt a shit hand. His neurotic bitch of a partner, Lisa—pregnant before he even knew her last name—had left the two of them when Cory was barely eighteen months and then offed herself on prescription pills not long after. There’d been precisely three people at the funeral, a funeral I’d paid for—Craig, myself, and Cory. Not one of her own family attended. Her mother was dead, and she’d screwed everybody else over. No one gave a fuck.
Until it came to Cory. Then suddenly Lisa’s father wanted access to his only grandson, who he’d shown no prior interest in. Trouble was, that whole family skirted the fringes of the law in one way or another, including drugs. Craig had visited the man with Cory a few times, but I was never happy about it and made damn sure he never left Cory alone. I’d seen the guy swat Cory on the butt for not listening to him and that was it as far as I was concerned.
I’d nearly taken his head off at the time, and I didn’t like how lately he’d started pushing for more access—calling and dropping in when he knew I wasn’t there. What he wanted with Cory, who knew? It wasn’t like Cory was an easy kid, but there was no accounting for that whole blood-family pull, I guess.
For just a little bit after Lisa died, I thought maybe fatherhood would be the making of Craig, but when Cory’s behaviour issues kicked in, it all went to hell in a handbasket and hadn’t improved since. No one was keen to label Cory at his age—not that Craig saw more than a couple of doctors—but most agreed he likely fitted on the high-functioning end of the spectrum. That meant with any moderately invested parent, Cory’s future would’ve looked pretty damn positive. But Cory hadn’t been blessed in either of his shit-for-brains parents, and when his behaviour became more challenging, Craig’s drinking and emotional withdrawal increased in direct proportion, leaving Cory’s slim chance at that positive future dissolving fast.
My own father was less than helpful. He had zero interest in helping out unless he was cornered, making his point that it was Craig’s choice to keep Cory, not his. That left me to take up the slack, and I loved that kid like he was my own. So, as the only fucking adult in Cory’s life to genuinely give a shit, I wasn’t going anywhere. But I couldn’t be around all the time and that was increasingly becoming a problem.
Solve that one for me, Rebecca? Thought not.
I hit the showers and caught up with a few teammates, mostly to apologise for my abysmal form before grabbing my duffel and heading out. The boys were good about it; everyone had days like that and no one was keen to point a finger in case it was their turn next.
Passing the side gate, I noticed a guy leaning on his car, legs crossed, headphones in, scrolling his phone. My breath hitched. Sweet Jesus. I’d know that silky black head of hair anywhere. Even from this distance, my hands were itching to touch it, remembering the feel like it was yesterday.
Georgie’s postwedding fiasco warning sprang to mind. Something about not getting my head strapped to my dick regarding my priorities. She’d all but booted my backside for taking such a risk. Although she didn’t agree with me being so closeted—read: “Are you fucking crazy to do that to yourself?”—she also knew what was at risk, and how much it meant to me.
Not that any of that helped to dampen my crush on the guy. I groaned. Turned on by his freaking hair, of all things. Still… a quick scan revealed the only people in sight were one of the team physios, the team doctor, and a couple of younger players, and they were at the far end of the car park, well out of hearing distance. So I adjusted my heading and took a deep breath. It was like metal to a magnet, though I somehow doubted Cam would see it that way or be pleased to see me.
With his ear pods in, he was completely unaware of my approach till I was virtually up in his face, and those few seconds gave me precious time to drink him in. Wearing soft, dark jeans that hugged every curve of those long legs, a tight black T-shirt with The Clash in neon green across the chest, a cropped black leather jacket, metal-studded biker boots, and thick strokes of emerald guyliner highlighting those gorgeous tawny eyes, he looked goo
d enough to lay out on the tarmac and eat there and then. That I didn’t simply keep walking and press myself hard up against him, demanding to be fucked senseless right there over the bonnet of his BMW, deserved a fucking gold medal.
He caught sight of my shoes first before his gaze flicked up to my face. The evident irritation when he saw who it was had me wincing. Sure, there might have been a flicker of interest to start, but nah, mostly irritation.
“Hi.” Yep, I was a charmer.
His face gave nothing away. “Hi?”
As in, “What the hell are you doing here,” hi? Well, okay, then. “I just wanted to say thanks again—for saving Cory the other day.”
His gaze remained steady. “You’ve said that. Several times, in fact.”
Right. Not much to work with there. But since when had common sense ever stood in the way of stupidity and raging attraction? “I know, but I’d like the chance to explain… if you’ll hear me out.”
He glanced over my shoulder, and I couldn’t help but follow his gaze. A few more of my teammates, including Mathew, were now shooting the shit in a group by the entrance. None close enough to overhear our conversation, thank God.
“No need.” His tone was flat, his gaze fixed on the group of players. “Nothing to do with me.”
Jesus, talk about pulling teeth. “Maybe not, but I’d like to. Don’t want you thinking badly of me. Let me buy you a coffee, as thanks.”
He looked at me and sighed. “What do you want, Reuben?”
My mouth opened but nothing came out. Excellent question. What did I want?
“You do realise this isn’t happening?” His finger flicked back and forth between us. “Anything… between us… Is. Not. Happening. So what are you doing? If you want to keep your gay undercover, it’s maybe not the best idea to be seen talking to the guy wearing eyeliner, and who may as well have ‘I love dick’ tattooed on his forehead. I’m hardly a shrinking violet, yeah?”